Wenn man die Blätter zählt
Die vom Baume gefallen sind
Ist er alt…
Wenn man die Blätter zählt
Die dem Baume am Entsprießen sind
Ist er jung…
Bin ich so alt,
Wie meine Werke hinter mir?
Oder so jung
Wie die Träume in mir?
Was ist die Zeit? Was ist das Alter?
Wann beginnt und endet mein Zeitalter?
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Im Jahrzehnt der deutschen Dichtung
Als ich jünger war
War ich lichter
Jetzt bin ich
Dichter geworden –
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
His pride is on sale
And his shame
And on his broad frame
You can see him bearing his fate
With a brave face on display
Seventy years of age
All his fears have come of age
His hopes, dreams, plans, crumbled
But now he’s picked himself up again
And sits at the south train station
Easel, paint-brushes, stool, low table
But he holds his head up high
Give him a smile and a coin
And he’ll paint a portrait of you
That will stand the test of time
He: You speak good german
I: Can I write something about you?
He: Yes, but no names please. I
Have a granddaughter in Darmstadt, who
Doesn’t know what I do to survive.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 