Krimigedicht Tag

Posted On Juni 1, 2024By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag Juni 2024

Krimigedicht – James Neil Morrison

Sheriff Fatman by James Neil Morrison / Leslie George Carter Sheriff Fatman started out is business as a granny farmerHe ws infamous for fifteen minutesAnd he appeared on PanoramaThen he somehow got on board a Starship Enterprise Allowance SchemeWith a Prince of Wales AwardFor pushing valium and amphetamines Moving Up on Second BaseWith Nicholas Van what’s His FaceAt six foot sixAnd 100 TonsThe undisputed King of the SlumsWith more alias‘ than Klaus BarbieMaster Butcher of Leigh on SeaJust about to take the stageThe one and only – hold the frontRead More
Stone Cold Dead in the Market by Frederick W. Hendricks He’s stone cold dead in the marketHe’s stone cold dead in the marketHe’s stone cold dead in the marketI killed nobody but my husband Last night I went out drinkingWhen I came home I gave her a beatingSo she catch the rolling pin and went to work on my headUntil she bash it inI lie cold dead in the marketStone cold dead in the marketI lie cold dead in the marketShe killed nobody but her husband I lick ‚im wit‘Read More
papa said goodbye to the glass on the prison phonemama never cried just said boyyou a bad man’s son under a new moon skymy headlights cut the nighton this dark road to nowhere it’s just a matter of timebefore i have to pay the pricefor what i’ve done back there i am bound for my fatei got bad man’s blood in my veins i told the teller manto put the money in the bagmy hand was shakin’ scared the shot took me by surprisei saw the fear in his eyesi just left him layin’Read More
Woody Haut: What Is Noir? Is more than darkness. IsCorruption of the heart. Isbehind closed doors, board-room or street. Is fuckedWhether you do, don’t sing, Moan, sniff or shoot. Is aticket to all we have, neverenough. Is greed, lust, a fatalkiss, the banker, cop, criminal, orany other poor sucker whoscreams for mercy. Is adream of autonomy, femmefatality causality, breathing,„Hey, baby, let’s take it all.”Is a corpse, a handful of dustand ultimately who cares, ifthe only punishment is death. Excerpted – with thanks to the author – from On Dangerous Ground: Film Noir Poems (CloseRead More
Ah, haFreddie’s deadThat’s what I saidLet the rap a planSaid he’d see him homeBut his hope was a ropeAnd he should’ve knownIt’s hard to understandThat there’s love in this manI’m sure all would agreeThat his misery was hisWoman and thingsNow Freddie’s deadThat’s what I said Everybody’s misused himRipped him up and abused himPushing dope for the manBut that’s how it goesA Freddie’s on the corner nowIf you want to be a junkie, wowRemember Freddie’s dead We’re all built up with progressBut sometimes I must confessWe can deal with rockets andRead More
Lilly was standing on the cornerShe waited there in front of the storeShe waited there for an hour or twoWho knows, she maybe waited moreBut nobody showed So Lilly, she decided she go And she rides tonight In Lilly’s Daddy’s Cadillac Lilly’s man’s name is Dan He works in the back of a dirty book stand His best friends know his mind But nobody knows his plans And nobody else Knows what Danny boy got to sell Lord, he rides tonight In Lilly’s Daddy’s Cadillac Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohRead More
Kid Creole and the Coconut: „Stool Pigeon“ There’s a gentleman that’s going ‚roundTurnin‘ the joint upside down, Stool Pigeon, ha tja tja tjaHe’s an old ex-con that’s been awayNow he’s back, no one’s safe, Stool Pigeon, ha tja tja tja „If you wanna squeal“, said the F.B.I.„We can make a deal, make it worth your while“So he told them all and in returnHe got a credit card and a Thunderbird And the maximum securityEven after plastic surgery„So, go on and squeal“, said the F.B.I.„We can make a deal, make itRead More
I Have To Do My Time Now I understand, why so many own happy homes today.Now I understand, why so many own happy homes today.These devils commit these crimes, then a good person’s got to pay. I’ve got twenty-five years in this hell, the doors slammin‘ night and day.I’ve got twenty-five years in this hell, the doors slammin‘ night and day.And they always comin‘, and no one goin‘ away. Mmm, this jail is a lonesome place.Mmm, the jailhouse is a lonesome place.It almost killed me, when these doors slammed inRead More
1 I know you’ve got my manI know you’ve got my manTry to hold him if you can I know that man don’t want nobody but meI know my man don’t want nobody but meIf you don’t believe it, I’ve got his room key If you don’t leave my fucking man aloneIf you don’t leave my fucking man aloneYou won’t know what way that you will go home I’ll cut your throat and drink your fucking blood like wineBitch, I’ll cut your fucking throat and drink your blood like wineBecauseRead More
Sittin‘ right behind meI could smell her perfumeIt was somethin‘ I’d smelled beforeWent through a red lightWhile I spilled my drinkI could feel somethin‘ sticky on the floor I said „Miss, you’ve gotta tell meWhere you wanna go toI can’t keep drivin‘ round the same block“So I crumpled my cupAnd pulled the gum off my shoeAnd then she told me „Just shut upAnd keep your eyes on the road“ „And just drive,“ she said„Just drive,“ she said„Just drive,“ she said Well, I watched her put her handsOn the bag inRead More

