Bachata Stuttgart by Lou
words & poetry
This space is an invitation to pause.
California dreams
When the sun is about to rise and the redwoods sweep in the soft winds coming from far away.
No mirror is needed to reflect on what the journey is about, because the ocean took care of it.
Calmly, reminiscing about the ones who passed, the ones who left and were left at last.
Looking back at remarkable memories and humans who shaped us.
The food interpreted old traditions in a new way.
Wheels turning tires without a driver swirling things around, finding somehow common ground.
Though the Spanish is not indigenous, it is better than it seemed at first sight.
Enough to prevent boredom and superficiality,
but barely enough to grieve together for what was starting to fall apart in 2023.
Followed by several goodbyes in 2024.
For sure it has closed and opened more than one door.
“I am humble”, what a claim,
kites barely fly without wind and billard is just a game.
But it’s ok,
not everything has to go my way.
The body was sick and help cost more than a few coins.
Coins which made people dance in ancient machines down at the wharves.
And so did I, dancing without shoes, until my toe was bruised.
My body is weird: it heals as it grooves.
Visiting magical woods,
enchanted ever since my childhood,
occupied by little dwarves and fairies.
Lovely memories, with you I want to share these.
By night the rocks of the desert reassemble into aliens who turn lava into blossoms and road rage into karaoke.
A decent smile and some crazy ideas,
but most of it pretty low-key.
Gallons of tea and stunning views of the sea. Some things, we just gotta let them be.
The bricks are not the only ones who tell us about their past glories. Christmas might be a good time for all these different stories.
A run with the dog, a bee on your back, a duck who left its family to stay with another one. A seal crying in the morning, a dolphin to greet, a cancer to meet and a squirrel to feed.
Who sliced the moon so thin and could you drop me your pin? I get lost occasionally. Exploring sensationally. Inhaling, watching and listening carefully. Studying the fallen stars on the Hollywood Boulevard with cumbia sounds traveling through the night. Saying “no” and “yes” in the torch light.
Marine knots are not easy to tie well, while antique fire trucks rang a massive bell,
I could tell,
the gingerbread house don’t belong to the beach,
but it for sure had a great time and something to teach.
Sometimes in the normal chaos of the average lies the sweet understanding of two strangers
without much noise or complexity.
Trying to let go of judgement and working it out pleasantly
with the tendency to do things a little messily.
“America”, we said over and over again along the way,
“thank you for letting me stay”, I say.
I traveled back in time and I return with the flag in my mind and a special taste on my tongue,
remembering all the old songs that I sung.
20.01.25
La flor tan esbelta
La flor se abre cuando le toca el sol
No hace falta mantener el control
Un revestimiento de luz
Si le quieren poner su rabia, levanten la cruz
Adelante, pero no se olviden que la naturaleza siempre renace
Dejándole el derecho de existir al desenlace
Le digo adiós a mi linda nana
Así toma mi mano mi valiente pana
Tarareando la melodía que me ilumina
Se está cerrando una vieja herida
Seguimos descubriendo
El dulce néctar bebiendo
El pajarito cantando, enriqueciendo el día
Aprovechando después de la dura sequía
Donde el polvo dejó marcas de algún roce antiguo
Se está muriendo el enredado ambiguo
En plena vista al florecimiento y talento
Mientras suena la dulzura de tu acento
Y cuando se baja el sol intenta dormir
La pesadilla pregunta por aturdir
No obstante sabiendo que viene otra mañana
Es el conocimiento que permite que se sana
Que suave el silencio
Ya no más desprecio
Practicando paciencia
El suspiro de la diferencia
Con calma finalmente suelta
Se renueva y crece, tan esbelta
Después de la noche, el amanecer
De nuevo se abre la flor y disfruta de poder simplemente ser.
02.05.25
I see you
you see me
Where winds change and waves set the rhythm
that’s where the heart beats the loudest,
and the voices resonate deeply in you.
Coming in and changing the pace,
relaxing the tiny muscles of your face.
Can’t rule what can’t be ruled
Can’t fool what can’t be fooled.
I only know as much as I see in you because it’s me.
And whatever it connects, is meant to be.
The rooster wakens in the golden hour,
the sudden clouds wash that paint off through a humble shower.
Take off those thick clothes whenever you’re ready,
so you can dry in the sun.
Even though this is far from done,
another morning might turn into another crawling.
Look at the crab walking sideways,
whatever may be the case.
Fading in your eyes or strengthening in mine,
light coming in to shine.
Purpose has never meant more nor less
than experiencing the touch of the blessed.
