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Norman P Franke


Living in the Southern Hemisphere with Roots in Europe means Travelling. Traveling means accidental Wonders. I have had the Good Fortune to meet Many fascinating People (amongst them many Artists) from different parts of the world. From Early on, I tried to communicate my world Views and the Discovery of Taonga (Treasures) through drawing and Poetry. The Following Sites Give you a taste of Some of my Current Artistic Activities.

Clouds over Raglan, Aotearoa
Clouds over Raglan, Aotearoa

Drawing and Painting

At primary school our teacher read us fairy tales and encouraged us to draw and paint. Those are my fondest memories

of art making.

As a student, And later in adult life, I often travelled with a sketch book. I owe my friend H Peter Kahn many  wonderful insights into the Art of Travel Writing and drawing.

I am a member of the Waikato Society of Arts.


For me Photography is mainly an auxiliary activity to fix an image for future drawings or paintings. However, there is a unique element of serendipity that comes with taking unexpected photographs (great word: from ancient Greek: lit. 'light writings') which are sometimes artistic expressions in their own right. 

For some Further Photography in combination with Art reviews, please go to EYECONTACT



"Dichterisch Wohnet der Mensch" (Friedrich Hölderlin)

Living poetry is the essence of Life.

All the words we live by, be it in Poetry proper, in spiritual or philosophical writings or even in science, have a poetic dimension.

Writing lyrical poetry and poetic Prose is an ongoing journey and a dialogue with poets past and present.

For my NZSA (NZ PEN) website, please see:

Phenomenology of a poet


The poet forgets to eat when writing; he staggers to the bread bin, which smells like a childhood mill by the river. He rides his bike to the furniture store. He sings a Gregorian chant in a subway tunnel, and later recites Hölderlin’s 'Menschenbeifall' to the fellow passengers. He goes to the outdoor pool on a rainy day, where he returns the praying mantis’ greeting with Namaste. At every research library he visits he borrows obscure 60s poetry anthologies so he can read texts by poets nobody knows anymore, himself included. He barks at a dog. With Google Translate he changes the Greek instructions for use of his smart phone into Frisian, then into eleven other endangered languages ​​until they become the love-poetry of a science-fiction novel. The poet goes to the cinema on a sunny day. Riding the subway to the terminus, he tries to understand the scientia media according to de Molina by means of an old paperback. He does not succeed. He searches the faces of the passengers for clues. Some smile, others stare back. The poet inhales the midnight blossoms of the elderberry tree like the man who spent a night in an elven palace then returns to his city a stranger. A hundred years have passed. He lets a stone in the shoe be a stone in the shoe in order to refute the Realist who said: You cannot philosophise about God with a stone in your shoe. Until the toe bleeds. The poet looks for his distance glasses to find his reading glasses. Every morning he reads the New York Times briefing and the Moravian Psalms. The owner of his old favourite café recognises him after what feels like a hundred years and treats him to his favourite cheesecake, caravan tea and rum cherries. The poet sits near the high window where he always sat; it is snowing. Snowflakes dance to the basso continuo of a grimy fire wall, ascending, descending. He doesn't touch the fountain pen for a long time. Then he writes: This is the place where I first heard Pachelbel. Canon and Gigue. On leaving, he greets the winter moon over the continental port city like an old poet friend.


Phänomenologie eines Poeten

Vergisst über das Schreiben das Essen, wankt zum Brotkasten, der Mühle einer Kindheit am Fluss. Fährt mit dem Fahrrad zum Möbelhaus. Singt Gregorianik in einem U-Bahntunnel. Rezitiert dann Hölderlin’s ‚Menschenbeifall‘ in einem U-Bahnwagon. Geht an einem Regentag ins Freibad, wo er den Gruß der Gottesanbeterin mit Namaste erwidert. Leiht sich in jeder Forschungsbibliothek, die er besucht, auch obskure Lyrikanthologien aus dem Jahre 1960 aus. Liest darin Texte von Dichtern, die niemand kennt, auch der Freigeist selbst nicht. Bellt einen Hund an. Überträgt die griechische Gebrauchsanweiung seines Handys mit Google-Translate ins Friesische und durch elf weitere gefährdete Sprachen bis liebeslyrische Science Fiction daraus wird. Geht an einem Sonnentag ins Kino. Versucht bis zur Endhaltestelle in der U-Bahn mittels eines alten Paperbacks die scientia media nach de Molina zu verstehen (es gelingt ihm nicht); blickt schließlich diesbezüglich in die Gesichter der Mitfahrenden. Einige lächeln, andere starren zurück. Inhaliert die Mitternachtsblüten des Holunders wie der Mann, der eine Nacht im Elfenpalast weilt, und dann in seine Stadt zurückkehrt; als Fremder. Hundert Jahre sind vergangen. Läßt den Stein im Schuh, Stein im Schuh sein, um den Realisten zu widerlegen, der sagte: Du kannst nicht über Gott philosophieren mit einem Stein im Schuh. Bis der Zeh blutet. Sucht die Fernbrille, um die Lesebrille zu finden. Liest täglich das New York Times Briefing und die Herrnhuter Psalmen. Die Besitzerin seines alten Lieblingscafés erkennt ihn nach einem gefühlten Jahrhundert und spendiert seinen Lieblingskäsekuchen, Karavanentee und Rumkirschen. Er sitzt an dem hohen Fenster, wo er immer saß, es schneit. Schneeflocken tanzen vor dem basso continuo der verrußten Brandmauer, aufsteigend, absteigend. Eine Ewigkeit rührt er die Füllfeder nicht an. Dann: Hier hörte ich zuerst Pachelbel. Kanon und Gigue. Beim Hinausgehen grüßt er den Wintermond über der kontinentalen Hafenstadt wie einen alten Dichterfreund.

Film Making

My most recent full length Documentary Film is a team effort with my friends Elaine Bliss and Jake Ngawaka: 'Past Present'. It is an interview film with poet, environmentalist and academic extraordinaire, Peter Dane.

You can watch the Film here by clicking on the Link:


Peter Dane
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