Hans
His glance shuns the neighbors,
a hand suffices to point.
Two apoplectic strokes, and two
adult children, a couple
of animals at home. Without them
he couldn’t stand it. And
that drinking should come to a halt.
His glance shuns the neighbors,
a hand suffices to point.
Two apoplectic strokes, and two
adult children, a couple
of animals at home. Without them
he couldn’t stand it. And
that drinking should come to a halt.
White Speck
Entered an area
somewhere south of trepidation. And,
as in all expeditions,
one takes first steps
buoyantly, flightily—almost.
Entered an area
somewhere south of trepidation. And,
as in all expeditions,
one takes first steps
buoyantly, flightily—almost.
Three Conversations With Oneself
1
It’s on the rise. From day to day. The coldness
of the cloud formation, the heavy traffic. Yesterday
the grass was still green, just admit it, you
with your blue-and-black eye!
No clue about snow and even less so
about snowing. Will you finally pull your finger
out of the fringes, place the mushrooms on the table and
admit our defeat: we with our
black chanterelles just can’t snow.
1
It’s on the rise. From day to day. The coldness
of the cloud formation, the heavy traffic. Yesterday
the grass was still green, just admit it, you
with your blue-and-black eye!
No clue about snow and even less so
about snowing. Will you finally pull your finger
out of the fringes, place the mushrooms on the table and
admit our defeat: we with our
black chanterelles just can’t snow.
2
For days that creaking of the radiators
hangs on my ear as a warning.
And the pigeons with their messages
of a last precedence are doing their rounds
in the district. Still, if I dare
to move towards the window just once, the world
would eat straight from my hand.
"Hans," "White Speck" and "Three Conversations with Oneself" were previously published in Out of the Dust, translated from the German by Marc Vincenz (Spuyten Duyvil, 2014).
For days that creaking of the radiators
hangs on my ear as a warning.
And the pigeons with their messages
of a last precedence are doing their rounds
in the district. Still, if I dare
to move towards the window just once, the world
would eat straight from my hand.
3
Snow,
snow up to
the Austrian
Almighty-God-corner.
Our poor souls float down:
wet snow.
Snow,
snow up to
the Austrian
Almighty-God-corner.
Our poor souls float down:
wet snow.
"Hans," "White Speck" and "Three Conversations with Oneself" were previously published in Out of the Dust, translated from the German by Marc Vincenz (Spuyten Duyvil, 2014).
Klaus
Merz was born in 1945 in Aarau and lives in Unterkulm, Switzerland. He
has won many literary awards including the Hermann Hesse Prize for
Literature, Swiss Schiller Foundation Poetry Prize and the Friedrich
Hölderlin Prize in 2012. He has published over 30 works of poetry and
fiction. His latest novel is The Argentinian (Der Argentinier, Haymon,
2009) and his most recent collection of verse is Out of the Dust (Aus
den Staub, Haymon, 2010). - See more at:
http://www.asymptotejournal.com/article.php?cat=Poetry&id=131&curr_index=71&curPage=Poetry#sthash.4oz5h8Nm.dpuf
Klaus Merz was born in 1945 in Aarau
and lives in Unterkulm, Switzerland. He has won many literary awards including
the Hermann Hesse Prize for Literature, Swiss Schiller Foundation Poetry Prize
and the Friedrich Hölderlin Prize in 2012. He has published over 30 works of
poetry and fiction.
Klaus
Merz was born in 1945 in Aarau and lives in Unterkulm, Switzerland. He
has won many literary awards including the Hermann Hesse Prize for
Literature, Swiss Schiller Foundation Poetry Prize and the Friedrich
Hölderlin Prize in 2012. He has published over 30 works of poetry and
fiction. His latest novel is The Argentinian (Der Argentinier, Haymon,
2009) and his most recent collection of verse is Out of the Dust (Aus
den Staub, Haymon, 2010). - See more at:
http://www.asymptotejournal.com/article.php?cat=Poetry&id=131&curr_index=71&curPage=Poetry#sthash.4oz5h8Nm.dpuf
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