Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Michael Toenges on Rudolf De Crignis

Translated with love from the German into English by myself.

I am with Rudolf in the summer of 2005 on tour, a day when we have time to take us a drive, leaving the town slowly and always looking to the sky. We let ourselves drift, drive through the backyard, through streets and small parks - also increasingly out of town.

If on the former and long since forgotten by the airport, where the Trummer-flowers grow between the remains of the concrete slope, where some minor places are few, and where the sidewalks of a small garden next to the motorway, and cross under about.
The underpass of the railway to the big auto factory is half under water, some small trips we push. Industry terrain are emerging between the small woods, not to mention the row houses and suburbs. We look at the garden and eat an ice cream at the old church sitting under a tree.

Meadows and forests are great, some corn fields are now between the settlements. Over a narrow bridge, leads the way now between the forest and a green field toward the silvery leaves of a group of trees. The leaves move in the wind and the field extends for a moment into the infinite. Every time I arrived at that place, I hold otherwise.

Rudolf is ahead and I will have to pronounce and say to him, he sees it too. He sees it very well and he had to do myself. He stops and says to me: Look, is it not ready?

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