undermined by blood,
no longer visible to anyone,
property of death.
Curve a face
that there may be speech, of earth,
of ardor, of
things with eyes, even
here, where you read me blind,
even
here,
where you
refute me,
to the letter.
translated by Heather McHugh and Nikolai Popov
Similar Posts
Only when
will you believe myMouth,that climbs with Late-Minded things up therearound theTime-Courts,you come to the Hostof the Twice-Using amongthe Angels,Silence-EnragedStars.
The monks with hairy fingers opened the book: September.
The forest gave you a necklace of hands. So dead you walk the rope.To your hair a darker blue is imparted; I speak of love.Shells I speak and light clouds, and a boat buds in the rain.A little stallion gallops across the leafing fingers–Black the gate leaps open, I sing:How did we live here?(from Mohn…
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown
we drink it and drink itwe dig a grave in the breezes there one lies unconfinedA man lives in the house he plays with the serpentshe writeshe writes when dusk falls to Germany your goldenhair Margaretehe writes it and steps out of doors and the stars areflashing he whistles his pack outhe whistles his Jews…
I hear, the Axe has flowered,
I hear, the Bread, that looks on him,heals the Hanged-Man,the Bread, his Wife baked for him,I hear, they name Lifeour sole Refuge.
The line
became true: . . . yourhouse in Paris — becomethe alterpiece of your hands.Breathed through thrice,shone through thrice.……………….It’s turning dumb, turning deafbehind our eyes.I see the poison flowerin all manner of words and shapes.Go. Come.Love blots out its name: toyou it ascribes itself.translated by Michael Hamburger
Little Night: when you
up there,three Pain-Inches abovethe Floor:all the Shroud-Coats of Sand,all the Help-Nots,all, that stilllaughswith the Tongue –