Lendenwirbel
I write since the early morning. In a language. And translate. Into the other one. I do not have notion, where I am. Somewhere between skies and earth. Today the first careful flakes fell. This time was it me, as if the language would get ever sharp edges, becomes ever more painful, the further I to the west and the south raid. Already in Berlin me the German stung pointedly into the ears. And then in Basel to bear in the Trämli after Allschwil, the Basler dialect - allegedly of all Swiss dialects the so-called high German next - simply. As I longed myself for my empty room under the roof in Krakau. Yesterday we drank then to still late at the night sharp Ukrainian Honigwodka. Rinsed thereby the Barszcz down. All kept up courageously. In the kitchen of the Łaski house. When detoxicating the impressions of the journey. When dissolving the into one another wedged languages. When loosening the leg musculature. Last week said Martin to us with the Tai Chi, we should not on the movements of the body concentrate. On the fingers look, not on the hands, not on the lower arms. No. We should concentrate on flowing the energy. He was naturally around „chi”, on this mysterious something, which us by a few inconspicuous movements assign becomes. It even admitted that the Chinese would possess a special word for this energy, we it however would provisionally not use. Then demonstrated it in Polish, which way has to take the energy straight with the movement, at which we had concerned, by our body. And „kręgosłup” [spinal column], „barki” [shoulders], „ramiona” [arms], „ręce” [hands] said, „palce” [finger] and back (by the hand movement, which closes the circle) too „biodro “[hip], „brzuch “[belly], „centrum “[center]. My God! And I, as I now once am einfältig, concentrated me on these words. The head imprisoned of translating. „Kręgosłup”. I know finally, what is called and understand. Which that is: The spinal column. And nevertheless I begin to search. After possibly a place in my body. After something, which always sat at its firm place and suddenly withdraws themselves now. In air dissolves. In the word. In an uncomplicated Polish word. In the language. „Kręgosłup”. „Barki” „Ramiona”. I do not feel anything. No flowing. No energy. No warmth. I do not have anything. I am not anything. My whole body has to exist stopped. Verstohlen look myself I over. Perhaps the spinal column jumps in a subordinate clause by the ajar window outside. Or straight presses itself by the closed door through. Perhaps my shoulders in the Dachbalken hang. Perhaps drängeln my elbow in like always overfilled bus 192 already again to the airport. Perhaps klimpern my fingers in the Parterre on the wing a Chopin Walzer. Someone practices in the other room trumpet. And I do not understand, why me my spinal column was misplaced. By the night-cold park I returned to the mansion and decided not to think any longer longer about this thing. Yesterday I returned. Into my roof room. The day before yesterday early I flew from Basel to Berlin. From the airport beautiful field I drove directly to beautiful mountain. To the acacia road. To one single hour of Tai Chi with Monika. It introduced me to the first recess stage, the so-called yin yang form. And it was exactly the same as with Martin. Monika says to me somewhat. Me to this and that one refers. Adjusts possibly approximately. And suddenly. She says: „Think of the Lendenwirbel”. My God! What is that? „Lendenwirbel”? Kręg lędźwiowy! The lower part of the spinal column. Perhaps. I know nevertheless. And understand. There but nothing is. In my body emptiness yawns. From the inside. Into the German language inside. In the early I had said good-bye into Swiss German to my sister. The man of my cousin, the daughter of the deceased of uncle W., gave after the funeral on the way to Poland back a bottle Zwetschgenschnaps to me. Selfburned from own Zwetschgen. It stuck a hand written label on the bottle. „Bürner Zwetschgen 2001, 43% alc.” This gesture affected me more than the whole transparent beverage. I confessed Monika in the fifth stick at the acacia road that Swiss language, or better said: some the Swiss of dialects are harder, and therefore more hurt, than the German language. I did not say it however that the languages (everything) mean me straight bodies rob. Gradually. A particle after the other one. That the languages me in the way stand. At present. And how. Me prevent from it, me also only to erhasten. That the languages strammstehen. Like the national guard. Between thoughts and skin. Between me and non-me. The fact that now no speech can be of the fact that „chi” flows. As long as words are located in the area like „Lendenwirbel”, „put up basin”, „long back”… - I do not know no more. Which that is. Still where I am. I write since the early morning. In a language. And translate. Into the other one. I do not have notion, where I am. Somewhere between skies and earth. In the afternoon I drive to my Polish hour. Perhaps it brings me neither on the legs.
