The Bluest Eye

The Germans have eyes like the sea. Rich blue, dark blue, glass blue, clear blue, grey blue, green blue, all shades of luminescent beauty. They peek out from behind personalities which I find average, normal, without flourish, some more rigid than others, quite serious, VERY concerned about jaywalking. They are hidden by the Coca-colonialism that seems to dictate this German life as much as it does American. These eyes of such color, they are a treat, an überraschen, unexpected like a wish, and are perfect for gazing, should one get the chance.

My teachers here in Bamberg, they do not necessarily have the same ideas about language learning as I do, but I think their way works for intensive learning, as is advertised for this school. I have class from 9 to 12:30, with a pause for 30 minutes in the middle, and all morning every morning, the teacher lectures to the students auf Deutsch, about grammar in particular, asking questions of us, allowing us a brief chance to spit out a broken sentence or two using the new knowledge. The students, however, do not speak with one another in the class; always our attention is on the teacher. We do speak a lot out of class though, naturlich.

Beate is the first teacher, with tiger-red hair and the definative yet soft air of a potter. Hers are a pair of light greenbeigeblue eyes, and they are framed rectangularly by metallic lavender glasses. Norbert teaches the second 90-minute section. He always wears a pinstriped suit, and I told him he looked like a Betrüger, a swindler. He has a small ponytail and little dots of white dandruff in his sideburns and on his eyebrows. But his are a very thick grey, his eyes, the texture of cake batter.
My host family is also indigo-eyed, but the sister has the bluest, and they are like fresh marbles anointed with ambrosia. I have eaten dinner with she and her boyfriend for the last two nights. He is a folk-rock musician and sometimes plays at the local Blues Bar. He likes very much Dar Williams and James Taylor, and gave me cds to listen to, but I couldn't bear them for the sake of emotions, both pleasant and not. I travel to make new memories, because the old ones have too much sentiment, whether from the best of times or the worst of times. I am a sponge; I intake everything, and when I am wrung out, something always stays, stinking with mildew.

BUT, all is well, I must say. My German grammar is improving, though my vocabulary is still rawther small. I can recognize what people say when they talk to me, but that is not to say that I understand. It is an impressionistic world when ones language isn't all there, akin to modern art, which I like. So.