the steps remembered the dark, the break
between lessons in the woods, the ringing above the staircase, the beatings
that went with the nouns, the mnemonic salt hunched up
& deaf behind the ears
time stopped, from
childhood there was something
ready for later, always
it had been valid
longer or sooner the sentence
is a salt
of broken birds behind one's ears, that

the benches could not
survive us, the inks, palely
the curses & grimaces sank
into the salt the hatred
stood by, always prepared, above
the base began the ruptures, the rivers

& conurbations, before the urals
metastases of mortar
painted over with oil, behind
kamtschatka, hardened, limed, as far as
sachalin I stood
against the wall, that
amurdaja & syrdaja were flowing, described
crying at djamila's, explain
how you would
have cried yourself & what is the plough, is
the true weight of the apparent teaching
the scholochov horse collar
around the neck only a scarf
am I virgin land
are you my curse, anvil

or kortschagin, the sick
and the freezing hand was the skin
on the wall & the lime & the gravity
pressed on the lips, singly & whispering:
dear wire dear god frau
bakuski let it be, but see to it, a weeping

goes off
into the ovens, off
through the wall, off
into the ash above the yard, but
what is weeping, the gravity
failed, the light
misted up in the contre-jour, the stars

climbed on
the panzer carriages across the glass
on the taped window casements
out into the air space
above the pact

the sleep
stood by, always prepared & the I
stood against the wall, the base
was cool on the lips
burnt, only
those who could get away
were expelled, they now came
back silently from the ships
up the tables
to their salzgitter
lodgings, complemented

the platform, the oil & the foreign land
with their burden, complemented
the progress of things, the waiting
with stupidity, the smelting
with gazes into the dark

out there & clods
with shame, which

burst at last
under the footprints
.. above the air shaft
below the yard duty
hope, too, stood by, always prepared, an
iron handrail

went round the yard, the chestnuts, the heads
flew
back to the post-war
the quark with steamed
potatoes back to the first
roll call, traitor to the plough: we went

round in circles, we
circled the milk
in vessels of walking
scabbed our steps
the suite
of a coarse darkness

locked the vault, stretched

on the weave of a plank bed, that
was noon, sleep

lay blinded on hands, headbands
of sweat:

they had cut down the wick.
came in.
extinguished the light
between fingers; wash-room, entrance
& daydream of figures of speech; steps towards the window & waving

of all lace net curtains, frau
bakuski must die, oha, frau bakuski
...blindness & silence under the bedcover

coloured the shadows
above the eyes, a
childish pus, the real blue
stayed locked away

in their corners, did
shame not stand by, always prepared
in the course of time
white chestnuts mature in our pockets, the lark

stabs dead the lark sunday, the lamp
in the gravel, the dress
of the drinkers & their patios & bottles
matures in their pockets, the stone

is a draft on time: the bird
dying in flight, the eye
stares at the sky & in
deserted orbits

circles the dead hoarder, sleep, hypnos
bitter shoe & satchel circle, bag & box, the
haversack circles, the gym bag
circles out there, sleep, hypnos, circles

of depressions rapt in coffee ground,
inflamed, in the washroom section
in the laughter of sheep
there grew
another seventy stone huts, meat
batteries across the hills
at the edge of the night, is

the sleep child ready now, always prepared
he leans out there, wobbly
on his broken gate
in his
playpen behind the moon, half

in filth & half in death, strike up, let's rip, I am
prepared:

father raises his left hand
strikes his right hand
strikes head
bowed the child
out the mother
shakes the little dream
bloody from the little tree, look at
me i talk to you
with tears inside, with
creation inside in the blood
& all
bitten-off points of her crown.

Translated by Hans-Christian Oeser & Gabriel Rosenstock