"Lyrics, even if modern, should sing about those rare feelings that make up the salt of life, that make this path on earth unique..."

states Owi Nandi, who would like to share these poems, which he originally published in German, with the English-speaking public. Each piece of Nandi's artwork is set in a silent moment, mostly written after his marriage in 1995 to his love, Annette. Yet the ideas for these lyrics have been collected since his late childhood. Nandi likes to illuminate the uniqueness of creation, and he also adores awakening the senses to the beauty of love and friendship. He has been inspired by many sources, from the simple words of people, close to him to German, English, Greek, Arabic, Russian, Chinese or Indian poets. The author believes in the words of Jesus, and these words shine through in this book. Nandi also greatly values the insights from other philosophies and religions.

One of the common threads in Nandi's lyrics is the transience of time, which makes every moment in life so very precious. This may also be one of the reasons why readers of every age and origin find a part of themselves in his poems, and some readers would put these poems as a part of their daily meditations.

The author cherishes the free verse of today's lyrics and has chosen to write a variety of lyric and prosaic texts. He plays with line and poem length, punctuation and its absence, and the complexity and simplicities of language.

Owi Nandi would like to thank Timothy Peter Holman (originally from England, living in Switzerland) for his most valuable suggestions for translating these German poems. Chloe Galley (UK), Nandadulal Nandi (India), Merran Matthews (Australia), Christopher Hardy (US), Millie Sealana de Quiroga (US), Sara Crockett (US), Shea Spindler (US) and the reviewer from iUniverse.com for their help in correcting English words and grammar. Thanks are also due to Nandi's friend Thomas Marent, a passionate nature photographer, for his poetic pictures. Read more on Nandi and his friends on www.gedichte.tv/English.htm.

Skeleton of a candle

Skeleton of a candle,
gnawed away under the
watchful eyes
of the mother of God.

The bit of warmth
resounded
in the masonry.
Wishes still hover here,
for the new year,
which is going off outdoors
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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The question of sense

The question of sense, as such,
should not be viewed
as detached
from the belief in love.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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And you go on ambling

And you go on ambling
by the villages and hostels
and hope again
for humans,
who do not give you
stones when bread was asked.
And you still hope
that there is something,
and that somebody pays you,
in case you fall among robbers.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Eyes to see, ears to hear

Then and when,
life knocks at me, knocks at the door,
and wants to make me believe.

It lets me feel my body, in my lifetime,
a river on its journey,
always further away
from the playful brook.

Then, I conquer back my augustness,
the youth, the faith.
I see and hear-
in silence and darkness, too.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Iris

In the small, silty rivulet
along the railway dam
stood the first one
which I noticed consciously
The first Iris
with smooth, blade-like leaves.

Its shape settled down immediately
in my imagination
as if I had only
waited for this being.
I never saw it blossom
but its name did not let me go.
I dug it out and planted it
in my parents' garden
where it never flowered
only waiting for a day to die.

I saw Iris flowers
growing on meagre limestone
on the long slope above Delphi
on a Greek Easter day,
at the beginning of April,
in a short, pale-green meadow
with some junipers.

An enchanted couple on short stalks
with big, full flowers
in the midst of this barrenness.
The Attic Iris, perhaps,
one pale yellow
the other violet-brown.

A pair that complements
not far from the place
where I turned back the first day
without having seen
the snow-covered summit of Mount Parnassos.

I met them in hundreds
all together as picked holy flowers
at the feet of a risen Virgin Mary
during the Easter week in Seville.
Small blue Iris flowers,
with yellow marks in their gullets,
lined up to form a carpet beneath
a motionless statue
which was later carried through the crowd.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Summer on a lake

The down of the swan's bow dances waxen
on the soft water surface,
indulges in ease,
unable to think of the next tempest.

Emerald dragonflies carve jags into the silky air,
twitching into the small inlets,
whirring on the spot during the next breath.
Their copper-colored abdomen is laced up
like the waistline of a female motorcyclist
wrapped in leather.

The corpses of last and distant years' leaves
rest on the lake's muddy floor,
lost in growing old, blacking on,
bordered by dusky beechnuts.

