The seasons come and go and the fight with and for life calmly continues. All loved ones live, they say. The house protects us as it confines us, two people united for a timeless moment – while feeling abandoned at the same time. Daliy life is difficult to master, memories arise, chemotherapy begins just like the search for one’s self. Or is it a search for you? The new season comes, and all loved ones live… Hans Eichhorn’s strong emotions and images reveal a world of estrangement, illness and hope. Brilliant!

A man and a woman meat each other – let’s call them Georg and Renate – she is a non-smoker, he is a non-alcoholic. Both are searching for … - what ever people are searching for: for themselves, for each other, for work. In an advertising agency, they are searching for somebody, too, because the agency was given the task to develop a marketing strategy for a former extermination camp in order to enlarge attendance. What a nice opportunity for Georg and Renate to run into each other. This is how it could have been. Then, Hans Eichhorn would have written a romance. But he hasn’t, only almost. In fact Hans Eichhorn demonstrates how easy it could be to write a romance, because language and words enable to move and to overcome all kind of distance – there is no means of movement that is more convenient than words. Nevertheless, words are fugitive and make blind for the truth – blind for everything in between Georg and Renate which separates them from each other.

Hellblauer Kleiderbügel, dein Elefantenherz schreit nach Beachtung. So lautet das Motto des neuen Lyrikbandes von Hans Eichhorn, in dem sich 50 Jahre Lebenserfahrung verdichten. Hans Eichhorn malt poetische Stillleben, in denen es unversehens laut wird, weil etwas sein Recht reklamiert, auf sein Dasein aufmerksam zu machen: ein Ding oder ein Mensch oder ein schlauer Spruch. Die Waschmaschine bricht rumpelnd in die Beschaulichkeit eines Winternachmittags, ein Möwenschrei fährt schneidend in die Ruhe des Sees, das Kind setzt dem sinnenden Kopf eine Spielzeugpistole an die Schläfe. Gewohnte Bilder zerspringen und arrangieren sich neu. Alltagsgegenstände verschaff en sich mit Nachdruck Gehör, fordern ihren Platz unter den nennenswerten Dingen. Der Dichter sieht zu, was der Zeitfl uss in seine Reuse spült, was der neue Wind vorbeibringt. Hier haben wir ein Lebensgefühl, etwas zwischen Staunen und Panik und nicht ganz Dazugehören, was ja ein Synonym für Dichter ist. Peter Hamm über Hans Eichhorn

Eloquent and with fine irony Julian Schutting attends to the great topics of literature: What turns a poem into a poem, how to treat political topics without slipping into humanitarian banalities, and how to nowadays still write nature poems? “To the moon” is the exemplary summarisation of Schutting’s poetry. Against every prevailing trend he sings the praises of Orphelia’s waterbed, refers to Schiller’s Nenia and makes songs rush through raging seas. In refined compositions, Julian Schutting’s poems carry us away into a world that is in dept to Enlightenment, to sensuality and delight for language. This bow to poetry results on its part in great poetry, and to the one who gets into it, the power of the word opens up. But he isn’t too serious about it, and so one can allow to be fooled with pleasure.