The text:
Das Haus
by Jan Böttcher
Er wollt vieles vor den Kindern unzugänglich aufbewahren
und jetzt weiß er nicht mehr: Wo hat er das Ding bloß hingetan.
Ist es in dem kleinen Schuppen, der im Garten steht,
oder unter der Treppe, die sich in den Keller dreht.
In der Kammer ist es nicht, obwohl sie Abstellkammer heißt,
höchstens oben auf dem Boden, da liegt etwas, das verweist
auf dasjenige, das weg ist, und er folgt der Spur,
doch im Küchenschrank ist nichts, er wühlt im Hausflur
zwischen den Jacken und den Mänteln, unter den Hüten seiner
Frau.
Manchmal hält er inne, sagt: jetzt weiß ich es genau ... aber
nein
Ref.: Er will das Haus auf den Kopf stellen. Er will das Haus auf
den Kopf stellen.
Er will das Haus auf den Kopf stellen. Das Haus hat Kraft.
Er wollt vieles vor den Kindern unzugänglich aufbewahren.
Was die alles wissen wollen, in den ersten Kinderjahren
war das richtig, so zu handeln, doch jetzt ist die Zeit,
wo verborgene Geschichte aus den Schubladen schreit.
Er sucht täglich nach dem Ding, es kommt nur nachts und raubt
ihm den Schlaf. Er wandelt durch die Diele, wo er glaubt,
es zu sehen, er greift hastig und schlägt dabei lang hin.
Ein Geräusch aus kalten Kacheln unter seinem Unterkinn.
Er steht nackt im Garten, wo ist der Gegenstand?
Ist er ausgestorben, abgeholt, zerfalln oder verbrannt?
Ref.: Er will das Haus auf den Kopf stellen. Er will das Haus auf
den Kopf stellen.
Er will das Haus auf den Kopf stellen. Das Haus hat Kraft.
Seine Kinder fahrn zur Schule, seine Frau fährt ins Büro,
und er steht am Küchenfenster, winkt und lächelt und ist froh,
allein zurück zu bleiben, er gräbt im Garten tief.
Alle Möbel stehen anders, alle Bilder hängen schief.
Immer wieder kleine Funde, die er nicht so sehr vermisst
wie das andere, das sein Ein und Alles ist ...
alles ist alles ist alles ist
Mangel
Ref.: Er will das Haus auf den Kopf stellen. Er will das Haus auf
den Kopf stellen.
Er will das Haus auf den Kopf stellen. Das Haus hat Kraft.
Audio file here!
Tony Crawford
It was something that he wanted to keep out of reach of kids
Only now he can't remember where in hell the thing is hid:
Somewhere in the garden shed among the pots and crates?
In the pantry with the cupcakes, in the cupboard with the plates?
Though it isn't in the cellar where things always seem to go
Something else found in the attic gives a clue that he should know
Where the thing that isn't there is if it's in the house at all
But there's nothing in the nightstand. He goes digging in the hall
Into all the jacket pockets and his wife's antique bureau
Then he stops and slaps his head and says, "Oh! I know!"
But no …
(Refrain:)
He'll turn the house upside down now
He'll turn the house upside down now
The house fights back.
There were lots of things he wanted to keep out of children's reach
Taught his kids stay out of trouble and he practiced what he preached
When they're little there's no limit to their need to explore
But the secrets and the stories whisper now from every drawer
Every day he searches for it and it calls to him at night
He gets up and haunts the hallway where he sees it but he might
Be only dreaming till he grabs it - and lands on his head
With a smack on the tiles hard enough to wake the dead
He stands naked in the moonlight looking for it all around
Is it stolen, lost, decayed, defunct, incinerated, found?
(Refrain:)
He'll turn the house upside down now
He'll turn the house upside down now
The house fights back.
When his children leave for school and his wife is off to work
And he's waving from the window with an absent-minded smirk
He is fin'ly home alone and free to excavate the yard,
Pull the pictures from the wall and tear the furniture apart
All the little things he finds, he hadn't missed; they're not the thing
that he's seeking, that to him is everything, everything, everything
Everything, everything's
Missing
Everything's missing
(Refrain:)
He'll turn the house upside down now
He'll turn the house inside out now
The house fights back.
