The brain is a funny thing. And funny things happen when your brain goes on vacation. I consider myself bilingual (Romanian and English) and I’ve been living in Germany for more than 15 years now, but never would I have thought that the German language would end up infiltrating… my dreams!
My dreams, yes. For the first time ever, I had a dream in German while I was at home in Romania, which makes it even stranger. And that’s not all. Not only did I dream in German, but I dreamt a whole poem in Goethe’s language! It ruined my sleep, of course, because I was so in awe, I had to make sure I could remember it well enough to jot it down in the morning. I managed to, but – alas! – only the second stanza. The first stanza (up to “Die Schienen…”) is a later addition (which, needless to say, has cost me a lot more effort and a couple of visits to the online dictionary), but the rest is entirely the creation of my subconscious.
So, here it is, I hope you like it:
Auf den Schmalspurzug wartend
Es wird Nacht in den Tälern
und ich muss wieder los.
Ein letzter Blick zum Himmel:
rosarot, erstarrt –
dann der Abstieg,
und ich, alleine in der Unermesslichkeit,
auf den Schmalspurzug wartend.
Die Schienen sind alt, alt und holprig
wie die alten Steinwege der Bauern.
Hinter dem Abendnebel, der Berg,
rutscht in Abwesenheit.
Es ist spät.
Gott lässt sich nieder
auf der bettelnde Handfläche der Pinien.