23.08.25
Shy hands
Not a single comment on my body
an exception among the noddy
while it could have been a compliment
I never missed it, already had too many of this contingent
a constant reminder of what I am, or claimed to be
when all I see in the mirror is really just me.
The brutality spreads in the shallowness of the obvious
most actions nothing but devious
taking another round in the roundabout,
cause that’s what it’s all about
woven into a seemingly homogenous crowd
finding no way ever out,
the least that matters is how loud we shout.
The real purpose, the real need, too far to be accessible
most of what I experience, to you incomprehensible
indecipherable the statistics
unfathomable the critics
unintelligible the cries of the oppression
ultimate goal mostly remains to be possession
your numbness working up to depression
anaerobic existence in self made compression
denying the love for what gave you life
stabbing the very foundation with your rusty knife.
Any indication of your limitations vanishes in the abundance of short term privilege
so all you do with us is excel in unacknowledged pillage.
I’ve refused to allow this dictate every aspect of my living
because I understand what one is taking can be giving
yet my anger targets you, because you are the one who reminds me relentlessly every day
why it is that I have to justify all the things that I want to say
while you can walk on this earth with blinders
and still get what you lay eyes on
I occasionally have to move my hips aiming for the bribe to be on
due to the lack of sincere established processes
well aware of the danger that my features may attract at the addresses.
You’ve learned that flesh incarnates love, red and raw
solely recording the twisted projection on your retina.
Funnily here I am,
looking at a delighted hu-man.
the absence of scrutinizing
a healthier curiosity arising
I had to tell him:
„no scanning
by thirsty eyes
no wandering mind
no search of what underneath my clothes is to find“
while desire for deep connection was probably there,
non-attendance of the usual fear.
no male gaze
just you expressing that you would love to be closer to my face.
Shy hands
rooted stance
the sweet blood that flowed
was the monthly reminder of how much more I am able to hold.
But change won’t come too sudden
until I stop being reminded that I am a woman.
05.09.25
Das Floß
In den Schatten der Mangroven
Ein Irrgarten, angehoben
Vereinzelt verlassen
Bildschön verblassen
Versionen im Mondschein von dir, die einst triumphierten
Gedanken kreuzten, Gefühle kollidierten
Strähnen der Glückseligkeit
Himmelreich und Einsamkeit
Dort, wo nur du einst warst
Wo man dich fand und nicht vergaß
Ein Schimmer der Ewigkeit
Verziert das, was längst bereit
Intuition in Vergessenheit
Kompromisse der Eitelkeit
Untergeben in Anbetracht der Liebe
Huschen niederträchtig bedachte Diebe
Es ist kein Ziel, es ist verschwommen
Wie bist du hier bloß reingekommen?
In Lianen verworrene Stimmen mehren sich
Es ist Nacht und du siehst dich nicht
Die Scham und Schuld, sie plagen dich
Das Dickicht lichtet sich
Oder irrst du dich?
Die Strömung treibt, das Wasser braun
Nur immer weiter nach vorne schauen
Strahlen der besseren Zeiten
Bieten kaum mehr Gelegenheiten
Der Kopf will zerbersten vor Erinnerung
Erhellt in Blitzen der Dämmerung
Oder warst du hier schon?
Vorangetrieben, liegengeblieben, umgebogen und doch gelogen
Versuchen und verzagen,
Wer hat hier das Sagen?
Ein Summen aus den Wipfeln
Worin soll es gipfeln?
Ernüchtert, zitternd vor Kälte, bebend im Fluss
Die Wellen, sie bringen doch nur Verdruss
Das Floß treibt unaufhörlich
War es deine Idee? wie töricht!
Vergeben und darin verloren,
Gestrandet, ganz zerkratzt
Meldet sich in dir ein Völlegefühl, bis du endlich platzt
Tropfen malen Mosaike in den Sand
In der abgelegenen Bucht, in der man dich einst fand
Am Horizont taucht die Sonne behutsam auf
Und die Dinge nehmen ihren Lauf
Das Floß, es zerschellt ferner draußen in der Brandung
Ein nackter Körper formt sich im ersten Sonnenlicht nach weicher Landung
​
„Auf welcher Insel bin ich hier?
Kommen nach dir denn noch mehr?“
Der Dschungel zischt beleidigt hinter dir
Unbefriedigt wiegt im Dunklen schwer
Ausgespeit mit einer Wucht
Halt inne, das war bereits deine Flucht
​
Bleib einfach hier liegen, erhol dich in der warmen Morgendämmerung
Ein besseres Floß, das baust du schon.
