freshness–seductive, though there is no smile.
Under the rows of ornamental braid
on the slim Imperial officer’s uniform:
the saber’s basket-hilt. Both hands stay
folded upon it, going nowhere, calm
and now almost invisible, as if they
were the first to grasp the distance and dissolve.
And all the rest so curtained within itself,
so cloudy, that I cannot understand
this figure as it fades into the background–.
Oh quickly disappearing photograph
in my more slowly disappearing hand.
ends. You timestanding vertically on the motion of mortal hearts.Feelings for whom? O you the transformationof feelings into what?–: into audible landscape.You stranger: music. You heart-spacegrown out of us. The deepest space in us,which, rising above us, forces its way out,–holy departure:when the innermost point in us standsoutside, as the most practiced distance, as the…
From sleep–was still floating in it.Where has my life its limitAnd where begins the night?I could fancy all things around meWere nothing but I as yet;Like a crystal’s depth, profoundlyMute, translucent, unlit.I have space to spare inside meFor the stars, too: so full of roomFeels my heart; so lightlyWould it let go of him, whomFor…
to truly consecrate the hour.I am much too small in this world, yet not smallenoughto be to you just object and thing,dark and smart.I want my free will and want it accompanyingthe path which leads to action;and want during times that beg questions,where something is up,to be among those in the know,or else be alone.I…
And He accepted this in His indulgence,resigned to rest among the distant stars.Our actions stopped Him from reacting,for His fist-tight hand is numbed by sleep,and the times brought in the age of heroesduring which our dark hearts plundered Him.Sometimes He appears as if tormented,and His body jerks as if plagued by pain;but these spells are…
as I in my spirit burned, see, I now burn in thee:the wood that long resisted the advancing flameswhich thou kept flaring, I now am nourishinigand burn in thee.My gentle and mild being through thy ruthless furyhas turned into a raging hell that is not from here.Quite pure, quite free of future planning, I mountedthe…
It seems that things are more like me now,That I can see farther into paintings.I feel closer to what language can’t reach.With my senses, as with birds, I climbinto the windy heaven, out of the oak,in the ponds broken off from the skymy falling sinks, as if standing on fishes.