Audience Award 1st Place
Steph Morris
There's a Ghost in his House
He had to hide a thousand items from the kiddies' probing fingers;
Now he hasn't got the faintest where he put the blasted thingy.
Is it lurking in the woodshed at the bottom of the garden?
In the corner in the cellar? The recesses of the larder?
It is nowhere in the closet, known as 'cupboard under the stairs'.
Maybe up there in the attic; there was something hopeful there
Which had indicated likelihood of reassuring clues.
Nowhere in the kitchen cupboards; nowhere in the vestibule,
Behind the jackets and the raincoats, under hats or deep in pockets.
Now and then he stops and smiles and shouts, 'I've got it!'
…not.
Upside down he's turning it, inside out
Inside out he's turning it, upside down.
The house holds out.
He had to hide a thousand items from the kiddies' probing fingers;
For there really is no knowing what young people will get into.
And while then discretion beckoned, since the youngest has turned twelve
Best demystify such things before they suss them for themselves.
He searches daily for the doobry. In the middle of the night
It wakes him up. He scours the building, find the place he thinks it might
Have been. He swipes too fast, slips on his arse and down he falls:
The sound of bone meeting ceramic from around his lower jaw.
Now he's naked in the garden. Where the blazes is the whatsit?
P'raps incinerated, shredded, germinated or composted?
Upside down he's turning it, inside out
Inside out he's turning it, upside down.
The house holds out.
His kids rush for the school bus and his partner gets the train.
He smiles and waves them off but he is happy he can stay.
With a pickaxe, spade and shovel he begins to excavate.
All the furniture has shifted; not a picture now hangs straight.
A million other things turn up and they are truly stimulating,
But the thing is that that other thing is everything to him,
everything to him, everything to him
is lost.
Audience Award 2nd Place
Lesley Suzanne Dean
(accompanied on the guitar by Nina Töllner)
He meant to keep it out of reach of children, well out of harm's way.
Now just where he put the god-damned thing he truly cannot say.
Is it in one of the boxes hidden underneath the bed?
Buried under rotting compost in the back behind the shed?
It's not in this room either, though it's called the storage room.
In the attic, thinks he sees a clue there tucked behind the broom.
That lead takes him to the kitchen, where he forages in vain
for the thing that he is missing, and it's driving him insane.
He rummages through drawers and in that secret spot of his.
Then he freezes in his tracks and says: Oh, I know where it is…but
it's not.
Ref.: He's tearing the house apart. He's tearing the house apart.
He's tearing the house apart. The house is strong.
He meant to keep it out of reach of children, well out of harm's way,
'cause kids do get into trouble if you dare to look away.
Now he's wrestling with his conscience: Was it wrong or was it right?
And the skeletons in his closet just won't let him sleep at night.
He looks high and low and in between (it still eludes his sight),
staggers madly through the upstairs hallway, where he thinks he might
have seen it yesterday, or earlier. He lunges and he falls
forward, landing just so that the doorstop hits him in the balls.
Pulling out his hair, he cries: Where is that fucking thing?
Has it vanished or disintegrated, been stolen or gone extinct?
Ref.: He's tearing the house apart. He's tearing the house apart.
He's tearing the house apart. The house is strong.
While his wife heads to the office, kids are on the bus to school,
he stands at the kitchen window waving, smiling like a fool.
Left alone he digs and searches, rips the floorboards from the floor.
The place is all a shambles, as if ravaged by a war.
He finds countless little treasures but continues to bemoan
the lack of that precious thing which is his one and on-
ly only only only only loss.
Only loss.
Ref.: He's tearing the house apart. He's tearing the house apart.
He's tearing the house apart. The house is strong.
Audience Award 3rd Place
John Manning
He wanted to keep stuff out of the hands of the kids,
and now can't work out where on earth he's put it.
In the little shed perhaps, in the garden outside,
Or beneath the stairs going down to the cellar?
It's not in the storeroom, though that's meant to be for 'storage',
it could be in the loft of course, something up there
shows something else is missing, so he follows the signs -
in the kitchen cupboard nothing, nor in the hall where
he hunts in coats and jackets, and the hats of his wife.
Sometimes he pauses, says now I've found it - but no.