The water sprinkles upon the cheeks,
plays and washes against its swimmers,
around the rush stalks ascending
over-slenderly from the depth
and the precious butter balls
of the flowering nuphars.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Autobiography of a grasshopper

I sang all my life long
and fell silent
when it got colder.
Copyright: Owi Nandi

Obituary for the same grasshopper

He spent an inconspicuous
and happy childhood
as a larva,
rejoiced at the summer,
attended with great care
to his duty of finding a partner.
Above all, let us mention
that he sang untiringly.
Autumn had to signify his death.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Photo by Thomas Marent

Seals

You gracious playful faces of the sea,
creatures immersed in love,
with round bald-pated heads and dark knob-eyes.
neckless with a cat's snout.
Dogs and people of the sea
with vigorous cone-shaped bodies,
four limbs spread into fins,
the belly formed as a large, caterpillar underside.

When I first discovered you,
aged five, in the animal park,
between the whiffing pine martens
and the dusky raccoon dogs,
you grew into my soul and advanced into my dreams.
Your curiously nodding head before feeding,
nimble as the one of an Indian dancing girl.

This crawling on land, the troubles,
which you accept to be free in water.
This rolling in the midst of a full diving run,
and this slipping onto the next shore.
Everything entertained me
and stimulated my curiosity.

You playful brethren of the sea:
Will there still be a place in our hearts for you
in the times ahead?
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Bamboo bridge

The steps of them you carry,
strive for the other, greener bank.
You are not built for eternity!

Bamboo bridge, in order to cross,
what separates the other side from this,
you are firm in the beauty
of an uncovered Indian silt.

You overarch your back modestly,
curved bamboo frame.
Endowed with a single handrail,
you bind the banks.

You will not survive modernity,
will not face the future.
With the path which served you,
you will die from the pangs of progress,
passion and prosperity.

You are not built for eternity,
rather just for the moments-of-memory
of your passing guests!
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Deceased father in the dream of a dream

In the dream, he once more ascended
the mountain ridges with his father,
over the meads, where the marmots
no longer squeaked,
through furrows and trenches
and incisions
and by higher rock towers,
where the chamois droppings
lay scattered at their feet.

With his deceased father,
he once more climbed up
by the roaring brooks,
scoured the dense alpine shrubs,
where one could not gather berries any longer,
to a peak, where the choughs
screeched so penetratingly, in the summer,
and paddled with their tails and wings
around the ridges.

They wanted to see
if up there,
there already lay snow.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Photo by Thomas Marent

We lived

For an hour we lived from peonies
flowers freighted with pollen
this day in May
without holding hands

I wanted to ask you
to explain to me
the meaning of friendship
and we esteemed it
beyond all borders

Now again, they flower
only for a short time
freighted with pollen
in a bottomless deep
red
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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There were questions

There were questions which nobody
answered for you
Perhaps you merely resembled
a leaf
toy of the wind
too meaningless
on this scenery

Perhaps nobody wanted
to warm you up
nobody to exert justice
and still
the pansies
flower for you
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Blue robe with red and yellow spots

She built a blue house
and adorned it with scorching roses,
which were quicker to wither than her hopes.

Looked out of the window,
as if she could fly,
on her tender hands.

Over meadows of dandelions.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Love

Some may say
love is dead today
Some may say
love may not die
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Diary entry

In his letter, he apologized once more
for his parting, which was so prompt;
the window pane would have already
separated them one from another.

The three-and-a-half hours
would have been used up so quickly;
he would gladly have
looked after her for longer,
but the quick good-bye
would be the most approved.

She had not thought so far,
did not turn back either,
or attach the same esteem
to the three-and-a-half hours.

In his diary, he secretly recorded the
three-and-a-half hours,
in the evening,
in broken Russian,
so that nobody would be able to read it.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Photo by Thomas Marent

Transitoriness of the dawn

How old had I to be,
to hope that everything
would always become better?
How old to ask,
where the clouds come from?

When was it, when you,
for the first time,
were embraced by love?
When had you not yet
realized
that life can be hard?

We confined ourselves
to these questions:
Out of respect
for the transitoriness
of the Dawn.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Love and death

Love and death devour the pages,
springtime and transience
and woe of being-no-more.

The longing to remain oneself,
to stand in the glare of happiness,
as I and You (or I with You)
and not to be talked out
of trembling and breathing so soon.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Impressions at a nightly fountain

The precious hours
of loving couples
flow by at the nightly fountain.
Arrogantly, without being asked,
the endless water arc
plunges out of the tube
to be collected
in the old, red sandstone basin.

The beautiful hours of the living
flow by
at the nightly fountain.
The octagon only dams up
the most recent, lucid past.

The waiting hours of the homeless
flow by
at the nightly fountain,
frozen and undisjointed.
Countlessly,
their heartbeats are shed.
Copyright: Owi Nandi
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Owi Nandi's new book 'For Hours, We Lived from Flowers' is globaly available over the below mentioned links. Seesommer is only sold by German online book stores.

