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Give me 3 Words E-Book

Dan K. Sigurd

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Herausgeber: Periplaneta
Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
Serie: WORK OF MOUTH / Independent German Street Lit
Sprache: Englisch

Beschreibung

Dan K. Sigurd is the most famous Mauerpark poet. Sure, by now there are quite a few of them, but no one else has made it into pictures of the East Side Gallery, without ever actually sitting in front of the Berlin wall. His verses are now hanging above sofas and beds all over the world and have even been tattooed on legs and other body parts. For years now, Dan has been sitting in the Mauerpark in Berlin where patrons and passers-by give him three words which he uses to compose spontaneous poems. This book is a collection of his best lines. Furthermore it tells tales from the everyday life of an artist in Berlin and is therefore an authentic time capsule and an ode to free art.

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Seitenzahl: 159

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

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Leseprobe

WORK OF MOUTH

periplaneta

DAN K. SIGURD: “Give me 3 Words – Mauerpark Poetry“

1st English Edition, March 2024, Periplaneta Berlin, Work of Mouth

The original German version “Gib mir 3 Worte“ was published in March 2022 by Periplaneta Berlin

WORK OF MOUTH is a division of Periplaneta – Verlag und MedienMarion Alexa Müller (Proprietor), Bornholmer Str. 81a, 10439 Berlin, Germany, periplaneta.com

All rights reserved. Reproduction, translation, presentation and transmission, setting to music, filming, duplication, digitization, commercial exploitation of the content, of any kind, even in extracts, only with the written permission of the publisher. The plot and all the characters involved are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people or events would be purely coincidental.

All poems, stories and drawings by Dan K. Sigurd Proofreading by Sophie Grossalber

Original cover-photo by Merlot Levert

print ISBN: 978-3-95996-274-2

epub ISBN: 978-3-95996-275-9

DAN K. Sigurd

GIVE ME 3 WORDS

Mauerpark Poetry

WORK OF MOUTH

periplaneta

rapid, meet, feel

with rapid speed

you peel

away my layers when we meet

make me feel

real

ready to steal

the fire from the gods

ready to heal

you expose me

yet you make me hard as steel

make me see who I really

am inside

death, life, vase

we spend our life

like a vase

always strive

to be filled

until it

gets us killed

but maybe death will

be the start of something new

maybe we will

find ourselves

in a new vessel to fill

falling, wonder, boat

your heart

is a castle

thick walls keep you apart

from the rest of the world

but trust in fate

and one day your soulmate

will cross the moat

that surrounds you

in a boat

then, when

all your barriers

are falling

you’ll get a chance

to experience

the wonder of love

space, expression, fire

the flames of the fire

that burns inside me

rise higher and higher

all the way into space

and if I cannot find new ways

new modes of expression

it might just consume me

make me plunge into a depression

so I write

I paint and sing

hoping it might

change something

duality, being, masochism

try to see

the

duality

of being

all of this hardship

is not in vain

for there can‘t be pleasure

without pain

and there can be pleasure

within pain

and with some sweet masochism

you will surely bridge that schism

Dan looked up from the poem and stared right into a crowd of men and women that had assembled on sofas and chairs around him. He looked back at the lines he had just read and realized that they were not his own.

‘Reading Bukowski again, hm?!’ he thought and looked over at his friend Giovanni, who was playing the guitar beside him. Dan vaguely recalled that he had been the one who had put him up to all of this. Then he noticed the bottle of beer in his hand and told himself, ‘I better get into character!’

He took a big sip and mumbled into the microphone, “This isn’t a necessity, it’s a prop!”

“Keep reading, baby, you’re a star!” a blonde woman in the first row yelled and, though Dan wasn’t sure whether she truly meant it, he did as he was told:

“I fart more than I fuck.

And I fart better than I fuck.

And I am pleased

to be mistaken for a foghorn

in the middle of the night.”1

He kept on reading poem after poem and the crowd cheered him on as he drank one beer after another. When a couple of men stumbled in from the nearby dancefloor, loud electronic music flooded the room and drowned out Giovanni’s gentle guitar tunes for a few seconds, until the heavy, metal door shut behind them again. Dan read another poem, but the men started to order beers and kept screaming at each other while he read about suicide and heartbreak. He finished, emptied his bottle, burped into the microphone, and yelled, “Are they doing a commercial thing over there? Selling beers while I’m up here baring my artistic soul? How demeaning!”

When the men kept yelling at each other at the top of their lungs, Dan leaped out of his chair, picked up the baseball bat that was lying on the floor beside him, waved it at them and said, “One more beer … I’ll take on all of you!”

They finally seemed to notice him and yelled something back before returning to the dance floor. When the metal door shut behind them, Dan calmed down again and read one more poem:

“there‘s a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I pour whiskey on him and inhalecigarette smokeand the whores and the bartendersand the grocery clerksnever know that he’s in there.”2

Dan tossed the stack of papers he had been reading to the ground and bowed before the room which was slowly beginning to empty. Only the blonde girl who had cheered him on earlier was still staring at him, transfixed and speechless. Dan patted Giovanni on the back and thanked him for his music as he watched the girl hesitantly approach him.

