From the Island, 1860
I
One day as she rinsed her wash from the jetty,
the bay's cold grave rose up through her arms
and into her life.
Her tears froze into spectacles.
The island raised itself by its grass
and the herring-flag waved in the deep.
II
Read Poem One day as she rinsed her wash from the jetty,
the bay's cold grave rose up through her arms
and into her life.
Her tears froze into spectacles.
The island raised itself by its grass
and the herring-flag waved in the deep.
II
0
Alcaic
This forest in May. It haunts my whole life:
the invisible moving van. Singing birds.
In silent pools, mosquito larvae's
furiously dancing question marks.
I escape to the same places and same words.
Cold breeze from the sea, the ice-dragon's licking
the back of my neck while the sun glares.
The moving van is burning with cool flames.
Read Poem the invisible moving van. Singing birds.
In silent pools, mosquito larvae's
furiously dancing question marks.
I escape to the same places and same words.
Cold breeze from the sea, the ice-dragon's licking
the back of my neck while the sun glares.
The moving van is burning with cool flames.
0
Balakirev's Dream (1905)
Milij Balakirev
1837-1910, Russian Composer The black grand piano, the gleaming spider
stood trembling in the midst of its music-net.
Read Poem 1837-1910, Russian Composer The black grand piano, the gleaming spider
stood trembling in the midst of its music-net.
0
From the Snowmelt of '66
Rushing rushing water's rumbling old hypnosis.
The river's flooding the car-graveyard, glittering
behind the masks.
I grab hold of the bridge railing.
The bridge: a large iron bird sailing past death.
Read Poem The river's flooding the car-graveyard, glittering
behind the masks.
I grab hold of the bridge railing.
The bridge: a large iron bird sailing past death.
0
Sorrow Gondola No. 2
I
Two old men, father-and son-in-law, Liszt and Wagner, are staying by the Grand Canal
together with the restless woman who is married to King Midas,
he who changes everything he touches to Wagner.
The ocean's green cold pushes up through the palazzo floors.
Wagner is marked, his famous Punchinello profile looks more tired than before,
his face a white flag.
The gondola is heavy-laden with their lives, two round trips and a one-way.
Read Poem Two old men, father-and son-in-law, Liszt and Wagner, are staying by the Grand Canal
together with the restless woman who is married to King Midas,
he who changes everything he touches to Wagner.
The ocean's green cold pushes up through the palazzo floors.
Wagner is marked, his famous Punchinello profile looks more tired than before,
his face a white flag.
The gondola is heavy-laden with their lives, two round trips and a one-way.
0
The Stones
The stones we have thrown I hear
fall, glass-clear through the year. In the valley
confused actions of the moment
fly howling from tree-top
to tree-top, quieting
in air thinner than now's, gliding
like swallows from mountain-top
to mountain-top till they
Read Poem fall, glass-clear through the year. In the valley
confused actions of the moment
fly howling from tree-top
to tree-top, quieting
in air thinner than now's, gliding
like swallows from mountain-top
to mountain-top till they
0
Streets in Shanghai
1
The white butterfly in the park is being read by many.
I love that cabbage-moth as if it were a fluttering corner of truth itself!
At dawn the running crowds set our quiet planet in motion.
Then the park fills with people. To each one, eight faces polished like jade, for all
situations, to avoid making mistakes.
To each one, there's also the invisible face reflecting "something you don't talk about."
Something that appears in tired moments and is as rank as a gulp of viper schnapps with its long scaly aftertaste.
Read Poem The white butterfly in the park is being read by many.
I love that cabbage-moth as if it were a fluttering corner of truth itself!
At dawn the running crowds set our quiet planet in motion.
Then the park fills with people. To each one, eight faces polished like jade, for all
situations, to avoid making mistakes.
To each one, there's also the invisible face reflecting "something you don't talk about."
Something that appears in tired moments and is as rank as a gulp of viper schnapps with its long scaly aftertaste.
0
The Indoors is Endless
It’s spring in 1827, Beethoven
hoists his death-mask and sails off.
The grindstones are turning in Europe’s windmills.
The wild geese are flying northwards.
Here is the north, here is Stockholm
swimming palaces and hovels.
The logs in the royal fireplace
collapse from Attention to At Ease.
Read Poem hoists his death-mask and sails off.
The grindstones are turning in Europe’s windmills.
The wild geese are flying northwards.
Here is the north, here is Stockholm
swimming palaces and hovels.
The logs in the royal fireplace
collapse from Attention to At Ease.
0
National Insecurity
The Under Secretary leans forward and draws an X
and her ear-drops dangle like swords of Damocles.
As a mottled butterfly is invisible against the ground
so the demon merges with the opened newspaper.
A helmet worn by no one has taken power.
The mother-turtle flees flying under the water.
Read Poem and her ear-drops dangle like swords of Damocles.
As a mottled butterfly is invisible against the ground
so the demon merges with the opened newspaper.
A helmet worn by no one has taken power.
The mother-turtle flees flying under the water.
0
November in the Former DDR
The almighty cyclop’s-eye clouded over
and the grass shook itself in the coal dust.
Beaten black and blue by the night’s dreams
we board the train
that stops at every station
and lays eggs.
Almost silent.
The clang of the church bells’ buckets
Read Poem and the grass shook itself in the coal dust.
Beaten black and blue by the night’s dreams
we board the train
that stops at every station
and lays eggs.
Almost silent.
The clang of the church bells’ buckets
0