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MEINE WELT - the Lacrimosa community => Off-Topic => Topic started by: Eiseskälte on March 19, 2013, 05:17:35

Title: How about prose ?
Post by: Eiseskälte on March 19, 2013, 05:17:35
As we have a thread for poetry, I am sure that many of you also write "short" prose works - might it be a little parable or a long story!
I know how difficult it is to translate them, but on the other hand I am very interested in reading something from you, actually! Maybe you can post some excerpts - or even your whole creations (if they are not to long for a post :P ) in your mother tongue and either translate it into English or summarize its content in our multinational language ? ;-)

To break the ice, I will do the beginning with a parable I wrote just some weeks ago, first in German and then followed by an English translation - even though I am not born to translate, definitely!

Kindliche Neugier

Ein Kind war im offenen Meer ertrunken.
Völlig unbemerkt war es geschehen. Nahezu unwirklich war der Eindruck der rudernden Ärmchen am Horizont gewesen – bis sie von fahlem Nass verschluckt worden waren.
Fast – so schien es – warteten seine Eltern noch an der Küste; ja, beinahe war es so als scherzten sie noch über der Kinder Eigenart. Niemand hatte es gesehen oder gehört und so wurde das Kind auch erst Tage später überhaupt vermisst. Besorgt waren die Eltern nicht gewesen. Ihr Kind hatte sich des Öfteren vom Elternhaus entfernt – nur um Wochen später mit schmutzigen Füßen voller Angst und Heimweh zurückzukehren. Wohl wissend, dass die elterliche Schelte arg ausfallen würde.
Doch diesmal würde ihr Jüngster nicht zurückkehren.
Als der Körper an den Strand gespült wurde schien der Junge zu lächeln – nur er wusste, was er unmittelbar vor seinem Verschwinden erspäht und gehört , erfühlt und gerochen hatte. Großes war es gewesen – Größer als all die elterlichen Geschenke und Erzeugnisse je zu sein vermochten.
Wohl wissend, dass es sein Leben fordern sollte hatte er alles aufgesogen, von kindlicher Neugier ganz und gar überwältigt.
Die Eltern freilich sahen es nie. Wie kein Erwachsener es je zu Gesicht bekommen könnte.

Jahre später waren die Ozeane ausgetrocknet – die faszinierende Stätte lag nun offen dar, freilich nur ohne Betrachter.


And now the English translation:


Infantile Curiosity
A child had drowned in the open sea. It had happend totally unremarked. The waving arms at the horizon had appeared almost unreal - until they were swalled by the livid wetness.

The parents nearly - so it appeared - still waited at the coast; yes, almostly it seemed as if they still joked about the children's mannerisms. Nobody had seen or heard it and so the child was not actually being missed until days passed. The parents had not been worried. Their child had distanced himself many a time from his parental home, just to return weeks later with dirty feet, full of fear and homesickness. Definitely aware of the hardness of parental chastisement.
But this time their youngest was not supposed to return.

As the body was washed ashore, the boy appeared smiling - only he knew what he saw and heard, felt and smelled immidiately before his disappearing. Greatness - greater than all the parental gifts and creations ever could be.
Aware of losing his life, he had absorbed it all, totally overwhelmed of infantile curiosity.
Of course the parents never saw it. As no adult was ever supposed to see it.


Years later the oceans were desiccated - the place now laid open. Just - as a matter of a fact - being without an admirer.
Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: A Elena on March 19, 2013, 19:44:55
Wonderful idea, Nicolas, to open this thread! Now, I only have to translate my texts... which will not be easy at all for me, too. :)

Your parable is impressing, very good, just the kind of short prose I love to read! I hope you will not forget this place and you'll come from time to time to post something.

Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: Fannie on March 20, 2013, 00:06:59
Great topic and story Nicolas!! I loke to write prose more than poetry, don't know why! xD  I will post some of my stories as soon as I find time to translate them   ;D
Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: LadyMalina on March 30, 2013, 23:12:22
Very nice topic my love <3 (how could I miss posting here?)
And of course, wonderful and quite impressive tale :)

As soon as I create short stories, I will post them ;) keep creating!
Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: WalkAbout on April 02, 2013, 06:43:39
Wanted to write here a long time ago, but wasn't in a correct mood or too busy. The idea is wonderful, Nicholas!!! It's really cool to have such a place around here ;) And I also loved your parable, it gave me creeps, I love such short and precise tales! I hope to post here one day as well, and, sure, waiting for your new creation! ;)
Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: A Elena on April 12, 2013, 22:30:12
Well, here it is one of my older texts, a tribute to a Romanian symbolist poet:



Motto:
“But here,
It is midnight…
It’s time when once, the long gone lovers
Drank in sweet poison, just relieving…”
( Ion Minulescu – “In a Sentimental Bazaar” )

Whispering, she is counting the stairs. Two more floors. A floor and 14 stairs. Now, only 6. With the edge of the dress in the left hand, she’s delicately touching the black and cold stairs. Just before the last step, the very thin and high heel is sticking in the lace, long dress, tearing it and just one moment after, it’s free again. She doesn’t stop at all. In a hurry, she unlocks the door and enters.
Leaning on the door, she’s deeply breathing. She’s sweaty…
She opens the door of the chamber without knocking. She wasn’t thinking that… Through the obscure glass of the large windows, with heavy curtains, it is almost impossible for the light to break. It is dark inside, the cold air smells like bitter, summer fruits. It is her perfume, in that very elegant, little bottle, with golden label.
On the distant wall, there’s a shadow she can barely see:
- I didn’t know you were here!
He’s trying to say something, but she’s right in his arms, violently kissing his lips.
- You must go. At 8.
He’s looking at her with big eyes, like a frightened animal, and he’s not able to hear her voice. She’s lying. She always lies to him!
- Come here!
No, he won’t stand up. He stays still on the carpet, looking at her.
On the bed, she’s playing with the pillows. She’s wearing a single ring, with a blue-violet big stone, now trapped in the white lace of the sheets.
-Look at this! Firstly the heel, now, the ring…
She pulls the finger with strength, and the stone, detached, falls down, sliding on the waxed floor. As if nothing happened, she removes the ivory hairpin. It is now on the little crystal table, next to the bouquet of dried flowers, the bouquet she brought last summer, when…
Silence. There’s no other sound in the room, except the sea. They are very close to the sea, from the mansard, on the other side of the house, the sea is visible. And sometimes, late in the night, here come some wandering sailors, singing. The same song, just like it would always be the same person...
But there’s nobody there tonight. The street is completely silent. And she doesn’t want to think of anything else, she only wants to be with him, she missed him so much…
They are smoking together in front of the window. She caresses the cigarette holder with the pursed lips, and then, the smoke is out, like a column of translucent water, towards the ceiling. She’s looking at him, She adoooores to look at him, staying in the light! The contours are decomposing, the colours are interfering, till she feels she can’t bear anymore, her eyes are burning, and so it is her soul.
He is standing now, with his hands and his face close to the cold glass, feeling good to sense something different, something that is not her. Vis-à-vis there’s somebody waiting, visibly annoyed by the wind. The man is looking at her windows.
-What time is it?
Oh, God, he understood! But he is the one whom she loves, even though she has always left. She has always come back to him, the one who doesn’t love her at all, the one who has never tried to stop her! He is the one to whom she has told the most beautiful stories, the most beautiful poems, even though she has always lied to him.
-It doesn’t matter what time it is! You will not leave! Stay with me!
She gives him a silver chalice, bigger and older, he thought, than the one she’s holding.
Champagne! He loves champagne! He drinks all the scented liquor, feeling a strange fever growing inside. This is something new! And he didn’t notice her hands lighting the tall candles, and he don’t know when…
He is trying to stand up in vain. He simply can’t! … And the roses? When did she bring the roses? So red and warm…
He managed to stand. It is very hot, he’d like to open the window, but, where’s she? Ah, she’s asleep! She’s sleeping next to him. Oh, he can’t remember her voice and he can’t …anymore… He’s slipping…


I hope it is not too long  :)... and I'm sorry I cannot translate it better in English. Also, I'm sorry you cannot read it in my language, as it was meant to be read.

Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: A Elena on May 14, 2013, 00:00:31
I couldn't sleep tonight, so I translated ( in my "clumsy" manner :) ) another one of my texts.
( I'm sorry it is too long, maybe you'll find some time to read it :) ).

     To my beloved

     Even now, I’m looking at her with the same amazed eyes, just like then, many years ago, when I saw her for the first time. And I still can’t understand what made me come back. Why did she look at me that way? When I left the table, she stared at me for a while, a little bit afraid, and she whispered something. I didn’t hear her, but I understood – seeing how she crushed the cigarette in the ashtray – that something was really bothering her, I’ve never know what.
     Once returned, she was preparing to go. Extremely amazed to find her again, I mumbled a kind of excuse and I saw her lips trembling, I saw her eyes getting smaller, and today I know that this is her reaction to a huge surprise. So, we walked a lot and we simply spoke… for hours.
     I can’t believe she’s next to me. Right now, she’s very peaceful in front of me, looking at her hand, which doesn’t want to finish the started gesture. The sleeve fell towards the elbow, and so I can guess her warmth, her scent, I’d like to touch her wrist, but she started talking, and the air is concentrating again around her, I couldn’t reach her…
     And this water, which doesn’t want to dry under my feet! I’m looking at the window, on the other side, on the other shore I mean, there’s something that stops my thoughts. There’s something written there, very high, with big, red letters, and right there, under the shuddered candles, I can find a shadow, and not far beyond, here he is, in the light. Wearing black attires and a strange, big cloak, of a different kind of black.
     She spilled the glass. She was talking, as always, with big, elegant movements, vibrating like a bird – the vibration, this is why I’m afraid of birds, and I’m afraid of her too, of course, I’m still afraid… She tried to whisper the words, she couldn’t scream them, as I knew she wanted. The words aloud would have been wasted in the whole room, striking the walls and finally, hitting her back. Her. Not me. And then, she slightly closed her eyes, she touched me on my shoulder with one hand, and with the other … she touched the glass. I can’t tell what happened. Maybe her hands were warm .. hot …, and the golden liquid in the glass… I don’t know. The glass is broken. I’m watching her slowing down her movements, stopping at the middle of the word, as in the first day, when she lost a button from the dress. I can see her face, losing the colour, and I’m scared. The fear is getting bigger inside me … and the water is getting higher under my feet, she’s crouched with her knees up against her chest in the big armchair, and she doesn’t want to talk anymore! Come on, I’m asking her, come on, talk to me! I want to know what is with those papers, but more than everything, I want to hear her voice, I desperately need to hear her talking. She doesn’t understand, she can’t feel me, I think she doesn’t even hear me! Here it is again, that impossible thing is happening again… and I don’t want it to happen!
    A moment later, she’s cleaning her wet face and she’s smiling. She’s like somebody back from a very distant place … but she’s hardly trying to make me think that everything is all right, it’s over. She tells me she’s going to leave, she has something to work, anyway, it’s beyond my understanding – she says - , and so, she prefers to leave.
     The water is touching my ankles. It is very cold, I can feel the coldness under my skin, going up, entering my blood, but I’m not saying a word! I’m not going to let her leave!
     - Look! Do you see? Can’t you see anything?
