Dean Pasch is a visual artist, poet and filmmaker – born in England, he has lived in Germany since 1980. His poetry has featured in Mannequin Envy, Niederngasse, Tiferet, Quill & Parchment, and in books – ‘Chopin with Cherries’ (Moonrise Press) and ‘Woman in Metaphor’ (Natural Healing House Press). He has also presented his poetry and visual work in a Los Angeles tour, including readings at Moonday (VillageBooks) and Beyond Baroque. His pictures have been used for cd covers (Tamir Hendelman’s ‘Destinations’ / Resonance Records) and book covers (‘Savage Sunsets’ – poems by Adrian C. Louis / West End Press) About his work he says: “I am drawn to the idea that being-ness is revealed by its disappearance … that invisibility is a metaphor for silence … and that silence is another way of holding one’s breath for a good time to breathe.”
Narrating Dads and Feelings
We walk to the station,
trying to connect.
Our words do not mingle but rather miss
each other, the way a slow watch fails
to bring us to the train on time.
You stop, before reaching our destination,
bending to rub a pain in your legs.
Impatience creeps up on me as I wait.
Witnessing your decline, I freeze a little.
You have a body breaking down,
eyes don’t see what they used to,
and your eardrums fracture sound,
the way fading daylight robs leaves
of their greenness.
It’s so much dust,
blowing in a rotting teeth
where the real fight
was cancelled long ago.
We are spectators of a contest
with no contestants.
I don’t know you.
You look at me
and I throw back an intolerance
I would not tolerate in another.
My expectations hit your eyes like splinters.
I want to know you.
Love, for us, is a drought
longing for rain.
I wish it were a trail of heartbeats,
yours and mine, entwined.
My fingers meet your arthritis.
Your shrinking back turns,
shuffling off with feelings
and wishes, unfulfilled.
Dad – Love, for me, is a texture
I’m trying to weave a life from.
It’s an eye contact –
Wet with longing
and dry, for no good reason.
Within pulsating heart of molten red
Within vibrating mind of frozen red
A fading joy fades amid smiles shed
Weary shivering tendrils of thoughts black
Weary ravaged roots of a motion black
Dampen the path in this tear trail shack
Absence of colour nurtures hungry grey
Absence of light buries dry shoddy grey
Muddy Waters lightens this desolate day
A purity polishes balanced white
A purity seeks truth in wild white
Infinite azure floats on sad respite
Oh sapphire sorrow challenged to cope
New beginnings in blue embrace lost Hope.
There are pin-pricks in eternity,
where sound is taste
and ears begin to see.
Here I show patience
a space to be free.
Irresistible flames kiss me,
unburdened of dread.
Moths focus on fiery beds.
The lived drop of a tear
and an imagined embrace,
each inhabits, in a child’s mind,
the same believable face.
My shadows are rainbows fading.
Their colours are anchored
to newly born flows, forever
reaching out to another.
The last star waits
for disappearance to end.
I light a candle and pour a wind.
It blows through me,
into night-time’s absence
Evaporation of wax
extinguishes the me that was,
and the me that will be
melts amongst this
that I am.
Into the room of waiting
I lead a memory of camouflage
(and vice versa):
a buoy for an existence that sinks,
of the invisible.
With daytime moon I uncork myself.
Patience smiles patiently,
through déjà-vu spectacles.
and I am.
I forget and I am.
Let me dust myself.
Let me see myself.
I do not seek mystery,
it hunts me.
I would rather be a branch of leaves,
in a breeze,
catching sunlit fragments
of molecules, like composers
catch notes for melodies
I am not a philosopher.
I juggle emptiness.
I find questions I never ask,
and bury answers
I never seek.
When I cannot see the stars
I look for one thing.
On these nights I turn
to silent lips
and ask them