Posted On April 1, 2023By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag April 2023

Krimigedicht von John Lee Hooker

I’m bad like Jesse James I’m bad I’m bad Like Jesse James, uh-huh I had a friend one time Least I thought I did He come to me Said, ‚Johnny?‘ Said, ‚What man?‘ ‚I’m outdoor‘ I say, ‚Yeah?‘ I taken the cat in Get him a place to stay And I found out He goin‘ ‚round town Tellin‘ ev’rybody that he He got my wife Then I gets mad I goes to the cat Like a good guy should I said, ‚Look man ‚I’m gonna warn, you just one time‘Read More
Beitragsbild Krimibestenliste

Posted On Februar 1, 2023By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag Februar 2023

Krimibestenliste – Februar 2023

Veröffentlichungstermin für die von Deutschlandfunk Kultur beherbergte aktuelle Krimibestenliste Februar 2023 ist Freitag, 3. Februar. Die Jahres-Krimibestenliste 2022 hier als PDF. Hier die Krimibestenliste Februar 2023: 1 (-)                         Megan Abbott: Aus der Balance (Pulp Master) 2 (1)                        Johannes Groschupf: Die Stunde der Hyänen (Suhrkamp) 3 (-)                         Kenneth Fearing: Die große Uhr (Elsinor) 4 (2)                        Attica Locke: Pleasantville (Polar) 5 (4)                        Tom Lin: Die tausend Verbrechen des Ming Tsu (Suhrkamp)  6 (10)                      Sally McGrane: Die Hand von Odessa (Voland&Quist) 7 (3)                        Tade Thompson: Fern vom Licht des Himmels (Golkonda) 8 (-)                         Joe R. Lansdale: Moon Lake (Festa)   9 (-)                         Antoine Volodine: Einige Einzelheiten über die Seele der Fälscher (Edition Converso)Read More

Posted On Dezember 1, 2022By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag Dezember 2022

Krimigedicht –von Willie Colon

Vigilante A veces la moral y la ley no están de acuerdo, y son estos momentos que pueden hacer de un delincuente un hombre derecho, la casa, los niños, la familia, las amistades, la tranquilidad. Hay veces cuando hay que defenderlas, hay tiempo pa quejarse, hay tiempo pa peliar. La calle esta desierta, la noche ya no es nuestra, todos tiemblan al oscurecer, caramba yo prefiero que me juzguen doce a que me entierren seis. Hay que estar vigilante Coro: Vigilante…… Quiero ser vigilante Coro: Vigilante….. No salgas solo estaRead More
Inspired bei Norman Bates Psycho Killer I can’t seem to face up to the factsI’m tense and nervous and I can’t relaxI can’t sleep ‚cause my bed’s on fireDon’t touch me, I’m a real live wire Psycho KillerQu’est-ce que c’est?Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, betterRun, run, run, run, run, run, run away, oh-oh-ohPsycho KillerQu’est-ce que c’est?Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, betterRun, run, run, run, run, run, run away, oh, oh, oh, ohAy-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya, ooh You start a conversation, you can’t even finish itYou’re talking a lot, but you’re not saying anythingWhen I have nothing to say, myRead More