“I … I really loved it,” she finally said when she ended up beside him and then pointed at the typewriter on the desk in front of him.

“I saw your sign … So, I give you 3 words and you’ll make a poem out of them?”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Dan replied and bowed over his writing machine.

“Do you have 3 words for me?”

“Yes … I think so … Peace, love … and music! Does that work?”

“That’s perfect!” Dan replied and got to work:

peace, love, music

I get a kick

out of music

it has the power to tear down walls

brick by brick

to bring about

peace, love and understanding

without being

too demanding

for when we dance

all together

we get the chance

to be as one

When he looked up from his typewriter again, the girl had disappeared. Dan followed Giovanni backstage to collect their pay for the gig. They stumbled into the offices behind the dancefloor, where a young man with glasses was sitting beside a plastic box full of money, staring at the screen in his hand. When he noticed them, he jumped up and Dan waved a crumpled piece of paper in front of his eyes with the words, “So, you wanted me to write this bill … for our gig … so you can file it … for taxes or … something.”

“Yes!” the man answered and grabbed the paper out of his hands. After inspecting it, he said, “This seems like it’s … alright”, and took a few notes out of the plastic treasure chest on the table. After splitting the money, Giovanni stammered with tired eyes, “I think I should head home … or maybe get something to eat …”

“Yeah, we’re closing the club now anyways!” the man said as he locked his office.

Dan gave Giovanni a hasty embrace and then set out to find the girl that had just given him 3 words. When he scanned the dance floor, he could not see her among the few tired people who were still moving to the heavy beats. Dan headed back to his stage and began to collect his equipment. When he had just managed to stuff his typewriter into his backpack, the light went on and a muscular woman entered the room.

“We’re closing, let’s get out of here!” she said. Dan followed her to the exit, where they boarded a spacious elevator with a couch inside that took them up to the street.

When Dan staggered out onto the sidewalk, he was blinded by the rising sun. After looking around in confusion for a few moments, he noticed the familiar grey pillar of the TV tower rise into the sky to his right. He decided to head towards it to go to the nearby park, where vendors and musicians assembled every weekend in order to peddle their arts and crafts.

When Dan reached it, he realized that it was still way too early for all that. He went into the empty park anyways and sank down beneath a tree, where he got out his typewriter again and the sign that read:

“Give me 3 words

and 3 € (or whatever you can afford)

and I’ll give you a poem”

With jittery hands, he went through his pockets until he found a slim spliff in one of them, which he lit as he watched the crows around him going through the garbage that lay scattered on the green grass. Then Dan turned to his typewriter and wrote:

so was this one

worth it

was it fun

for you and for all

those people out there in the crowd

what was it all about

in the end?

I did get paid

more than ever before

but I did not get laid

so it all seems a bore

as if I tore

out

my heart

for nothing

up there on the stage

He ripped the paper out of the machine, crumbled it up and threw it to the birds. A couple of women passed him, and their tiny dog scared the crows away with its high-pitched barking. When it sat down in the grass one of the women kneeled down beside it and gathered up its feces with a plastic bag. Suddenly Dan picked up a sweet stench that lay in the air around him as well, and when he turned around, he noticed some dried-up dog feces beside the tree he was leaning against. He checked if he had gotten any of it on his jacket, then kicked the turd into a large plastic cup. He picked it up from the dirty ground and carried it over to the nearby trashcans.

When he returned to his spot, he felt like he could still smell shit though. But he was too tired to pick up his heavy writing machine and carry it to a new spot. Instead, he lit his joint again and tried to cover up the odor with its fumes.

The park slowly began to fill with joggers and people who were heading to the flea market grounds to set up their stands. A few bums came creeping out of the bushes that had been their bed for the night. At the other end of the meadow, a girl with a guitar sat down in the light of the morning sun. Many of the people that passed him seemed like they had just stumbled out of some club as well. Some of them still pumped up and full of energy, while others were intoxicated and tired, stumbling through the park towards the nearest tram station. Suddenly, a man with paint-splattered clothing walked towards him. When he noticed Dan’s sign he stopped and said, “Cool idea! So, what are you doing exactly?”

Before Dan had time to respond he continued, “Can you write a poem about the word ‘peanut’?”

“OK … what are your other two words?” Dan replied but the man shook his head and said, “Just peanut! It’s my artist’s name you know … peanut … the nut! And Erdnuss! That’s it! I mean for 3 Euros … I wouldn’t start writing until someone offered me 40 bucks! I mean, I’m not a writer but I sell my paintings for 10.000 Euros! I mean …”

He pointed towards the street and said, “I’ll just go home and have breakfast! You take your time … I’ll be back in an hour!” He disappeared without another word and Dan got to work:

peanut, Erdnuss

call me peanut

but

don‘t worry if you‘re allergic

I won‘t make you sick

I‘ll stick

to what I do best

you‘ll like it, you‘ll see

some oil paintings

some graffiti

to make this city

less gritty

I‘ll draw you something pretty

something witty

and meaningful

check it out

don‘t be a wuss

enter the world

of the

ERDNUSS

When Dan looked up from his typewriter again, he saw two girls walk past him, carrying a large bag that seemed to contain some sort of instrument.

