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Syrup’s Territory
Prose by Werner Reichhold
3-and-5-liner by Jane Reichhold

It is not painful to wait for the noise of someone undressing. The light dimmer pauses.  No other sweets known better than honey. Wasn’t time always running between “help yourself” and “get acquainted”? Hours with the cook, her way of balancing the spices for a soup, then tears amounting to a little lake

at the end of spring
the bookstore lowers the price
on calendars

Suppose an embryo marks itself in the territories of a woman’s brain cells. Particles are  the subject. The watery game distinguishes itself as a paradoxical convergence, resulting in something new

hard to go
into sleep when the dart
what shape
is pure enough to call
food for white dreams

It starts snowing in the name of winter. Other ice is mixed with chocolate. Meeting the cold there is that thrill, that attachment to laughter. Yes, it is hunger for the apple never been allowed to be tasted that stays with some oily smell on Cézanne’s canvas

painting the kite
the color of home 



If I Were Younger
by Jane Reichhold and Werner Reichhold

I would be in Seattle protesting the rise of a government of rich men who want to rule our global village

pepper grass
the end of autumn clouds
for what is right
in the voices paid to lie

I stop at a read light, besides me a car with two people, she nursing her baby, both talking, smoking, listening to the news and at the same time using their cellular phones

the mechanics
of uncontrolled
during the time one talks
one doesn’t talk

The bruise fades with additional soap. Ink as material of attack. Older now, the passions seem tempered with reason. The talks are called off as the planes fly home

see how she soars
and bestrides the dogmatic realm
as suffering
in infinitive space where rays diverge
I’ll move like cautious sunlight – open

The secret attempt of the mind seeking for an outlet, structuring the body of a syntax articulating
a concept not yet transferred

imagine much
in response
shivering through sleep
a dual memory hidden watching
last fall’s transparencies   



Wireless Rivals
by Werner Reichhold  and Jane Reichhold

The unfinished sentence   the sound    the broken detail
wish I were the silkworm’s thread in her skirt interwoven

Madonna in Adobe   simplicity as a radiant glow
without words the questions solve the interview

Mermaids polishing kelp   the shimmer in their palms
come calm night and twinkle   I beg you    interstellar

Rice powder    coal and red henna
cosmetics create the alternative interface

Wireless   an iPod’s battery dying   the death of squeaks  
for the psychiatrist’s memory   sofa and blood interlinked

Scared but happy now that they were alone
brother and sister find their ties in interference

On the rivals’ peacekeeping horizon new rivalries
the pain with fast-building cell colonies internally

Buried in paper work    the end of the millennium
the actors on stage the official interment.





Blackbird Shadowing The Barbaric
by Jane Reichhold and Werner Reichhold
April 3, 1993, 5 am – April 4, 1993, 6 pm
(The first word of each 3-liner is determined by the sixth stanza of Wallace Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at A Blackbird”) Symbiotic Poetry: Since 1993, the new term for a paradoxical convergence of two or more poets’ voices.