Posted On September 1, 2022By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag September 2022

Krimigedicht „Run Get My Shotgun“

Run Get My Shotgun by Jessie Mae Hemphill I’m gonna blow my baby awayKeep messing up on me1990 gonna do something I got no business doingMe and my shotgun I said run get me my shotgunAnd me a box of shells If my baby keeps messing up on meI’m gonna send his soul to hell I had a little trouble Down on Ardmore Farm Went looking for my babySome no-good woman hid him and gone I tried to see my baby six feet in the groundAnd if he keeps messing up onRead More

Posted On Mai 1, 2022By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag Mai 2022

Krimigedicht von Mose Allison

Parchman Farm Well I’m sittin‘ over here on Parchman FarmWell I’m sittin‘ over here on Parchman FarmWell I’m sittin‘ over here on Parchman FarmAnd I ain’t never done no man no harm Well I’m puttin‘ that cotton in an eleven foot sackWell I’m puttin‘ that cotton in an eleven foot sackWell I’m puttin‘ that cotton in an eleven foot sackWith a twelve guage shotgun at my back I’m sittin‘ over here on Number NineI’m sittin‘ over here on Number NineWell I’m sittin‘ over here on Number NineAnd all I didRead More

Posted On April 1, 2022By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag April 2022

Krimigedicht von Leonard Cohen

The Future Give me back my broken nightMy mirrored room, my secret lifeIt’s lonely hereThere’s no one left to tortureGive me absolute controlOver every living soulAnd lie beside me, babyThat’s an order Give me crack and anal sexTake the only tree that’s leftAnd stuff it up the holeIn your cultureGive me back the Berlin wallGive me Stalin and St. PaulI’ve seen the future, brotherIt is murder Things are going to slide, slide in all directionsWon’t be nothing (won’t be nothing)Nothing you can measure anymoreThe blizzard, the blizzard of the worldHasRead More
Guiltiness (1977) Guiltiness (talkin‘ ‚bout guiltiness)Pressed on their conscience. Oh yeah.And they live their lives (they live their lives)On false pretence everyday –Each and everyday. Yeah. These are the big fishWho always try to eat down the small fish,Just the small fish.I tell you what: they would do anythingTo materialize their every wish. Oh yeah-eah-eah-eah. Say: Woe to the downpressors:They’ll eat the bread of sorrow!Woe to the downpressors:They’ll eat the bread of sad tomorrow!Woe to the downpressors:They’ll eat the bread of sorrow!Oh, yeah-eah! Oh, yeah-eah-eah-eah! Pressed on their conscience. OhRead More
Sting: Moon over Bourbon Street There’s a moonOver Bourbon Street tonightI see faces as they passBeneath the pale lamplightI’ve no choiceBut to follow that callThe bright lights, the peopleAnd the moon and allI pray everydayTo be strongFor I know what I doMust be wrongOh, you’ll never see my shadeOr hear the sound of my feetWhile there’s a moonOver Bourbon Street It was many years agoThat I became what I amI was trapped in this lifeLike an innocent lambNow I can never showMy face at noonAnd you’ll only see me walkingByRead More

Posted On November 1, 2021By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag November 2021

Krimigedicht von Frank Wedekind

Der Tantenmörder Ich hab meine Tante geschlachtet,Meine Tante war alt und schwach;Ich hatte bei ihr übernachtetUnd grub in den Kisten-Kasten nach. Da fand ich goldene Haufen,Fand auch an Papieren gar vielUnd hörte die alte Tante schnaufenOhn Mitleid und Zartgefühl. Was nutzt es, daß sie sich noch härme –Nacht war es rings um mich her –Ich stieß ihr den Dolch in die Därme,Die Tante schnaufte nicht mehr. Das Geld war schwer zu tragen,Viel schwerer die Tante noch.Ich faßte sie bebend am KragenUnd stieß sie ins tiefe Kellerloch. – Ich hab meineRead More