“Cute!” one of them yelled when she read his sign. But when they came to a rest beneath the tree beside him and Dan yelled over, “You want one?”, she shook her head. The girls were approached by another woman who asked them, “I was just curious … have you picked a spot yet?”

“Yeah, I guess we’ll perform right here!” one of them answered.

“Do you think we could share this space … like, you do 20 minutes, and then I do 20 minutes with my band …?”

“Yeah, sure!”

“Great!” the woman replied, and they began to set up their equipment. Dan asked her if they could keep an eye on his belongings for a few moments and when she nodded, he hasted down to the street to get himself something to eat. But when he left the park, he realized that most of the stores and vendors were still closed. Only an expensive-looking supermarket beside a nearby square was open. It tried to lure in customers with the promise of food that was organic and bio.

Dan asked if they had bread from the day before at half price. The clerk behind the counter shook his head and so he bought an overpriced pretzel instead.

When he returned to his typewriter the man who had demanded a few lines on the topic of the ‘peanut’ was standing beside it, waiting for his poem.

Dan handed it to him.

The man read it and chuckled. But then he handed it back to Dan and explained, “That’s nice, but I did not want a rap song, you know! It’s more about the word … peanut … its lyrical qualities …”

He bowed down to Dan and got out a small digital camera.

“Here, maybe it helps if I show you some of these …”

He turned on the camera and a few images of graffiti covered walls appeared on the tiny screen.

“Can you read any of these?” the man asked, but Dan shook his head. Not sure what was expected of him, he inquired, “Do you write tags as well? Or just big colorful pieces like this?”

“No! Well … yeah, of course, I also write tags, but I mainly do these big ones, yeah! So, try again, I’ll be back in another half hour or so!”

The man disappeared again, and Dan got back to work:

peanut, Erdnuss

what I do might be

against the law

but what if no one ever saw

art

locked away in some museum

a cellar

or a darkened hut

no more

thanks to

peanut

Erdnuss lets you see

art out in the open

turns the streets

into a gallery

When Dan looked up again more musicians were approaching with instruments and speakers. One of them stopped beside him to read his sign and Dan asked him for 3 words.

“River …”, the young musician answered and then turned around to his bandmates and yelled, “Give me a word … we need words for a poem!”

Dan heard “Fox” and “Snowflake” and got to work:

river, fox, snowflake

in the winter, take

a walk down

to a frozen lake

or river

every snowflake

will make you shiver

- with joy

as you throw rocks

onto the ice

or watch a fox

hunt in the snow

then you

will know

what it means to be alive

Another person approached him with the words, “Information, energy and matter!”

“Give me a few moments!” Dan asked.

The man nodded and said, “I have to head over to an ATM anyways, I’ll be right back!”

information, energy, matter

digital information

travels fast across this nation

and all around the globe

it‘s pure energy

that you cannot see

buzzing through the air

to deliver a message to the screen

of your phone

greetings from home

but still sometimes you feel alone

for what‘s missing is something to grasp

the scent of a letter

actual matter

between your fingertips

that would be better

Just as he typed the final word the man returned and when he began to read the poem he yelled out, “Digital! I didn’t even say that one!”

“Well yeah … there are plenty of words in there you did not say …”, Dan said.

The man handed him a leaflet and pointed at its headline. In big letters it said,

“Radionik – Digital Alchemy”

“That’s what I do …”, the man explained. Fascinated, they both studied the papers in their hands.

“Creative Instrumental Biocommunication,”Dan read,

“Balancing, Regulating, Harmonizing, Affirming.

Active Broadcasting of Biological Information.

The RADIONIK SOFTWARE BROADCASTER is a research program designed to transmit biological messages to the subject via radionics.

It is a pure software solution that turns the registers of the personal computer into the corresponding hardware.

A program works out a radionic analysis and balancing according to cosmological (not-astrological) laws.”

He eyed the strange flyer in amazement and confusion and the man said, “I really like your poem! Do you have a card with your info on it by any chance? Maybe if I need someone to write something for my website, I can contact you …”

Dan reluctantly handed him a paper with his e-mail address on it while the man went on to talk about transmitting nourishment electronically and other abstract concepts Dan did not understand. He left eventually and a young couple asked for a poem for their daughter:

cricket, star, nature

every night

I hear the concert of the cricket

it sounds beautiful

and wicked

and sometimes

I come up with some lines

and sing along

maybe one day

they‘ll make me a star

when we perform on giants stages

and I play my guitar

to their sweet songs

of nature

The musicians finally finished setting up their equipment and, after a quick sound check, they began to play.

A small crowd began to gather around them and more and more people who had stopped for the music discovered Dan’s sign. And, suddenly, Dan found himself in a frenzy, writing one poem after the other: