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HISTORY OF A STONE
endlessly the stone waited
for its chance and then
a boy comes along
bends down to it
and throws it a little bit further on
STORK
some blue envelope
a cellophane packet
or at least a walnut
must hang from the long stork legs of poetry
which flies each Autumn through the windows
and leaves in our eyes
the blaze of eternal tracks
the whole of Spring it tugged warmth from our sleeves
it changed the points of branches
and thrust its blooming little inter-city
along happy tireless routes
and today wise and ripe
writes her last bird lines
yet doesn’t leave pondering
if we are properly trimmed by her breezes
if we took something from her natural flowers
if we are poorer by at least a penny
and haven’t up for an apple
close the windows friends come out
the stork of poetry is in the loft and perhaps
has brought something for us
POSTE RESTANTE
oh dead ones don’t get up
it’s unnecessary
with my finger (to fill in time) I only write
a greeting
poste restante
(to someone) in heaven
to someone who isn’t there perhaps
oh dead ones
withstand for a while
this crazy wind
let it not blow me away
and you wind
listen please
to my commands
for I’m not waiting for any miracle
(so the answer)
is only for ordinary
summery
light blue images
TOMORROW CAN BE TOO LATE
I’m shouting
and I’ll wake up my neighbours
and tell them
shout as well
and wake up your neighbours
and tell those neighbours
to shout, too
and wake their neighbours
because tomorrow can be too late
MAN AND HEN
a man feeds his pigeons
and doesn’t even know
that growing
on his head is a sunflower
two gold bugs sit there
and play
tit for tat
oh it’s a feeling
to go with an invisible sunflower
on one’s head
where someone tickles
someone with their little legs
when he gets home
an impatient hen awaits
which flies into his hair
and pecks out everything beautiful
that was growing there
FROM BEYOND THE DUSK
how badly do I understand a song
which comes from beyond the dusk
it makes move my lips
and touch words with my tongue
how much whispering is within it
how many distant voices!
they call me
and assure: you are ours
how badly do I understand a song
which appears from a flower’s cup
it opens wholly
and sounds into a circle
as if it connects me
with all time that was and will be
and leads my steps silently
in a preordained direction
Translated byViera and James Sutherland-Smith
TRAINING DURCH FRAGEN
Was hat den Stein in die Höhen
Geschleudert,
daß er auf die Knie fiel
und um Gnade bat
mit leeren Händen
bei den unschuldigen blinden Engeln,
die aus seinem Fleisch und Gebein sind?
Im tiefen Verlis
schlug die aufgescheuchte Taube
mit den Flügeln,
die Messer des Lichtes gleiten lautlos
an den Kehlen der Säulen hinunter,
wo ist hier Gott?
Flüstern: Widerhall
und Blumen –
leise Schritte derer, die kommen
und gehen.
Geblendet trittst du hinaus
BOSCH
Wieviel Licht
haben die Kerzen geboren
bis er vollendete
das unversenkbare Narrenschiff
was alles hat er verloren
bis er den Garten Eden
fand
geschaut hat er alle letzten Tage
aber nur einen hat er gemalt –
den erstletzten.
WINTERBILD
Wachse der Baum eine Zeit
mit dem Kopf nach unten
so wie er ist alt,
knorrig, ungestalt
der Baum ist wie ein Kreis
der sich ändert aus sich selbst
es herrscht eine gewaltige Ruhe
wie nach der Schöpfung
wenn in der Erde aufscheinen seine Äpfel
und oben im Wurzelgeflecht
ein Rabe sitzt –
sein Tod
und ihn schlafend führt
am Ärmel durch den Winter
Übersetzt vonWaltraud Jähnichen