Refrain: He wants to turn the house upside down. He wants to turn
the house upside down.
He wants to turn the house upside down. The house fights back.
He wanted to keep stuff out of the hands of the kids.
For what they want to know in the first childhood years
that's the right thing to do, but now the time has come
to open up the drawers, reveal the hidden story.
He looks for it by day, but it only comes at night,
it robs him of his sleep. He wanders through corridors,
is sure he can see it, grabs at it and falls down flat.
There's a sound from cold tiles just beneath his chin.
He stands naked in the garden, just where is the thing?
Has it perished, been removed, decayed or been burnt?
Refrain: He wants to turn the house upside down. He wants to turn
the house upside down.
He wants to turn the house upside down. The house fights back.
His kids go to school, his wife to the office,
he stands at the kitchen window, waves, smiles and is happy
to be at home on his own, where he digs deep in the garden.
The furniture is all a mess, the pictures hang crooked.
He keeps finding little things he hasn't really missed,
unlike that other one, which means so much to him.
All of it is all of it is all of what
he hasn't got.
Joseph Danaghie
| There were many things he tried to hide, | to keep them from the kids |
| But now he doesn't know, | just what the hell he did with it |
| Or maybe in the shed, | in the gaaarden, | he thought |
| or under the staircase, in the cellar. | Or it ought |
| to be in the storage cupboard, | after all it's used to store things. |
| Or in the attic, there's a tell-tale sign | between the floor beams. |
| He takes the clue, goes back downstairs, | believing in success |
| But nothing's in the cupboard, | the search is getting stress- |
| ful, between the jackets, coats and hats | and all those things his wife- |
| and sometimes pauses, speaks aloud: | Oh God for the life (of me)...... but no |
Chorus.: This house needs an arse kick. This house needs an arse kick.
This house needs an arse kick. Rock this powerhouse.
| There were many things he tried to hide, | to keep them from the kids |
| They had so many questions, | and it seemed right what he did |
| Was it right? | Doesn't matter | Cause now the time's arrived, |
| Those hidden things are screaming out | of drawers as if alive. |
| He seeks it daily | it comes nights , | and tugs at his pyjaaamas |
| He sleepwalks through the lobby, | like in a horror drama, |
| There it is! He races | grabs hastily at it, |
| His face hits the ceramic floor | his teeth have had it |
| In the garden standing naked, |
where is then that old thing? |
| Is he dead and gone to heaven? | is he rotting ........... or is he smouldering? |
Chorus.: This house needs an arse fuck. This house needs an arse fuck.
This house needs an arse fuck. Fuck this powerhouse.
| His children go to school, | to the office drives his wife, |
| He stands at the kitchen window, | laughs happily and smiles, |
| to finally be alone again, | he digs the garden through. |
| The furniture is on its head, | the pictures hang askew. |
| Now and then he finds a thing, | he wasn't really missing |
| as much as that: that other thing, | his evrything he's wishing |
Everything Everything Everything
Miss you
GGGGGG
Does Haus
S/he wanted to spare progeny so many things
Now the thing is s/he lost knowledge of this: Where did s/he mislay the
thing?
Is it in the small garden shed / that compartment in the field?
Or beneath the stairs / spiralling down beyond depth?
It is not stowed away in the box room / though aptly boxed and roaming
Potentially in the attic some/thing lies referring the same
To some/thing which it is not / and gone / as s/he retraces that some/
not same thing
But there is no/thing in that cooling box / so s/he digs in his corridor
Between old style hats and coats and broadened shelves
Some times s/he hesitates: know I k/no/w for certain … but know
S/he wants to turn
In side out / up side down / das house
In side out side up side down
Das house ist powerful
S/he wanted to spare progeny the thing
What with all this wanting to know / in the pre-formative years
It was right to perform like this / but now is the time
Where stowaway history screams out from in/side cool boxed drawers
The thing is s/he is looking for the same / daylily recurring / some/thing
in the night
Which robs her of his dreams as s/he sleepwalks through her hallway of
belief
For the hallmark hastily s/he reaches out / to find no/thing but a spinning
fall
Under his lower chin's soundings s/he fathoms the cold tiled surface
S/he is standing naked in the field / the thing is where?
fixed by death / ported away / muted into smoke or ash / or fragmented
/ Trans
disintegration?