     Oh, I know them very well. I’ve touched, for many times, every sphere. They are perfect. I wasn’t able to find any irregularity, no matter how much I tried. The middle one, the biggest and the darkest, it smells like something… definitely unknown, like a fruit which I imagine to be dark orange, almost brown. I’ve asked her once about it, but she’s never answered. I thought she’s changed her perfume. I was wrong!
     - You don’t know them. They are not the same. You haven’t seen them. Come on, look closely.
     No, not like this! She must let me feel the scent. But she doesn’t want, I have to believe her. She never lies. Maybe only telling me stories…
     - The old ones, last night I threw them in the snow.
     No, she’s lying again. We were together all night long, she couldn’t throw the necklace, I left only in the morning, and she was sleeping!
     - I wasn’t sleeping. Few minutes after your leaving I went out to take a walk. The snow was strangely glittering, I wanted to see what was happening, there was no noise outside.
     I can’t believe her. I stayed under her window for a while… I liked to watch the light going through the steamed glass…
     - I brought them in the morning. Remember, I’ve shown them to you, some day, in the small shop next to my house…
     Yes, it was very long time ago… I can’t do anything but smiling…
     -  Calm down! It was just a game!
I’m with my hands on her neck. I want to know. I have the spheres under my fingers, but I can’t recognize the necklace. She’s delicately pushing me away, asking me to go back…because she can’t see me right now!
     I’m going back on my chair. She is lying. I couldn’t smell her perfume! I don’t want to look at her. I’m looking down, and the water is growing bigger and it is getting even colder. But I will tell her nothing. Now she’s laughing, talking, making her fingers beautifully flying in the air. I’m looking at her and I recognize every single movement, it’s good to know her like that, it’s good to know she’s here.
     Out there it is getting darker. But he is still there, he didn’t make not even one step! He is right in the light. Where does the light come from? I’d like to ask her, she should know. But why? Forget about this, it is better. She doesn’t have to think about this.
     Her hand is on the table. I try to touch her fingers, but I can’t. No, I don’t want to touch her! I want her to keep on talking. Touching her hand, it would make her shut up. And this is something I don’t want to happen. I don’t want her to look into my eyes.    
    She waits few seconds with her open hand, and now she’s taking the glass, my glass. She drinks a bit, with her eyes closed. I knew she wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t stop her. Oh, and, one more time, she’s squeezing the glass till her nails become white, her fingers are frozen and her eyes are looking for me. I will not let her do this anymore! I don’t know how to stop her, but I will open her hand and I’ll take my glass back. She’s smiling again. And this glass is broken, too.
     The water is touching my knees. Now, I’ll tell her. I’ll think one more time, just to be sure. But she’s interrupting me again, one more time,… talking. No, she’s reading. I’m listening to her… with my entire soul… but I can’t look at her. I’m like paralyzed listening to her. I’m completely turned towards her…, like under a spell. I knew it would be too much, much too much for me.
     - Let’s go! She stands up, putting the papers into her bag, she tells me she has to go, and … she leaves!
     I’m not even looking at her, I can’t tell her I don’t want to go, she can’t go… I know I should go after her, it’s probably very late, I should take her home. But the water… I can see her over the bridge, and then stopping, looking behind. I don’t move, in this water…She’s next to him, in the light. Her dress is brightly shinning, silvering her hands and her face…
     Later on I’m out, close to the river. Yes, now I can read, with red, big letters, I can see: “Baignade interdite”.


Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: A Elena on May 20, 2013, 16:35:48
Another one, shorter this time :) .

     The First Snow   

     I’m tired. I’m extremely tired. And I don’t want to be on the streets when the night is falling, I don’t want this anymore. Not because I’d be afraid, but because I can’t stop thinking of him. The night is falling again and it started to snow just few minutes ago. I’m walking on the soft blanket, the very thin, almost translucent blanket, and the snow is falling over and over, covering my steps. Not too far in front of me, always maintaining a constant distance between us, ( this is absolutely natural, we read the same books, watch the same movies, listen to the same music, so we are always symmetrically situated in space ) well, not far from me, I can see his silhouette, almost dissipated in the frozen air, in the frozen water. I’m very sick, I can barely breathe, every thought is frozen inside me. I’ll sit here, on this stone, and I’ll smoke a cigarette. No, no… because he won’t stop. I can’t call him…Hm, I think the street has just lost its colours… I won’t go anywhere.
     It is snowing. And he doesn’t like the snow at all. It must be very cold for him, he is wearing very thin clothes, he doesn’t even care what he is wearing. One day, I hardly convinced him to put his coat on ( this is something strange, I mean feeling the precise moment when the tears are forming,  bit by bit, feeling second after second how something is turning into water, up there, in the eyes… ). He was trembling and trembling and he kept saying he wasn’t cold, and I was saying… fuck it, he wasn’t listening to me at all, but he buttoned up his coat only when I undressed my own… I don’t know why, he didn’t care, he could leave and leave me behind, leave me alone once for all, just leave…
     Somehow, today he’s wearing a thicker coat, that green one I like so much! Why is it snowing? I don’t want to snow! He is in the corridor of light created by a street lantern and I perfectly imagine him looking with his big eyes at the falling snowflakes. He likes them, but he hates when it snows, he doesn’t like the winter, he doesn’t like to wear thick clothes… By the way, I’ve never seen him with a T-shirt, not even with a shirt. Only once, he was wearing a checkered shirt, very light blue and green. The vertical blue stripes were delicately crossed by the green ones, just like there wasn’t any horizontal one for real, neither them, neither the white between, nor the air around, nothing else but the verticality of the blue, very blue stripes. I’ve only met him in winter, maybe even in autumn, very late, but I know for sure I haven’t seen him during the summer. I’d have loved to see his wrists with his bracelets, all those bracelets I can only hear ringing under the sleeves, much higher above his white, thin fingers, fingers without any ring…
     Somebody is holding me, I can feel something rough and wet on my face, I can smell his perfume, but I can’t see anything. My eyes are open, but it is still dark, and… my hand hurts. He is pressing my hand with power, there somewhere I have an ugly bruise, but he doesn’t seem to know about it. I want to tell him that it hurts, but I’d rather keep quiet. I try to raise my head, I’d like to see him, I miss him sooooooooooooo much!
     Now, we are both sitting on the asphalt, it is snow everywhere, it is snowing and it is very hot. He thinks the same, I suppose, because his coat is over my shoulders, I can’t believe this, his little green coat is now on my shoulders, he is holding one of my hands and he is talking to me. I don’t understand him, talking…., he is holding my hands and his hands are cold. It is very cold.
     I want to go home. I want him out of here, I want him to leave, I can’t stand seeing him like this! He is continuously talking, I can understand him now, he is asking me to keep my eyes open, and it is raining. Yes, he is talking to me, it is raining, the snow is over, I think I’ll stand up.


Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: Kitty on May 21, 2013, 21:26:50
You write beautifully Elena!!! Wonderful texts!! Thank you for sharing them :)


Now I had the big desire to write something down and then I realise; I've read too many romantic stories...

Day in day out together, you were brought there by an unknown source. Seduction is searching you and you didn't notice. Blinded you slip into it, a smile and words were all that were needed... you don't think... you don't act... you just stand there when in the blink of an eye you realise what you're doing. You suddenly feel this powerful energy between two souls so alike yet so different. Wrong, this is so wrong, you think and turn around. But one cannot hide for a natural drive, attraction from the heart that does not lay in human hands. Each time your eyes cross, each smile that's exchanged you feel to the deepest core. You get electrical charged with each minute that passes with his eyes rested on yours anchored in your being. When you notice him secretly staring at you, and you catch a glimpse of his glance when you look back and forth ... back and forth... till the final climax follows and you both smile an intense vibration from heart to heart. The impossibility of the possibility in the surrounding of this mass of humans who are all feeling the tensed air between the two of you. The frowns on their face; they're not getting it. The tension because of the caution needed to keep this your secret, it's everywhere present in the tender coincidal touch of his hand on your hand. How you both look up straight in these deep yearning eyes full of burning passion. Dreaming of a silent place where nobody but you exists. You blush because of another hidden touch, and as you leave he follows you with his eyes. Day in day out together, nearly unbearable to stand this tension. And then his eyes right in front of you, his breath getting less deep and faster, his lips an inch of yours, passion whirling in each and every cell of your body and his body, you want this so bad for such a long time now. This moment lasts eternal as he brings his lips closer and closer till you feel the tingling of the energy on your lips, and as you surrender to your yearning this moment is sealed with an ardent kiss full of power.
Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: Fannie on July 26, 2013, 02:16:58
I found this short tale in the mess of my room and I decided to translate it and share it with you ;D I wrote it for a school work almost a year ago  :o