touching the swollen gum
where the tooth was pulled

on Sundays more emptied
Saveway’s frozen food aisle

heaven high with the chill
mackerel skies

foreign winds blow rounder
soap bubbles into her blouse

the curve of her breast
signaling desire he touches
her wine goblet

more red from such warmth
tulips wouldn’t close for sleep

long parted
sea fogs for a morning
crossing ships

the cause for rows of waves
the hollow clang of bell buoys

window program
shortly after midnight
a spotted owl lights up

chain saw in moth balls
the logger learns word crunching

with a face lift
his wife wonders why
he too has whiskers

happy to hear the bird song
return of a bearded tit

if one could but wouldn’t stop
dog before a tree

third day of the diet
wanting chocolate so badly

glass tubes
lamps are forced to shine
closer to a patient

deep in our dark bodies
the radiance of white bone

the health care problem
as the United Hospitals see it

a child dumps sea water
in a sand castle’s moat

shadow forms
as day passes steep cliffs’
faces of ancestors

before my mask an octopus
kelp green arms slow motion

of Shiva
the patina brings centuries
to a bronze sculpture

pressed brown leaves a marker
in the fading book a glow

the clock strikes
summer time begins

we go for saving time
touching grasses at dawn

the circle of his eye
widens to stars

too far    too early
flight within my dream

hairs in the sight
of a sniper’s gun

trembling and the sudden fall
a man along this pass

it zig-zags
live is never again the same
in the lightning’s flash

strawberry cream letters
oh – a birthday cake

to a surfer
leaving a wave’s tunnel
shark shaded

the great jaws green/white
sea energy travels wide

and between trees
maiden hair

prancing ponies catch the sun
whirl around the carousel

fro fogged
the ice restless
under the bridge

the sun comes bringing spring
wrapped in all that follows




Natural Joke And Variables
by Werner Reichhold and Jane Reichhold

(the first word of each stanza taken from a sentence from
“Grammar For A Sentence” by Gertrude Stein)
April 7, 1993, 8 pm – April 9.1993, 8 am

A year of straw
blurred air lifts July
by yellow words

sentence passed upon the fields
upon the road two are walking

is it printed
ancient wagon’s wheels press
lines into clay

natural nature forms
language of a honeycomb

he who harvests
does not require
sweet memory

did had finished doing
saved summer in apples

not the knot
in the hay rope seeds

come in the name of green
grass feeding from twisted roots

this rain
the cloudy skies have cleared
tourists from the beach

is there more mouth to drink
warm visions in a tent

a fever
the wound becomes
hot and dry

joke walks away and returns
a body of patience

a cat’s name
goes out on the night air
brings him home

sentence of fast reactions
a mouse in its teeth

is now ceased
the brightness of an eye
where did it go

natural carved in masks
and no more noise in ivory

he shot he said
an elephant in Africa
later it was a lie

did shade a lip
on a faded Polaroid

which was
deeper down the river
a beach for nymphs

is imported from Hollywood
plus portable palm trees

testing inner voices
I talk to ring doves

and the forest answers
green gold and russet

they swing
branches before the sky
lines of a paraphrase

will-o-the-wisps in the swamp
leading the way to quicksand

offer and swallowed
the lighthouse meridian
a flame

him she cried pointing left
the judge blinked blankly

liver transplant
we eat onions
they smell less

with I-beams and trusses
foreign workers repair the bridge

andon both hills
straps of rain
the cloud falling apart

without trying to go around
the spider straight way makes a circle

oil spreads on water
the calming influence
of a rainbow

a long-billed dowitcher
flights to sprinkled eggs

sentence ending fast
the renga nearly done
at lunch time

made red more red on salmon
overlapping our tongues

against the twig
the past and future folded
in a bud

… shading earth and me
the moon within nine month



by Virginia Woolf and Werner Reichhold     
(unchanged text taken from Virginia Woolf’s book The Waves,
Copyright 1931 by Harcourt Brace Jovanowich, Inc.)

on the neck of swans
leaving gold

coins in a farmer’s palm
during the depression

cold water
over the mackerel
in the bowl

white and yellow winding
the cat weaves its mantra

cherry colored fingernails
by the moonlit waters

she moves her eyelid
how much depends on water        

steam pipes
mother earth my whirlpool           
skin in touch

rock the brown basin
my ship may ride the waves

a lady pirate
fingertips go up in smoke
Virginia’s cigarette

white stones one picks
up by the seashore

pollen blown how long
away from mating time

I am relieved of hard
contacts and collisions

slash dress
car key case
deep purple

off they fly
fling of seeds

sure a boy
one more part
on the ultrasound

my roots go down
I am all fiber

beach sand swallows
prints of naked feed

all tremors shake me
pressed to my ribs

their hair

the apple tree stark
in the moonlight

two gardeners
one with spray
one with manure

given a greener glow
to green things

up the blade
a tulip

we come back from a walk
night gowns blown tight         

the bread rises                         
in a soft dome
under a towel

uncountable fingers
magician’s hand on rabbits

I who long
where the swallow dips her wings
for marble columns

lighted stardust
present and parted

rattle of wheels
on the pavement
horses plod home

hanging the shirt out
on a line to sweat

the sun sharpened
a white blind
by the bedroom window

slicing to figures’
single movement

a shadow
falls on the path
elbow bent

up hill
the breath interrupted

she said
the moor is dark
beneath the moon

the wolf’s howl
passing it on




The Leaf Danced
by Virginia Woolf and Werner Reichhold
(unchanged text taken from Virginia Woolf’s book The Waves,
Copyright 1931 by Harcourt Brace Jovanowich, Inc)