S/he wants to turn
In side out / up side down / das house
In sight / out site / up side down
Does hause is powerful
As progeny departs through schooling / his partner does through a regime
The outlook sees her happily smiling / wavering before the eyes
To be left behind alone like this / thing is s/he digs the field so deep
posed thus / the furniture stands differently - all paintings angled crookedly
/ Trans
Time and again brings small findings which s/he did not miss much until
then
Like an/other some/thing that is her one and all the same thing
Some/thing is all is all is all is / same thing really
Lack / no deficiency / no imperfection
Does Haus - don't do no home
James Harris
He wanted to put things out of reach of the kids
And know he doesn't know no more where the thing is
Is it in the little shed that the garden boasts
Or down the stairs that to the cellar slope
It's not in the room for storage although it's a storage room
At best upon the floor something lying gives a clue
To the thing that's gone away and he follows its trail
Yet there's nowt in the kitchen cupboard and on the porch he flails
'Tween the jackets and the coats and beneath the wifey's hats
Sometimes he has to pause and say: Eureka at last!... but no…
He turns the house inside out. He turns the house inside out.
Wants to turn the house inside out. The house is strong.
He wanted to put things out of reach of the kids
The questions come so urgently when they are still in bibs
It was right to do it, but now the time dawns
To let hidden history come screaming out the drawers.
He's looks everyday for the thing, it comes at night and steals
His sleep - he walks through the halls and he feels
He can see it, grasping hastily and oop-la! missing by a mile
The sound beneath his chin of cracking glazed tiles.
He stands naked in the garden - where's the thing in question?
Is it loaned out burnt up or beyond all recognition?
Repeat chorus.
His children go to school and his wife goes off to work
And he stands at the kitchen table with a wave and a smirk
To be staying home alone and he digs the garden through
The furniture is rearranged and the pictures all askew
Little things turn up that but he never really sweat
Them not being there unlike his raison d'être…
It's all it's all it's all
Missing
Repeat chorus.
Alina Hoyne
|
He planned to keep things "out of reach of children"
but now no longer knows: where did he put the damn thing? In the
shed out in the garden? Or hid beneath the cellar stairs? It isn't
in the storage-room, although it's called the "storage-room".
Most likely there is something, similar to what he's missing, lying
on the floor above him, so he's following the lead. There's nothing
in the cupboard so he's out there in the hallway rummaging, under
his wife's hats, amongst the jackets and the coats. Everything's, Everything's, Everything's |
Synke Köhler
he wanted a lot really a lot to keep away from his kids
and right now he doesn't know: where he just put
that thing. is it in the little shed standing in the garden
or under the stairs winding down into the cellar.
no it's not in the cubby, although it's called storeroom,
at most above under the roof there is lying something
referring to the one that's gone, and he traces back,
but there is nothing in the fridge, in the hall between
coats and jackets, between his wifes hats he is digging too.
sometimes he stops for a while, says: now I know for
sure ... but no
He wants to turn the house on its head, yeah. He wants to turn
yeah yeah yeah the house on its head, he wants to turn, yeah yeah.
This powerful house.
he wanted a lot really a lot to keep away from his kids.
what the hell they wanted to know, it was right to handle
like this in its first childhood years, but now there is time
latent history shouts out of drawers. he looks for it every day,
that thing, only in nighttime it's coming out stealing his sleep.
he walks through the hall, believing to see it, hastily he grabs
and falls along thereby. the clear sound of cold floor tiles under
his chin. naked he stands in the garden, where is it this fucking
thing? is it extinct, fetched, is it moldered or burned?
He wants to turn the house on its head, yeah. He wants to turn
yeah yeah yeah the house on its head, he wants to turn, yeah yeah.
This powerful house.
his kids are going to school, his wife is going to work and he
stands in front of the kitchen window, beckons and smiles
glad to remain alone, he digs the garden deeply. every piece of
furniture is arranged differently, all pictures are crooked. again
and again little finds he hasn't that missing, not missing like
the other one, his be-all and his end-all
all is all is all
alone
He wants to turn the house on its head, yeah. He wants to turn
yeah yeah yeah the house on its head, he wants to turn, yeah yeah.
