December 8th, 1980, N.Y.


It was twelve years ago today, I have to sigh,

that John Lennon was shot in N.Y.


Just returning with his wife

from the studio, yet alive,

being happy, laughing much,

suddenly he got a touch.

He turned around. Seconds flat.

The man who touched him drew a gat.

He fired seven times or more.

His victim sank onto the floor,

hand by heart, in a sea of red.

He groaned, “I’m shot!” – and then he’s dead.

Though Yoko yelled hoarse herself;

though John was lifted on a shelf;

though the docs worked all the day

(in order to act in a knightly way) –

John Lennon drew his last breath,

and he wretchedly bled to death.

The world sank sadly down in wail,

but John was as dead as a doornail.


Oh Chapman, you fool, d’you know what you’ve done?

Go to hell! Get burned on the sun!

Get back to jail where you belong!

I tell you clear: your feat was wrong!


And now, 12 years later, I have to sigh

when I think of that event that day in N.Y. …





1992 war ich 17. In diesem Jahr hatte ich die Beatles für mich entdeckt, und eine ganz neue Welt tat sich mir auf. Plötzlich war mein ganzer Alltag mit Musik und Farben unterlegt, und ich ging nicht mehr, sondern tanzte morgens zur Schule…

Das obige Gedicht sandte ich Ende 1992 an Yoko Ono nach New York. Und im Januar 1993 bekam ich Antwort von ihr.

So fing alles an…

Ní Gudix, (Nachtrag vom 11.12.2020)