Posted On September 1, 2021By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag September 2021

Krimigedicht von Ruben Blades

Pedro Navaja OkOne two, one two, three, uh Por la esquina del viejo barrio lo vi pasarCon el tumba’o que tienen los guapos al caminarLas manos siempre en los bolsillos de su gabánPa‘ que no sepan en cuál de ellas lleva el puñalUsa un sombrero de ala ancha de medio la’oY zapatillas por si hay problema salir vola’oLentes oscuros pa‘ que no sepan qué está mirandoY un diente de oro que cuando ríe se ve brillandoComo a tres cuadras de aquella esquina, una mujerVa recorriendo la acera entera por quintaRead More

Posted On Juli 1, 2021By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag Juli 2021

Krimigedicht von Bessie Smith

Send Me to the ‚Lectric Chair Judge, you wanna hear my pleaBefore you open up your courtBut I don’t want no sympathy‚Cause I done cut my good man’s throat I caught him with a trifling JaneI warned him ‚bout beforeI had my knife and went insaneAnd the rest you ought to know Judge, Judge, please, Mr. JudgeSend me to the ‚lectric chairJudge, Judge, good Mr. JudgeLet me go away from here I wanna take a journeyTo the devil down belowI done killed my manI wanna reap just what I’ve sowedRead More

Posted On Juni 1, 2021By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag Juni 2021

Krimigedicht von den Doors

Riders on the Storm von John Densmore, Robby Krieger, Ray Manzarek und Jim Morrison – und man vergißt immer wieder, dass sich der Song auf Serialkiller Billy Cook bezieht… Riders on the stormRiders on the stormInto this house we’re bornInto this world we’re thrown Like a dog without a boneAn actor out aloneRiders on the stormThere’s a killer on the roadHis brain is squirmin‘ like a toadTake a long holidayLet your children playIf ya give this man a rideSweet family will die Killer on the road, yeahGirl, ya gotta loveRead More

Posted On Mai 1, 2021By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag Mai 2021

Krimigedicht von Tom Jones

Tom Jones‘ „Delilah“ von 1968 ist einer der ewigen Ohrwürmer. Zum Mitschunkeln und Mitsingen. Aber vielleicht fällt heute auf, bei was alle immer fröhlich mitsingen …  I saw the light on the night that I passed by her windowI saw the flickering shadows of love on her blindShe was my womanAs she deceived me, I watched and went out of my mind My, my, my, DelilahWhy, why, why, DelilahI could see, that girl was no good for meBut I was lost like a slave that no man could free AtRead More

Posted On April 1, 2021By Die RedaktionIn Crimemag, CrimeMag April 2021

Krimigedicht von Robin Robertson

Der schottische Poet Robin Robertson legt gerade bei Hanser ein fulminantes Buch vor: „Wie man langsam verliert“ – hier in dieser Ausgabe besprochen von Alf Mayer. Hier ein Gedicht von ihm. Die Schrecken des Jahrmarkts. 1951 (excerpt) Summer was closing, and he moved through the last of it,finding a park with fairground musiccoming from somewhere behind the trees.Walking round, he understood that the funfairis nothing to do with cork-shoots or coconut shies,the carousel, the booster or the bumper rides,not balloons-and-darts, not the cotton-candy,ice-cream, salt water taffy or fries—it’s fear,it’s theRead More
THE WEEPING SONG Go son, go down to the waterAnd see the women weeping thereThen go up into the mountainsThe men, they are weeping tooFather, why are all the women weeping?They are weeping for their menThen why are all the men there weeping?They are weeping back at themThis is a weeping songA song in which to weepWhile all the men and women sleepThis is a weeping songBut I won’t be weeping longFather, why are all the children weeping?They are merely crying sonO, are they merely crying, father?Yes, true weeping isRead More