The ice saints have arrived, St. Mamertus (May 11), St. Pancras (May 12), St. Servatius (May 13), St. Boniface of Tarsus (May 14) and St. Sophia of Rome (May 15). I heard them coming yesterday evening. Temperatures had rissen the whole week to a magnificent 29 degrees during yesterdays late afternoon. When the sun set the wind started to howl. There they came. Raindrops, first cautiously but then ferociously falling down. Temperatures dropped in the same speed. Tonight it might freeze again. I feel for the farmers.
Somebody else arrived today as well, 70 years ago. Joseph Beuys had a day off from his duties at the army. He was located in Erfurt and decided to visit Weimar on this day, his 21st anniversary. He payed a visit to the Nietzsche Archive, the Goethe House and the Belvedere Castle where he made an aquarel and wrote the poem “Nordischer Frühling”. It is said that the year 1942 has been a turningpoint in Beuys’ life. The so-called “Belvedere-Blatt” (Belvedere Page) can in that sense be seen as a first draft of a “Theorie des künstlerischen Schaffens” (a theory of how to create artistic work/be an artist). Only a few months after his stay in Thüringen, Beuys wrote to his parents that he had decided to become a sculptor when the war would be over.
I’m thinking about my own turningpoint today. I considered going to the Belvedere and write something there but I have to return in my own footsteps, not Beuys’ footsteps. I tried doing that in the last two weeks and since this morning I know what I have to do. In a way the Ice Saints and Beuys helped me making my decision. They didn’t force it on me but apparently May 12 is a day for changes and I must have been waiting for this day. A last cold spell before the summer starts. Something new is in the air.
Outside a train whistle confirms my thoughts. I don’t believe my ears at first but there really is an old steamtrain driving up and down just outside my window.
Nordischer Frühling
O Frühling
deine tausend Kräfte strömen in mich hinein
wenn ich durch den Wald gehe
wie Baum an Baum hier das frühe Licht empfangen
durch das Filigran der Kronen fällt der rote
Schimmer auf die grünen Blätter.
Drüben fliesst der Bach.
Silberhell klingt es
wenn die kleinen Wellen lieblich über die bunten
Kiesel plätschern. Schon über die hochheraus-
ragenden Steine zieht sich neunjähriges Moos.
Und gleich neben dem Rinnsal das kräftige
Drängen und Streben der Pflanzen. Alles
strebt gegen die herrlichen frühen Sonnenfenster
über mir. Dort kommt es rot und drüben
opalenes Blau. Und jetzt zittert es schimmernd
im Gras zwischen den Steinen.
Ostara wandelt über allen Schatten. Eine
ungeheuere Spannung wird wachgerufen zwischen
Fauna und Flora. Der Mensch fühlt, dass
die Pflanzen und Tiere seine Verwandten sind.
Diese unendliche Kraft, dies dionysische Erbe
und Überquellen schafft der Mensch durch seine
geistige Schau der Realitäten in der Natur zum
Idealbild und zum also geläuterten Kunstwerk (...)