the leaf danced
in the hedge without anyone
to blow it

rotary and sideways
the hurricane’s eye

secret territories
lit by pendant currents
red on one side

our fleet is steaming westward
swallowed by sundown

at first so moon-white
where no feet have been

 ocean terrace
rush of a salty tongue

 peeling the skin
 thump and one finger open
 flesh of half a peach

lovers lying shamelessly
mouth to mouth on the burned grass

a couple
dividing itself
into three

bright arrows of sensation
shoot either side

lips on the rock
the tide line feeds
pink anemone

I saw fields rolling in waves
of color beneath me

Medusa into corals’
her aquatic tree

we found one word
one only for the moon

deep down the well
ripples on the mirror
undulate her hair

my true self breaks off
from my assumed

how long
a night can last
petals to open

I cannot move without
dislodging the weight of centuries

I need someone
who’s mind falls like a chopper
on a block

painting where they met before
place beyond another star

I shall be lifted
higher than anyone of you
on the backs of seasons

celestial motion
the smell of juices sweetens

the firelight
brook of some round apple
on the curtain

unhindered twinkle
sunglasses for you gaze

we are silhouettes
hollow phantoms moving mistily
without background

a stone’s blinking
beam of a tiger eye

I can imagine
nothing beyond the circle
of my body

fiber sprouting
lovers in a bow

flowers only
the cow-bind and the moonlight
colored may

low cut blouse
the oval necklace widens

blue boarding time
the jacket with the captain’s
golden wing

we are forever ourselves
with unknown quantities

with the daughter’s son
grandpa’s smile

the world that had been shriveled
rounds itself

flipping a blossom
over his shoulder
to someone else

I’ll shade my eyes with a book
to hide one tear



The Keeper of Two Doors
a multi-genre installation
by James Joyce and Werner Reichhold

(The lines of James Joyce are taken from his book Finnegans Wake,
first published in Great Britain by Faber and Faber Lrd 1939)


(About the structure of a beam continuously be lengthened and clay birds taking flight)

Hightime is up be it down into ours according

bride-luck the shifting of shaking shambolically

park’s acoo with sucking loves Rosimund’s by her wishing well

the book of skinheads swallowed one picture of two heirs

in the house of breathings lies that word all fairness

so cheesed in the pharynx of a Burgerqueen

the permission of overalls with the cooperation of night-shirt

she’s an elf for English as she was a seven-by-the-teen

how they succeed by courting daylight in saving darkness

the evil of axes leaking oil

our thirty minutes wars alull

overgrown milestone in its own snake hole

the toy that shall claxonise his whereabouts

godfather’s mini-nukes pass through the custom

where flesh becomes word and silents selfloud



(Shifting scenery: After death your identity may have to respond to stimuli of which you have a chance
to get a foretaste now

knock – knock
wars where
which war

whooveropium smells
the hord a step sideways

on the bunk of bread
winning lies the corpse
of our seedfather

harvesting naked

takes back
her folded files

the slender by the walks
way through the creek

at her proper mitts
if she then
the then that matters

gnostophonically tuned
in church? No
Mr. Bish hops into jail

the lunger it takes
the sooner they tumble two

the way I think
of floating time

the swayful pathway of the dragonfly
spider stay still in reedery

global warming
the siren yells
global cooling

spell me the chimes
they are tales all tolled



(Attempts against steeling our historic presence from the past postpropheticals)

Unclean you art not. Outcaste thou are not.
                  Leperstower, the karman’s loki, has not blanched at our pollution and your intercourse at ninety legsplits does not defile.
                  Untouchable is not the scarecrown is on you. You are pure.
                                                                                           You are pure. You are in your purity. You have not brought stinking members into the house of Amanti.
                                                                                            Ellem Inam, Titep Notep
                                                                         we name them to the Hall of Honour.
                                                                                            Your head has been touched
by the god Ennel-Rah and your face has been brightened by the goddess


