Ruth Franke: TEN BARS OF CHOCOLATE

At the department store the girl at the cash desk runs her eye over the elderly gentleman who is pushing towards her ten bars of chocolate, top quality brand. Angular face, silvery hair, slight stoop, refined in a low key sort of way. Surrounding him, though, an atmosphere of trepidation and a barrier of silence.

Images flood the mind: an art exhibition with water colours of flowers by a young lady. The amateur artist herself ― elegant, sporty appearance, has had some success in the tennis world. The husband at her side older by some tens of years, grey-haired, clear-cut features. Then a winter scene: black ice, the man losing control of his Mercedes. He escaping injury, the young woman, no seatbelt on, paralyzed from the waist down. She doesn’t go out in public any more.

ravishing flowers
behind glass
no trace of scent

Years later the gentleman stands at the cash desk in the department store again ― with ten bars of chocolate, top quality brand. As ever carefully dressed, the stoop more pronounced, thinner now the silvery hair. A barrier of silence around him, but without trepidation.

He must be over eighty now and his wife somewhere around fifty . . .

on a park bench
withered pine needles
still in pairs


translation from German by David Cobb

by Ruth Franke

Emmendingen, Baden-Württemberg. Germany
first published in Blithe Spirit 18/4 (2008)

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Zehn Tafeln Schokolade

Die Kassiererin im Kaufhaus mustert den älteren Herrn, der ihr zehn Tafeln Schokolade, edelste Sorte, hinschiebt. Scharf geschnittenes Gesicht, weißes Haar, leicht gebeugt, diskrete Eleganz. Um ihn herum ein jähes Erschrecken und eine Mauer des Schweigens.

Bilder steigen auf: eine Kunstausstellung, darunter Blumen-Aquarelle einer jungen Frau. Die Hobby-Malerin selbst – elegante, sportliche Erscheinung, erfolgreiche Tennisspielerin. Daneben ihr Mann - Jahrzehnte älter, graues Haar, markantes Gesicht. Dann der Winter, Glatteis, der Mann verliert die Kontrolle über den Mercedes. Er bleibt unverletzt, die junge Frau, nicht angeschnallt, ist querschnittsgelähmt. Sie zeigt sich nicht mehr in der Öffentlichkeit.

bezaubernde Blumen
hinter Glas
ganz ohne Duft

Jahre später steht der ältere Herr wieder an der Kasse des Kaufhauses mit zehn Tafeln Schokolade, edelste Sorte. Immer noch sorgfältig gekleidet, noch gebeugter, das weiße Haar schütter. Um ihn herum eine Mauer des Schweigens, doch kein Erschrecken.

Er müsste jetzt über achtzig sein und seine Frau um die fünfzig …

auf einer Parkbank
verdorrte Kiefernnadeln
paarweise

Zuerst veröffentlicht in Sommergras 12/2008.

Ruth Franke: A DOG’S LIFE

His regular pitch is on the forecourt of a supermarket; by his side an Alsatian, into whose muzzle passers-by often pop some titbit. Quite a few coins drop into his cap, quickly to be converted into liquid nourishment.

faithful companion
the last drips of beer
from the drop-out's flask

Some time ago he must have come into some money. The second dog, a dark brown puppy, had a comfortable trailer to sit in, and that just as spanking new as the bicycle pulling it. Clothes no longer in shreds, hair cropped short. Sometimes we even saw a mobile clapped to his ear. And then he vanished for months on end.

Now he has turned up again at his old haunt, completely changed: no bike, thin as a rake, gone to seed, and looking years older. Can hardly keep control of the exuberant dog. And winter's coming . . .

foliage aglow
one week of storms
and ready for sweeping

translated from German by David Cobb

by Ruth Franke

Emmendingen, Baden-Württemberg. Germany
first published in Blithe Spirit 17/1 (2007)

Hundeleben

Sein Stammplatz ist auf dem Gelände eines Supermarktes, neben ihm der treue Schäferhund, dem die Passanten oft einen Leckerbissen zustecken. Manche Münze fällt in seine Mütze und wird bald wieder in flüssige Nahrung umgesetzt.

kein Hundeleben
der letzte Schluck des Penners
für den Gefährten

Vor einiger Zeit muss er wohl zu Geld gekommen sein. Der zweite Hund, ein dunkelbrauner Welpe, bekam als Sitzplatz einen komfortablen Anhänger, ebenso neu wie das dazugehörige Fahrrad. Auch seine Kleidung nun nicht mehr abgerissen, die Haare kurz geschoren. Manchmal sahen wir sogar ein Handy an seinem Ohr. Dann war er monatelang verschwunden.

Völlig verändert taucht er jetzt wieder am alten Platz auf: ohne Fahrrad, abgemagert und verwahrlost, um Jahre gealtert. Kaum kann er den lebhaften Hund bändigen. Und der Winter steht bevor . . .

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leuchtendes Herbstlaub
nach einer Woche im Sturm
reif für den Besen

Zuerst veröffentlicht in Sommergras No.3/2007

Ruth Franke: HOBBIES

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He has recovered rather well from his stroke, the retired high school teacher. A couple of years ago he was still paralysed down one side, but since then he has set himself a tough regime, can now even ride a bicycle. With rather stiff legs, admittedly, the left one having to move in tandem with the right; nonetheless a big step forward towards independence. He was always so reserved, short of things to say, we never exchanged more than a civil greeting. His illness changed that, he likes to chat more now.

There he is, pushing his bike down the driveway, briefcase on the carrier, and carrying his instrument case. That's a fine thing, I guess, that he's been able to take up his old hobby once more. Making music is such a good way to forget one's problems. Perhaps playing with a group of former colleagues. That would make having to give up teaching so much easier to bear.

I've always wondered what sort of instrument it could be in that case with such a peculiar shape: a long, slender neck, widening out towards the base. Some kind of antique string instrument?

Now, just as he's about to mount, I pluck up the courage to ask him. He gladly opens the case for me to see.

targets in the air
everything concentrated

on clay pigeons
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Translation from German by David Cobb

by Ruth Franke
Emmendingen, Baden-Württemberg. Germany
first published in Modern Haiku 38.1, 2007

Ruth Franke: SUMMIT ICE

Setting off from Chamonix, 1040 m above sea level. Destination unknown. "A climb up the mountains with suitable equipment," our French friends had said in their invite. They are keen climbers, we just walkers, they were aware of that. But we had taken them up on it. Now what was in front of us?

a march into heights
at the cable railway halt
a mass of people

Mer de Glace
a jump over glacier cracks
without a rope

Ice Age moraine
the hopping over rocks
never stops

upwards on ladders
unsecured
the back packs' weight

cut in the rock face
a narrow path
just don’t look down

up there at last
on the Aiguille du Midi
bivouacs in the ice

At 3000 m. An icy wind cuts into our faces, the cold even penetrates the fleecy sleeping bags. Dizziness and nausea prevent sleep. All around the white giants, Mont Blanc looming over us. Rilke comes to mind: "Stranded on the high places of the heart … And the huge bird securely circling the peaks in utter denial."

helicopter throb
nearer and nearer
then just the echo

The cold night gives way to a sunrise behind Mont Blanc. We get ready for the descent.

Broad smiles when we say our farewells down in the valley. "You caught us with your sauna. Now you've got some idea of our hobby."

after the steam bath
the plunge
into cold water

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Translation from German by David Cobb
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by Ruth Franke
Emmendingen, Baden-Württemberg. Germany

first published in Blithe Spirit 18/1, 2008