The child took the keys and opened the door, he have never seen it before but that day he realized its existence and casually the keys were there calling him to take them.
The child entered, at the beginning he couldn't see anything but a immense darkness, seconds later, as he was walking into that strange place he could see some shapes, then everything started to light up by little candles but the place were still too dark, at the same time he could listen some kind of melody it was the same that he had in mind for a long time. Although all things in the room were very strange, he wasn't afraid because in some way the place was known for him.
In a moment he felt a cold wind, all the candles were extinguished but immediately a very bright light appeared from nowhere and the child closed his eyes for a while. When he opened his eyes again, so many doors and ways appeared in front of him, then he started to think about which one could be the correct to get out of there, even he doubted it were possible but he decided to try, so he opened the first door and walked into an apparently empty room, then he could see that someone was there, seemed to be a girl with long black hair that almost covered her entire body. The child felt a big curiosity, he wanted to know who was her, he wanted to see her face and he tried to talk to her but she she seemed not to hear, the child walked through the room trying to get closer her, but she seemed to be further away. Suddenly the girl turned her face, but the child couldn't see her because the morning light came and it took him back to his reality.
Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: Inessa Vinter on August 01, 2013, 15:58:42
Amazing stories. Thank you for sharing. I had to make efforts and take the time to read them. I don't regret it. I really enjoyed it. Time spent usefully and great pleasure.
Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: A Elena on March 30, 2014, 21:31:33
        Killer    


   A rough and cold wall is just behind me. I feel it with my elbows. It must be made of concrete, that grey and sterile concrete, I can tell this by the smell. After a rain, when I’m near this material, I can hardly breathe. Just like now. I have on my tongue exactly that metallic, harsh and wet smell. That smell, spreading as a conqueror thought in my brain, dimming all the other thoughts.
   I try to get up and I can’t. This is a terrible surprise. I have never been in such a position. With my entire body submitted to a power which is not me! I can’t make a single move! I’m totally under the control of that colourless wall, staying steadily behind me.
   It is warm and nice in here, and a delicate fragrance comes to replace the old, unpleasant one. Cell by cell, the soft odor is now compelling the air to tell me I’m in a friendly place, and I don’t have to struggle so hard to remember…
   Oh, my elbows finally managed to push the wall against, to push it so violently, than now it is high up above my head! A clean, white ceiling above my head, which I can lift off the pi-llow? This white-like-snow silky pillow?
   
   Ah, I’m suddenly on my feet, and the silence is embracing me, from every corner of the long and large room. Cold air all over my skin…I’m turning around and all I can see is the indefinite, empty space. I can’t keep my balance, not even …in my mind. Why so empty? Why so blank? Why trying to make and not just, simply making, a step?
   Hmmm…I’m smiling, this was a first step… Aaaaa, and the wave of heat…. I didn’t notice the river of thoughts , they weren’t there few minutes ago, as I didn’t notice the warm river I’m stepping right in, right now… The fire of the thoughts is descending along with the nerve impulses towards my feet, my bare feet, and I’m stuck again. My thoughts are stuck in the veils of the dress I’m wearing, the blast of memories coming towards me is arrested two steps in front of me. I close my eyes and I try to picture myself in this moment: I am beautiful as I stand completely still, like a shadow in this white gown, with all these fleeing thoughts around me, and this incredible burst of light frozen a second before touching me, stopped at the edge of the purple river.
I want to come back and so I do, in a blink of an eye here I am, again, bleeding my soul out…
   
   The concrete wall regained its place, right behind me, wounding my elbows. In my mouth, there’s the same, insane smell of rust. I can move, but I won’t. Down on the floor, I feel somehow good watching how my hands intertwine with the velvet, clotted river. Your blood is gently dissolving in my tears, as your breath did, in my breath.

Title: Antw:How about prose ?
Post by: godgott on March 31, 2014, 18:57:44
Great topic!
And amazing texts!
I would like to be a part but it's hard to translate...
But will try and one day...  ;)