Faithlifters say charismaticans appear in glass-mobiles.
                                                               Maya sends Mia
headfront down the temple for indulgence by the meter-man’s oracle.
                                                              Tableau! Tantra & Chiropractic,
                                                              turbulance, tabularasa, tick-of-tech
                                                              but  fine alley tete-a-tete: how quallcomic 
he chews on his sandwitch, how netescaped she giggles whisperushing her teenaddress:


(When the appropriate wave of the unseen laps upon the shore of possibility, and more than two patterns are moving at a time.)

how all so still she lay
neath of the whitehorn
child of tree
like some losthappy leaf

much to foretell
much with no consequences
breath sailing through
its own attention

wind broke it
wave bore it
reed wrote of it
Syke ran with
hand tore and wild went war

shell shaped sway
as if wishes follow
the night-view of an oyster
the kind that hosts in ripples
a soft lip’s storm

terror of the nonstruck by day
cryptogam of each nightly bridable
game here endeth
the curtain drops
by deep request

seems to be mutating
as on early waves
stand still        orange
evening behind blinds
in  your mirror

pfall if you but will
rise you must
for the nod of the nabir
is better than wink
to wabsanties’

merely electric
one hand in the first room
of a beach castle




The Apparition Gyrated
by James Joyce and Werner Reichhold

(James Joyce’s lines are taken unchanged from his book Finnegans Wake,
first published in Great Britain by Faber and Faber Lrd 1939)



(The night signals it is dressed in software, a place where the guest may enter a horse and see through ears)

night night
of stem and stone

                             lifelong cold and hot
                                                   with stars

house of call is all
their evenbreads through
its cartomance
hallucinate like
an erection in the night

sled a movement
of catharic emulsipotion
down the slippery side
of a slaunty to tilted

                    deathdealing allied devisions

                        earth of a potter’s squeeze
                                 the wet bowl
                                              and one hair

I cain     but are you able     amicably nod

I helped him to in my princeps edition which is all so much to the cut are mutuearly polarized the incompatablility of my delusional acting as ambivalent to the fixation of his pivotism

                        bringing allowing
                        stone alongthing down the grave
                        the matter fertile
                        the matrix a fax

                        allfines of greengold
                        that the Indus contains
                        overhinduce him

                        ring <> oxed
                        at the steam
                        cloud covered Inn
                        onconciously grafficking
                        with his sinister Cyclopes

crowmagnon     aunt Cester smells the bat     of new intelligence

They demolished the peace, now they reinvent war
whorship, wardropes, warweather
that old warhead of contraband



(Keying by dreaming the words that insert tools)

olivegreen of onslought and the homespound over the hearth

hand me the feathered slimmer off the brim your hunter’s hat

really at, this Anamite Apar of astrocity and private privysuckatary

chorus of anscissors accompanies the grilling of insisters

the hoisted in red and the lowered in black

townails – as if the genre of blond asks for bleeps in bloomers


a table on which cloth is coming closer

the goat that gafr ate the sounders bible

tales by dervish    sung by diewhitch

Aure! Cloudy father! Unsure. Nongood!

quicksand in no time of her thinking

mearbound to the marsh of a ladsmaul in half a sylb

the first one making her his absence less comfortable

give back those stolen kisses   restore those allkotten gloves

what age please would it be, let’s say, green thumbed

the allriddle of it that is alruddy with us




(Parallel speaking to a wall so that a door intermittently may open)

a stage to set by ritual roote for the grimm
tale of the four hyacinths the deafeeld carp and the bugler dozen

appendix it by the hour of the scholar
for whom the simplified encounters the eye of the needle

there you’ll fix your eyes darklet on the autocart of the bringfast
cable but here till you’re martimorephysed please still face to face

shun away from the non-shivering maiden’s pulchritude
see the biker? On the tank of her gas sits a clone of her neighbor

never slip your silver key through your gate of golden age
collide with men, collude with money. Ere you sail forget my price

discetterized non-beings for the discernment of the distinguished
in pairs: one for the easy and the other for the rider

never hate mer pork which is bad for your knife of a good Friday
never let a hog of the howth trample underfoot your linen

you highbunized your letter and I  licked it
you vibrate in the lower case and may loosen a crown in the upper

and it was the lang in the shirt in the green of the wood
when obelisks rise and odalisks fall

I bet by the champain of the bestcellar, by the pumper of the nickels’
compu-freak-game; half time whistle, one : there-oh

we are once amore as babies awondering in a world made fresh
where with the hen in a storyaboot we start from scratch



(The science of liquid absence, that capacity. Here it is slightly offered off-key deliberately
so the reader feels a desire to correct it. At this moment you get in touch with your own netted system

- O dear no! Instead the tragis jester jobbed himself wheywingingly sick of life on some sort of rhubarbarous maundarin yellagreen funkleblue windigut diodying applejack Sqeezed from sour grapefruice and, to hear him twixed his sedimental cupslips when he had gulfed down mmmuch to mmmany gourds

- Enoughness of spilled smell running in octaves, a shake-by-chaque to the willcomers,
Jaques Derrida’s impossible possiblility, a whipe-on-the-wips empire that unveils jealousy
for the hidden and siege where the objected lingers, like in front of a motel / module Awe,
for exfans at peace: join Impor’ts & Outport’s security measures

- The warped flooring of the liar and soundcondactingwalls thereof, to say nothing of the uprights and imposts, where persianlyteratured woth burst loveletters, telltale stories, stickyback snaps, doubtful eggshells, couchers, flints, borers, puffers, amygdaloid almonds, rindless raisins, alphybettyformed verbage, vivlical viasses, ompitrt dictas, ahem and ahas, imeffible tries at speech unsyllabled
you own mes, eyoldhyms

- Hell us, lull us, James-of-the-jams’ counterfighting portrats; give it the digits, the digest of browsers,
the chat room, the voice-mail of love - twisters

- Come smooth of my slate to the beat of my blosh! With all these gelded eves jilting about and thrills
and ills of laylock blossoms three’s so much more plants than chants for cecillis that I was thinking fairly killing times of putting an end to myself and my malody, when I remembered all your pupilteacher’s erringneness in perfection class. You sh’undn’t write you can’t if you w’udn’t pass for undevelopment

- Awake-cry to avoke-pain     only the bones of  fish     left in my lap

- Yes, if I weren’t a jones in myself I would elect myself to be his dolphin in the wildsbillow because
he’s such a barefooted rubber with my supersocks pulled over his face which I publickedin my bestback gardenfor the laetification of siderodromities and to the iron of the stars. You will say it is most unenglish and I shall hope to heat that you will not be wrong about it. But I further feeling a bit husky in my truth

- Listen , when the charm of a Sheikh meets the vaingloriously veiled, say in a van velvetly sapphonized by the och&ochs of a fullmoon trip at Ba’qubah – one wonders why she isn’t calling mine eleven

- Oh, on the third dead beat, oh! To cluse her eyes and allopen her oath and see of what spice
I may send her. How? Cease thee, cantatrickee! I fain would be solo. Arouse thee, myvalour,
and save for e’er my true Bdur!

- And anticks: holy blowaparts, weapons of any mass, kigo by the pond, kilo of motherwit, a preowned mary-go-drowned, an odorless devotional object, preoccupied air, silent discs, state laws and bypasses,
an almost new ambush, miss used cell phones, Mr. Cellew Lloyd (a digital graph), ‘loss-free flow of current” where a pair of electrons that gave up their electrostatic resistance passes – without frictional loss - a crystal lattice, a shily spoken
no as a matterphor’s  yes , the mold  of a once gained objective petrified

- Paud the roosky, weren’t they all of them each in his different way of saying calling on the one
the same time

- But look at our manager disappealing under the womanager! Guinness in office?

- Where you truss be circumspicious and lock before you leak, dears never christen medlard apples
till a swithin is in sight

- You close your lips, thinking -
   I see a design for that closing




(It seems that the strength of thinking depends upon a change of perspectives)

there is a split
in the infinitive
from to have to will be
for isolation
by a tongue

                     the pink of punk
     perfection as photography
                                    in mud
    secret array of the arriviste
   mouse trip by the forefinger

that lifted the leaves
that folded the fruit
           come pass, Hiakutake
                 bemin us
                 be plus

               ashe and whitehead
        closechop   successor to
                                 one reel
                                  all spun
                               the sheep

                          and the lines
                of readypresent fire
                       when like snow
               you whilst lay on me
        light fingers of the moon

Transliteration of the German Introduction to Cyberpoesie

The two works presented here, titled Cyberpoetry for the English text, and Cyberpoesie for the works in German, appeared as a new portal on September 11, 2007, and contain the poems from the years 1989-2007.

