50 Easy Pieces

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5 0 e a s y pieces

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adrift

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kho p 5 0 e a s y p i e c e s

afd h

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isbn 978 90 72603 66 1 Š khop, Foudgum & afdh Publishers, Enschede/ Doetinchem

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored or made public in any form, electronically, mechanically, by photocopying, recording of any other way, without written permission from afdh Publishers.

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contents

9 Introduction Paul O’Brien 10 Adrift 12 After You’ve Gone 14 Algebra 16 Apple Tree 18 Autumn Leaves 20 Beasts 22 Beauty 24 Bleak Christmas 26 Cellar Door 28 Cutting Edge 30 Easy Rider 32 Endless Summer 34 Family Visit 36 For Finn 38 Hindsight 40 Home 42 I Like Horses 44 In Africa 46 In The Garden 48 Joie De Vivre 50 Just Things 52 Lady Jane 54 Life In A River 56 Lush Life 58 Medici 60 Midlife Song 62 Mist 64 Moon 66 Mozart 68 My Father 70 No Name Man 72 Rain 74 Scarlatti 76 Shared Space 78 Sleepy Time 80 Star Eyes 82 Stone Cottage 84 Sweet Revenge 86 Tender Is The Night 88 The Old Man 90 The Other Story 92 The Poet 94 The Road 96 This Narrow Path 98 Tired Wisdom 100 Überprose 102 Unfinished 104 What Way Now 106 White Blues 108 You 110 Colofon

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9

adrift

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9

i n t rodu ction There are those for whom sounds have color and taste, for whom colors have texture, and textures fragrance — synesthetes they are called. It is said they make good wine tasters. And why, in turn, should the pen not be a brush, a tuned string? Writer, bore me not with words that are mere cardboard stand-ins! Paint me a picture, play me a tune! With this, I give you for your pleasure the synesthetic pen of khop. Paul O’Brien, Kentucky, usa

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11

adrift

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A shining and spotless white was the dominant color. Nowhere any dust of unsolved problems, nowhere leaking tears. Life without history. You kept the house meticulously clean, as if it were a boat. An isle of eternal sunlight it was. Until that day. As a broken rudder you sat there.

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The room is empty now. What remains: cinders still glowing red, the gleam of burnished wood, darkening corners. The few words we spoke are now lost somewhere in my memory, lost in this great silence. When you left, hours ago, the old floor creaked, once. Dawn comes in, on tiptoe.

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12

af ter you ’ve gone

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15

algebra

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He used to pace to and fro in front of the blackboard, while unveiling the beauty of algebra. He wore a suit, was affable, and didn’t smoke, unusual qualities in those days. One day he stood staring out the window for quite some time. We waited, with awe and misgivings.

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The apple tree blossomed white. Behind her squeaked the kitchen door. Too late now. Her hands began to tremble. She didn’t turn, she kept her eyes fixed on the blossoming apple tree outside. To be a small bird in spring, she thought, darting around, whistling, not caring. Too late now.

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app le tree

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autumn leaves

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Autumn today. Doors are closed, lamps are lit. A string quartet on the radio. Sipping fine Scotch. Let’s talk about the winter days to come. Experts say winter will be tough this year. How I’m looking forward to all those snug winter clothes! Forecast for tomorrow: sunny spells. Damn. Damn.

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Let me tell you something, he said. When you come out of the cold you want flames in the fireplace. One flame feeds another, one want spawns another. You don’t see the beasts lurking behind the flames. You will find out. After the beasts have devoured you, he said.

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