In the shadows of trees
your rosy eyelids flutter out of love.
Forever follow the dark calls of the mariner,
the night and the stars.
And the oars pulse faintly.
Before long the violets bloom
by the crumbling wall.
The temple of the deserted corrodes in their silence.
Translated by Eric Plattner
…………………………………………………………………
Im Frühling
Leise sank von dunklen Schritten der Schnee,
Im Schatten des Baums
Heben die rosigen Lider Liebende.
Immer folgt den dunklen Rufen der Schiffer
Stern und Nacht;
Und die Ruder schlagen leise im Takt.
Balde an verfallener Mauer blühen
Die Veilchen,
Ergrünt so stille die Schläfe des Einsamen.
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Probably around the deep midday,
Before me in quaint dressThree angels stood in the sunshine.O ominous spring year!In the acre the last snow melted,And the birch’s hair hung quiveringIn the cold, clear lake.From the sky a blue ribbon blew,And beautifully a cloud flowed within,Facing it, I lay dreaming –The angels kneeled in sunshine.Loudly a bird sang marvelous stories,And at once…
Downfall
Over the white pondthe savage birds draw away.At twilight an icier wind blows about our star.The split forehead of night bendsacross our graves.Under oaks we shudder on a silver barge.Forever ring the whitewashed walls of the city.Under a dome of thornsO my brother we climb—blind hour hands to midnight.Translated by Eric Plattner & Joseph Suglia……………………………………………………………………U…
A blue brook, path and evening along decayed huts.
Some swap the forehead and the hands rot in the brown foliage.In bony stillness the heart of the lonely one shines,A small boat rocks on blackish waters.Through dark woods hair and laughter of brown maids flutters.The shadows of the old people cross the flight of a small bird;Mystery of blue flowers on their temples.Others sway…
Lend your flame to the spirit, glowing gloom;
At the greening spring hill; where beforeA gentle lamb bled, endured the deepestPain; but the dark one follows the shadowOf evil, or he lifts the moist wingsTo the golden disk of the sun and a sound of bellsConvulses his pain-torn breast,Wild hope; the sinisterness of flaming fall.
Over nocturnal dark floods
Songs which bleed like wounds.However, no heart carries them to me againThrough the darkness.Only the nocturnal dark floodsRush, sob my songs,Songs which bleed from wounds,They carry them to my heart againThrough the darkness.
Summer
the cuckoos withhold their misery.The cornstalks slant deeper into themselves,the red poppies.The blackening sky cracks openover the hills.The ancient song of the cricketdies in the harbor.It never stirs,the crown of the chestnut.Up the winding stairsyour dress rustles.The candle’s glowing silencedarkens the room.Your silver handquenches it.Tonight, no wind, no stars.Translated by Eric Plattner…………………………………………………………………SommerAm Abend schweigt die…
lightly turns to
thoughts of
re-evaluating the concept of
love
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I like to think that
which is unspoken, unwrittenexcepton rare occasions when a poetputs two words together orsometimes evena whole linewhich haunts the readerbeyond sense, evenbeyond understanding andbeyond beauty as perceived andbeyond truth as previously revealedbut good beyond hope and yetnot beyond a shiver of delight andthe poet has heard itin the space between the thoughtsin the space between the…
She’ll love you ’til her dying day,
she’ll take it out regularly on her Mom,frequently on her sisters,and later, sometimes on her partner.You got yourself a deal.
” My mother told me
play with the gipsiesdown in the wood…but she didn’t tell mewhy not, alas…so‘shouldn’t…’turned to ‘should..’ –now I’m wiser,but I’m pregnant..guess I got thatroamin’ blood…”
Look, everyone from birth to death, yeah? is
goes beyondwhat they’ve expressed before, OK? sowhat we need isn’t a ton of crit-shit, yeah? buta little help and advice would be appreciated… right?an’ we don’t ask for praise, OK? althoughit’s always nice, yeah? buta little encouragement would be appreciated… right?
Wol’s nephew had found a piece of torn paper in the Wood, which said ‘Truth is…’ and took it back, rather wet and smudgy, to Wol.
But Pooh Bear, who’d heard CR use the word about A Certain Incident, was walking paw in hand with CR through the wood one crispy day, and because there weren’t any other Big Thoughts floating around saying ‘Look at me! ’, said ‘CR, what is truth? ’Christopher Robin looked down lovingly at Beloved Bear, like…