WITH THESE LINES Meckel opens his poem, “In diesen Tagen” in his first major volume of verse, Nebelhörner (1959). But he rarely dwells long upon such forebodings. He rather agrees with Drusch, his “happy magician”: “There are few things of which I have a firm conception, and in its absence I substitute my own conjectures.” A striking aspect of this doubly talented poet and graphic artist is his keen sense of responsibility to both his audience and to himself. At the same time, he evinces with Drusch a confident sense of purpose.

Born June 12, 1935 in Berlin, the son of a lyric poet and writer, Christoph Meckel attended public school in Freiburg im Breisgau and studied graphic art for several semesters in Freiburg, Munich, and Paris. He has traveled extensively in Europe, Africa, Mexico, and the United States. Currently he makes his home in Berlin and in Southern France. This is Meckel's second visit to the United States; in 1968, he taught German literature for a semester at the University of Texas.

Meckel's poetic-artistic world unites the concrete with the surrealistic, harsh reality with the delicate realms of fantasy, a rich imagination with a far ranging mastery of poetic forms. Often his writings are accompanied by his own graphic illustrations.

Like the narrator in his radio play Der Wind, der dich weckt, der Wind im Garten (1967), he is convinced that “Alles in der Welt Vorhandene und also Vergängliche sucht seine Erzählung, seine Strophe, sein Stück Poesie als Zuflucht vor dem Tod und vermeintliches Ewigkeitshaus.” In another radio play, Eine Seite aus dem Paradiesbuch (1969), he conjures up childhood recollections interwoven with poetic fantasy. He can speculate about dark realms “hinter dem großen Gewässer” and sail with Columbus to the edge of the blue in search of self-justification, or he can join Hans Christian Andersen in search of “ein gutes Ende für soviel elende Dinge.” On his poetic wanderings, Meckel encounters many fabulous creatures, the chimera of the Greeks, the Biblical Leviathan or the creations of his own imagination. In the narrative Tullipan (1965), the title-figure revisits his creator in a revealing allegory on the poet's responsibility to the figures of his own creation.