For an Hour, We Lived from Flowers

Owi Nandi, 2005
Edited by iUniverse.com, Lincoln Nebraska, 106 pages.
ISBN: 0-595-33326-5 (pbk); 0-595-66844-5 (cloth).
Printed in the United States of America.


Amazon.com e-Book Barnes & Noble iUniverse.com

Seesommer

Gedanken und Lyrisches für Zwischendurch
Ivar Gregory (Owi Nandi), 1999
Verlag Haag und Herchen, Frankfurt am Main. 90 pages.
ISBN: 3-86137-794-2


books.ch Amazon.de

Owi Nandi, son of an Indian father and a Swiss mother, was born in 1966 in Wettingen, Switzerland. He discovered his great love for nature and philosophy early, which continually shines through in his written work. The author is married to Annette Nandi, a kindergarten teacher with great passion for drawing. Owi Nandi studied botany, zoology, and biomathematics in Zurich. In 1997, he completed his doctorate at the Philosophical Faculty of the University of Zurich (his PhD included a comprehensive morphological analysis of flowering plants under the inclusion of molecular biological data, published in renowned journals of botanical science). Owi pursued his studies in phytochemistry, land plant phylogeny, and pharmacology. Together with nature photographer Thomas Marent, he has authored many scientific and popular articles. Owi Nandi was awarded with a lyric award of the National Library of the German Poem (Nationalbibliothek des Deutschsprachigen Gedichtes) in 1998. He ranked within the final winners in several contests on the Internet, such as in leserkreis.de, niederngasse.com, poetry.com, Noblehouse Publishers and voicesnet.org. Owi's English poems will be printed in early 2005 with an American publisher.

Hobbies of the author include: ornithology, Chinese medical herbs, traveling, linguistics, and Greek music. The author is currently working as a scientific expert in the field of systematic identification and toxicology of Chinese and Indian medicinal herbs with a renowned small Swiss company. Owi is also interested in dancing, healthy cooking, wines, human evolution, philosophy, and medicine.

Annette and Owi married in 1995. She works as a kindergarten teacher in the canton of Aargau, Switzerland. Annette has a great love for animals, her special darlings including geckos, seals, dolphins, baby gorillas, and even very small and inconspicuous creatures. She also likes painting and drawing. Her favorite themes are water surfaces, the interfaces between air and water, iridescent colors, and flowers, such as the poppies on the cover of this book, which she painted many years ago. Annette has a good taste for wines and cooking. She cooks with great passion, combining the healthy essence of nature's gifts with delicate taste. She receives inspirations from all over the world, including Japan (sushi), China (tofu dishes), Thailand (Thai curries), India (Bengali dishes which she learned from Owi's father), Bolivia (aji de gallina), USA (brownies), Italy (pasta all aglio e oglio), France (dishes from Burgundy) and the Canary Islands (papas con mojo). She especially likes to cook for friends. Annette cherishes her memories of her travels to South America and to Mongolia. Her favorite music is salsa, merengue and traditional Mongolian music.

Annette together with the dog 'Tornado' on the Canary islands (July 2006).

For an Hour, We Lived from Flowers

You see, penetrate and say the most simple things clearly, physically, directly in a bold and new way, such that it subtends the interior goods as if they were borne on hands.

I suspect from your foreign languages, I have read how many you speak, that this picture-words, word-pictures have evolved as it were biologically in your linguistic memory.

Amazing: true lyrics by a scientist.

"Thoughts and lyric texts for between whiles", you name the book. It is a "between whiles" by itself, between magic spell and banality, between seeing, knowing and suffering and dream.

I never read a lyric manuscript without cessation, this time I could not help.

My congratulations on your book..

Silja Walter
Swiss author, nun

For an Hour, We Lived from Flowers

The incomparable beauty found only in friendship, nature and faith comes into brilliant focus in the new book For An Hour, We Lived From Flowers. The lyrical poetry within this work expresses the uniqueness of all God's creatures in nature, showcasing a strong spiritual element filled with a vast range of human emotion. Originally published in German, the lyrics contained within For An Hour, We Lived From Flowers are the result of many years of quiet introspection and vibrant inspiration. Rich with philosophical depth rarely found in other volumes, this book will touch all who experience its magic. Please enjoy the complimentary copy of For An Hour, We Lived From Flowers and review the press materials enclosed. I am available to answer your questions at any time. Thank you in advance for your time and consideration.