JINGLE ON MY SON!

JINGLE ON MY SON!
A doughty champion of his local culture.(Poet Tom Hubbard)Your performance at the city hall was soooooooooo good! Christoph thought it was excellent! (Carolyn)

4.11.20

TUEBINGEN LOCKDOWN EXHIBITION - POETRY BY KEITH ARMSTRONG; PHOTOS BY ULRICH METZ


 

 
 
 














TUEBINGEN LOCKDOWN EXHIBITION - POETRY BY KEITH ARMSTRONG; PHOTOS BY ULRICH METZ


The idea of ​​capturing the effects of the pandemic in a long-term series of pictures came up after the first lockdown had turned Tübingen into a "ghost town".


At least that was my impression when I was out and about in the deserted city center at lunchtime. Well-known alleys and squares, everyday life, cultural events etc. looked different - and were suddenly new to me in photography.

In mid-March I had already started to document the changes in my environment with an analog camera and b / w film, and later with a monochrome digital camera. The photo of the women in my "Kiez" was one of the first pictures in the series. The friends made the most of the unfamiliar situation and met while observing the rules of distance. Nobody could have imagined that it would ever come to that.

In the spring, I was in close email contact with Dr. Keith Armstrong, a poet from our English twin town Durham. From there, too, news came about this life in special times. Armstrong was quickly convinced of the exhibition idea and contributed his impressions to my pictures in the form of poems.

Since we are currently in a lockdown again, I will probably still not run out of motives. Unfortunately.

 

Ulrich Metz


A FALLEN GLOVE


'Tuebingen ... .is like a fallen glove; it lies there in an empty and hushed hangover ....' (Eduard Moerike}


'If there is anything that one can always long for and sometimes find, it is the loving attachment to another human being.’ (Albert Camus)


(1)


The sky above the Rathaus

has grown

so blue.

All the planes

have flown away

and made

the clouds

pure and clean,

filled with a sparkling rain.


Listen close

and you can hear

birds' wings flapping

and their songs

wafting over the Neckar.


All well and good

but today

we are crippled

by a virus

that kills choirs

and separates

people

from each other

when all they ever yearned for

was to hug their families

and to bury their old people

with some kind

of dignity.


It will pass.

Choirs around the world

will embrace

each other again.

And celebrate

the blue skies

and how,

especially in a crisis,

people can find 

new ways

of crafting

love.


KEITH ARMSTRONG


(2)


Hundreds of miles


away,


I am touching 


trees


on the Platanenallee.


I am expressing 


solidarity


behind my mask.


I am bridging, 


with my imagination,


social distancing


so that I can enjoy


feeling the breath from the river


whispering joy


through Tuebingen's branches


and briefly kissing away


the curse of dreams


dying.


KEITH ARMSTRONG


(3)


BOULANGER LOCKDOWN


The bar


has fallen


silent,


shut down


by a quirk


of nature,


closed


out of fear.


I remember


the noise


of people ranting


in the vibrant night,


the clatter


of their tongues,


and beer glasses


echoing


in my dreams.


Now


the tables are covered


in a virus shroud.


We cannot touch


the surface of the wood,


we cannot even smile.


But, from Durham,


I send laughter


to the old and young,


the lonely.


I email hope 


to the suffering.


My old friend,


I will not forget


the poems you made:


they will live on


in the beauty 


of your grandchildren.


KEITH ARMSTRONG


(4)


THE BUSKER


This busker


plays a song


drunk with grief.


It seems that


all life's sadness


is gathered


in his loner's voice


that flutters


and stutters


across the street


in this closed-down town;


this cul de sac


soaked


in wasted wine


and bitter memories


of better days.


KEITH ARMSTRONG


(5)


PANDEMIC WEDDING


This is a marriage of loneliness, 


of inconvenience,


of social distance;


a separation


united in a strong affection,


a love of life


that transcends


a lockdown,


overcomes


the fear of touching.


KEITH ARMSTRONG


(6) 


The next time


I stride


through the door


of the Cafe Piccolo,


I will not wear


a face mask,


I will not be scared


to open up my heart.


I will take a beer


in my lips


and swallow


the sunshine of it,


cracking open


a new joke


to share with Michele


and next year's


spring flowers.


KEITH ARMSTRONG


(7)


ON CORONASTRASSE


On Coronastrasse,

there are lovers unable to touch one another,

children cut off from the old,

vicars who cannot pray in their own churches.

On Coronastrasse,

there are working girls who cannot find work,

footballers with no games to play in,

libraries with no books to borrow from.

On Coronastrasse,

there are hotels with no rooms to stay in,

buses and trains without any passengers,

seminar rooms emptied of seminars.


On Coronastrasse,

there will be sunshine again,

wine and song to fill the days and nights

and futures to dance in.


KEITH ARMSTRONG


the jingling geordie

My photo
whitley bay, tyne and wear, United Kingdom
poet and raconteur