Many of the well known poetic genres appear here in a new way put together as inter-genre poetry. Arranged in sequences, the genres meet in a mysterious order with and against each other, lift themselves up, fall upon each other, drift out of balance, change their paradigm and return loaded with new perspectives. They seem to dissolve until surprisingly help is at hand to get them back on their feet. In Cyberpoetry, we follow a mixture of verbal forms blending into each other just as if to build a new home. Here every single genre can prove itself to become a valuable member of a team that all together constitutes a different poetic installation. Time-tested line orders are at one location preserved, at other occasions destroyed. When a single integrated genre survived it was because it made it through a successful passage as part of a poetic strategy in which it defended its right and place according to a number of so far untested sensibilities.
The genres want to give their best even if it will be the end of them. If they don’t love each other anymore then they may express hate as a part of many promising tongued pleasures. The remains of older customs, former agreements, and superstition are bashfully hiding because of fear that a progressive line above could chop them down like an axe. The end of the genres will be steered against by the resurrection of this inter-genre poetry. Whether it will serve our conception of the oneness of all appearances in nature - that must be proven.
In Cyberpoetry, verse forms from the Middle East and Far East see themselves being integrated. They trust themselves to be ordered by their neighbors’ behavior, feel protected where they alone had been threatened with isolation. From that position, where they now care for the movement inside an enlarged textual concept, they stand for the greater poetic architecture in the smallest space.
Fairy tales and fables, free verse, ghazal, haiku, tanka, and renga, even reports, lessons and sketches blend themselves to work simultaneously by making us forget their secretive past.  

Throughout the years of expanding insights into foreign cultures and languages, the author’s decision to use either English or German happened without intent, without a controlled voting process. The chosen language or the written form followed an inner concept that is almost identical to processes in Werner Reichhold’s oeuvre of drawings and three-dimensional steel installations created and exhibited in the years of 1958-1990.

When the works of a single author appear in two languages they obviously toss around questions as such:
Does one language retreat back in order to leave the other one advance to a more promising effect?
Related things could be said in both languages, in English or in German. However the construction of our eyes, ears and tongues up to the conversions in the delta of our nerve bundles wish to differentiate. Therefore a poem composed in English works to a different effect than a text arranged in German.
Where is stumbling and falling over a text more painful and therefore more helpful?
In which configuration of language does the speech serve erotic excitement undeniably, urgent?
Greetings to surprises: leaps, inconsistencies and paradoxes, as they accompany us in everyday life, wiggle through the fields of the texts, similar to the way an untold number of bacteria and virus do their job in our circulation systems. How to bring them into play?
Attempt to show why the silence in one language incites wordiness in the other.
What happens when a German writer invents word play in English?
Whereto does it lead the reader when, for example, a text from Virginia Woolf or James Joyce (in Cyberpoetry) relates to a later living author who pulls them into a symbiotic work? Does inspiration gets another kick forward when the living author not only exchanges in a common work but advances to construct an artistic variation of symbiotic poetry?
Which ringing over the spoken word above the original happens when the vocal voice would be symbiotically extended, for example in the German Sequence # 2?
What would come to light by filming the English sequence #1?
Today, whoever thinks about his/her own work in the fields of literature loves to borrow the computer as a tool and welcomes its innate potential. Fossil forests / their oil, coal and uranium - they are the sources of energy that now come into play; we bow down before them. It is in the computer where light becomes a medium; it permits on the screen a display of script. In a smoothly steered manner the vertical column of the script can be scrolled out of the stored cache. Who wishes to lead our thinking and business in a new way, can productively interfere with ready-made material. In the offer lies the possibility that texts and pictures can be rearranged after one’s own intentions and immediately printed out. Whoever has an archive of photo or video material is invited into the work areas of  symbiotically enlarged poetry.


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