17.06.25
Winterblues
so gehe ich
und werde nicht
dicht an mir dran
es werde Licht
anstößig umschwärmt der dichte Nebel
der kein Wort verliert über deine Sicht
kaum zu verstehen durch den Knebel
suchst du nach deiner wahren Pflicht
nicht dort
nicht hier
und nirgendswo
doch horche da,
es gibt ein anderswo.
04.12.25
The “Hi!”s and Goodbyes
I stand on the track of the underground station
beneath this small town’s airport, patiently waiting
for something to arrive and take me home.
As usual, I go back alone.
Experiencing, without further complication,
the end - or the start - of a self-set limitation,
possibly the downfall of some faraway nation,
or simply a man who needs no reclamation.
A Caribbean country suspects a chance
while I let go of another romance.
I don’t even try to stop my tears from rolling down my cheeks
as my heart slowly - yet consistently - beats.
A few people pass by, looking twice,
as I witness the true meaning of nice,
when a man comes back
confusing my sadness with pain,
asking if I was alright, shortly before the arrival of the train.
„Enough caring humans do exist,“ I happily think to myself,
remembering how I used to rush home just before twelve.
I think that man really worries about me.
Funny enough, I feel very much alive and aligned with reality.
A few moments earlier it had dawned on me,
after years of banning a certain “felony”,
a stronger self greeting a „long time no see.“
As such I watched him pass through the security
check,
“Also, this very one, I shall not forget.”
Like the premature snowflakes which danced already on Christmas day around my nose,
I embraced the sprouting love that took off from the harbors
named after my eyes, hands and toes,
my hips and my lips,
and even my fingertips,
carefully exploring a different sight,
one which doesn’t require to be made right.
2025 contained few „hi“s,
acknowledgment of hard and soft tries,
increased awareness for bittersweet lies,
sharing little, but endearing sighs.
Having arrived more frequently at really nice,
when eventually all of them lead to sad goodbyes.
The train takes me back to where I belong,
as crying continues, without an urge to prolong.
Nothing about this feels wrong,
so, I play no sad, nor any kind of song.
On this morning in early Jan 2026
there is nothing that I need to fix.
I allow my tears to water my silky sheets,
not to forget,
but to finally let
more love and respect slide into me,
creating smooth environments inviting to be.
2025, you were a good year,
very healing, my dear.
Now, respectfully,
I’ve cherished every bit of your company.
2026 will naturally
continue gradually,
because thankfully,
I’ve become so much better at connecting with me.
04.01.26
daughter
when the sun touches her skin
she can’t remember when it last had been
then something awakens deep inside
it becomes day where it used to be night
the little itch spreading along her veins
but it doesn’t last long before it fades
like a stone falling into still water
raising her rings, she is her own daughter
04.03.25
obra inacabada
Si un día se vuelven a ver
Vayan a contarse lo que hubieran podido ser
De lo bonito que era en su momento
Escuchad con cuidado, ya os lo cuento:
un amor de verdad y de respeto
Que había empezado por ser coqueto
Sintiéndose incompleto
Cuánto costó el boleto?
El primer acto:
Ambos estremecidos del pasado
Lo que pasó había ya antes naufragado
Segundo acto:
Empezó a llover en el teatro
Pero lograron cambiar el dato
Recordando el presente
Si fue necesario: frente a frente
Tercer acto:
a ver, qué impacto!
aunque hayan cantado de veras
aunque hayan bailado con bondad
aunque justo hayan empezado a viajar juntos
Se habían olvidado de algunos asuntos:
Esta ópera tuvo que terminar con una muerte
Suena: “los personajes tienen que sufrir para transmitir un mensaje fuerte”
El escenario vacío
El telón empolvado
El parqué hace ruido
El sonido aplastado
Los pasitos inquietos, fuera del compás
Demasiados retos, habrá sido demás
Cuarto acto:
se vuelven a ver
Con una mirada adivinando de qué hubieran podido ser
De lo bonito que era en su momento
¿Cómo sigue el procedimiento?
„Cámbiense de asiento.
Necesitamos un poco de movimiento.“
Último acto: en el pensamiento.
Guardado adentro.
Después de la tempestad
Creció más voluntad
Rayos de sol, lo lamento.
„Estamos bajo construcción, avanza más lento“
En otra ocasión el final os lo cuento.
03.03.25
Words & Images
All poems on this page are original works by Lou.
The photographs shown here were taken by Lou or by close friends during shared journeys and personal travels.