Her poems and poetry are written during concert tours and are musical bridge builders. Her poetry broadens the senses, all emotions and the mirror of the soul. Her poetry is rhythm, without noise, without lavishness; it is cadence. Like Bach’s Kunst der Fuge (art of the fugue), her art of language is handicraft, discovery, resonance and vocabulary.

‚I write my poetry in connection to music, mentally, at the grand piano, in train or at the organ. My poems are about life, love, god, yearning, society and politics. In my texts, I mostly compare life from the view of an instrument or the sound, the melody or the music, as an allegory to life. For me, poetry is like a speaking, hailing person.’ (Ann-Helena in: Der Sonntag, Sachsen)

‚My poems, texts, songs, song lyrics and compositions are separated from each other but yet one, a unity.

At my concerts, I play my own compositions and read from my novels and poetry volumes. Since I add my songs and compositions to the classical music on my concert programme, also young people come to my concerts – who, in most cases, are surprised how wonderful Bach and Chopin sound, which they would have never thought before.

I love to combine the musical styles so that young people also have the opportunity to experience and appreciate classical music and literature.

I speak German, English and Swedish fluently and I write my songs and lyrics in all three languages whereby melody and lyrics flow out of my imagination at the same time.’

Sound of While

Beautiful sound of while, permanent; one wave of sound, too: arising from wreckage; Heard the groans of blind people, deaf people, ongoing sound.

Future

Church Tower and Heaven

Noisy daily life gone

Which is no more all of that

Sings to tiltmouse, sparrow, eagle What it once was.

Sings to bell

Sings softly

Yearning

Head manoeuvres Trains at the head station

Attitude and exposition The only important one is not standing there

Where I have no soft average

Hair falls down

Drive of thoughts

Upwards because bun there the blonde point

Duet

Concert

The loudly cracking cough sweet Of fed amateurs makes the rondo hungry

Autumn

A star lies in the wind

God the great creative

still beautiful in his withering

the flying gross root,

all that art needs

source becomes seed

trinity of fermata

Melody

The weaving of the melody is like a smoke candle

Grown into the heart Washing up the pedal point in waves The smallest question reached by her

The hands are the shore

Capturing home Every time anew Flood of notes

In the night it sings noise And suddenly becomes silent. A long question In the early morning

Daily life stands and waits Is not a usual one Gives Beings

Hope wears a skirt Never flies away.

Bachfuge

A golden tongue of sound falls into cracked earth, deprived of water for long.

Deeply licked by moist clay, what are you burning, wet terce?

Black before the pupil the brightness in the horizon pokes fire in the cloud and becomes triplet day a glimmering return in the air.

Music II

Sometimes I feel like a box of noise

And the moon with veins.

Talking like tender shots through the tiny fist at the piano

Exhaling through the fingers into chest and gut.

The piano

The shadow of the grand piano scratches

At the floor

White pirouettes

Varnished ballerina and stands again on point on the little wheels