This powerful house.
Brad Schmidt
He wanted to keep so much far away from the calves
And now he can't remember where he put that thing, where the hell
Is it in the small shed that stands by the well
Or under the trough, which is drying out
It's not in the closet, even though it's for the shot gun
Up on the roof, at most, there lies something rotten
He follows the traces like a coyote
But in the kitchen nook… nope,
He rummages in the hall
Between the jackets and coats, under his partner's hats
Sometimes he stops for a moment and says, now I know exactly where the
hell… but no
He wants to turn the trailer upside down. He wants to turn the trailer
upside down.
He wants to turn the trailer upside down. The trailer has wheels.
He wanted to keep so much far away from the calves.
What they all wanted to know in their earliest years.
Was it right to act like that? Now is the time.
When hidden stories scream from the drawers.
He looks for the thing every day, it comes in the night and robs his sleep.
He goes through the hall, where he thought he saw it, he grabs for it
quick and falls on his ass.
He wants to turn the trailer upside down. He wants to turn the trailer
upside down.
He wants to turn the trailer upside down. The trailer has wheels.
His calves grazing on the prairie, his partner tending to them,
He stands at the kitchen window, waves and smiles,
And is happy to stay there and digs deep in the field.
All the chairs moved around, all the calendars crooked.
Again and again there were little surprises, which he hadn't missed that
much
As the other thing, that is his one and only
Everyone is everyone is everyone is
Broke
Christina Siegert
he wanted to keep a lot out of his children's reach
and now he can't recall: where did he put it.
is it in the garden shed,
under the stairs spiralling down to the basement.
it is not in the box room despite its name,
it could be in the attic, there is something
referring to what's been there before and he follows the trace,
but there is nothing in the cupboard, he digs in the hall
through jackets and coats, under his wife's hats.
occasionally he stops short, saying: i know exactly…but no
he wants to turn the house upside down. he wants to turn the house upside
down.
the powerful house, the withholding house.
he wanted to keep a lot out of his children's reach.
the things they want to know, in their early years
it was right to act like this, but now it is the time
when hidden history starts screaming out of drawers.
daily he keeps looking for the thing, it comes along at night
to take his sleep. he strolls along the corridor, thinking he sees it,
grasps hastily and falls prostrate.
the sound of cold tiles under his chin.
naked in the garden, where is that thing?
is it extinct, deported, decayed or combusted?
he wants to turn the house upside down. he wants to turn the house upside
down.
the powerful house, the secretive house.
his children leave for school, his wife for the office,
and he waves from the kitchen window, smiling and glad
to be left alone, he digs deep in the garden.
all the furniture has been moved around, pictures hang at angles.
little finds here and there, that he did not miss as much
as the other thing, his everything
everything everything that matters
is not there
Renée von Paschen
He tried hard to hide lots of things from his kids,
and now he doesn't know where he's hidden those bits:
out back in the garden, or up in the shed,
or under the cellar stairs that wind overhead.
They're not in the closet, though that's what it's for,
perhaps in the attic there'll be something more
that's like a missing link, at least he would think.
Since nothing's in the cupboard, he looks under the hall mats,
between the coats and jackets, among his wife's old hats,
Sometimes he stops short and says: it's here I hope… but nope.
He's gonna turn the whole house upside down.
He's gonna turn the whole house upside down.
The house holds up.
He tried hard to hide lots of things out of fear
kids wanna know it all in those first few years.
But why did he do that, now the time is here,
when hidden secrets surface in the bottom drawer.
Each day he goes looking for that thing, but once more
it's stealing his sleep. So he wanders through the halls,
he thinks he can see it, then he grabs it but he falls.
There's a noise as he crashes, cold tiles beneath his chin.
He's naked in the garden, now where's that thing been?
Is it expired or extinct, burnt out or caved in?
He's gonna turn the whole house upside down.
He's gonna turn the whole house upside down.
The house holds up.
His wife goes to work, and his kids leave for school,
he waves from the window, joyful as a rule
to be left home alone to dig in the yard.
He moves around the furniture and pictures looking hard.
He finds bits and pieces that hadn't made him lonely
half as much as that thing - his one and only
One and only, one and only
loss…