why should poets be in love, in love, in love all the time?
wieso sollte dichter sein im liebe, im liebe, im liebe alles der zeit?

could we manage a poet who can escape love for a day?
könnte wir verwalten ein dichter wer können
entkommen liebe für eine tag?

are so many poets in love: simply because they are not fulfilled
in love - the don quixote lovers with harems
of windmills?!

ar so viele dichter(s) im liebe: weil einfach sie ar nicht gegeben
liebe - der don quijote liebende mit harems
von windmühlen?

can we have a love of a poet beside the muse?
can a poet fall in love with cooking?
with drinking? with listening to music?

können wir haben ein liebe aus ein dichter neben zu ein muße?
können ein dichter sinken im liebe mit kochen?
mit trinken? mit hören zu muzik?

can a poet find love outside the realm of giving it,
god forbid! he should entertain love for
something he is not willing to sacrifice...
a love for drinking a love for music!

können ein dichter finden liebe draußen die gefilde
von geben es, deus verbieten! er sollte bewirten
leibe für etwas er ist nicht opfern...
ein liebe für trinken ein liebe für muzik!

carmina burana: bache, bene venies...
vox vulgaris - stella splendis...
bier! bier! mein herrlich shatten und zwerge!

oh the horror of making love so light to carry
as it is: to be carried by a poem -
a poem? but no flowers?
a poem? but no plethora of "other" gestures?
no diamond ring? no roof no house!
no child on the way?
but... but... a poem!
my! my! what a grand gesture!

och der grauen auf herstellung liebe
so licht zu tragen - wie es ist:
sein getragen durch ein gedicht -
ein gedicht? aber nein blumen?
ein gedicht aber nein fülle von "andere" gesten?
nein diamantringe? nein dach nein haus?
nein kinder auf der weg?
aber... aber... ein gedicht!
meine mein! ein liebe das stottert!
und, natürlich, die großartiggeste!

and i came to love what i would never invest
in a beloved with...
in what alone, i, would eagerly entertain...
yet to write a schematic: for the most offensive love,
for an ideal love?

und ich kam zu liebe was ich noch nie würde
anlegen im ein geliebte mit...
im was allein, ich, eifrig würde bewirten...
noch zu schrieben ein schematisch:
für die äußerst liebe, für ein liebeideal?

where is the nitty-gritty of a dog sex-starved
for a month... when you spend the month
convincing her: sex will ease her menstrual cramps...
or at least: that's what the condom was
originally for...

woher ist der "praktisch veranlagt"
von ein hund sexverhungert...
nichts zu sehen! why would i "translate" these
details?!

my god, poet after poet:
their love is a litany... some prized experience
to be readied for some
unsuspecting prodded-into -
i doubt it is arrogance -
it is a naive: jest of... what love is...
without either consequences or... chores...
a love of a creeping buttercup...

mein gott, dichter nach dichter:
ihr liebe ist ein litanei... etwas geschätzt erfahrung
sein bereit für etwas
ahnungslos stupste-im-zu -
ich zweifel: das ich zweifel im ordern zu denken...
ich zweifel es ist arroganz -
es ist ein naiv: scherz auf... was liebe ist...
ohne jeder folgen oder: zwecklosarbeit...
ein liebe auf ein kriechendbutterblume...

perhaps i have simply fallen in love with
being alone, perhaps there's a sleeping cat in my mind,
perhaps i find nothing more gratifying
than looking for pockets in the night
to hide either minutes or hours or glugs
of amber -

vielleicht ich einfach haben gefallen im liebe mit
allein-sein: dort nein ist ein da...
vielleicht es gibt ein schlafen katze im mein kopf,
vielleicht ich finden nichts mehr erfreulich
als suchen für taschen im der nacht
zu verbergen beide minute oder stunde
oder gluckern auf bernstein -

perhaps... if you were to give me enough beer
and enough music from a time where
i could be considered a king -
perhaps only alone i can breathe -
perhaps i find a beloved too tightening -
perhaps all that i have littered of my heart
onto other people...
was enough to taste love and never taste
it again...
perhaps i too want to escape an ideal love,
perhaps i too want to never find the love
in me as the love i could give -
perhaps i am looking,
for the sort of love i am willing to give,
perhaps i don't need to lie to myself:
about a love i could give,
perhaps i know i am a pauper at the altar,

i guess most poets are...
by mere love, they crown themselves
kings and can dish splendor upon splendor...
if i could survive by words alone,
i'd be a journalist!

wenn ich könnte überleben bei wörter allein,
ich würde sein ein journalist, ein anwalt,
oder ein politiker!

/

and yes... i have woven in german into this verse...
mind you: i'm not sure, whether the grammar sticks...
if german using english grammar suffices?
the more the merrier!
unlike the Merovingian in a notable pop
film: perhaps fwench is akin to wiping your ass
with silk...
perhaps... but german when elevated
to a song... is a bit like...
hearing the devil's laughter...
while tickle-licking his testicles
as he would have you know:
god has no testicles!
or at least that's a metaphor... /

why are poets so in love with love?
love is so exhausting: i should know...
i was a young man once,
i too had ideals... a primo ideal:
women do not pass gas!
what a crushing blow to the ideal!
ha ha.

wieso dichter im liebe mit liebe?
liebe ist so anstrengend: ich sollte kennen...
ich war ein jungmann einst...
frau do nicht bestehen gaz!

perhaps even now i have shown enough "proof" -
i'd speak the most crooked deutsche -
and become as i have become
this teasing anglophile -
as i cherish my grandfather's memory:
the russian red army boys would
march onto berlin and would prefer to sleep
in the barns with the goats and the pigs...

his dementia works like clockwork,
in that closed circuit memory circus of his:
herrbittebonbon!
he will blurp out...
about how he would run up to two SS-mensche:
clad in rabenschwarzhugobossuniformen
shouting: herrbittebonbon...
it's quiet funny how he misses
the puncation marks: herr! bitte bonbon!
how the SS-mensche would give him
sweets so sickly sweet that he would
run home with hands stuck together
with sugar cobwebs...
and his mother would put those stuck hands
under a trickle of tap water to unglue them...
the russians... remained the youth
that preferred to sleep in barns
on the hay with the goats...

i'd rather speak german, forget my polack
squeezed into near extinction
by both germany and russia than
have to succumb to russian...
fuck it... i've even join the celestial choir
and air my "grievances" in
the altvaterzunge if the worst comes to the worst...

for me the germans are teutons primo,
and only nazis 2nd to last...
they are the people who would plan a northern
crusade against the prussian...
the same prussians who would later rule them...
i have tattoos to show...
the nazis left auschwitz...
the teutons left marienburg!

rhyme! rhyme! dance! rhyme and dance all you want!
if you are writing to sing! rhyme! rhyme! rhyme!
otherwise?! please speak freely!
call it american free-verse or a return
to the classical narrative!

reim! reim! tanz! reim und tanz alles du wollen!
wenn du ar schreiben zu singen! reim! reim! reim!
anders?! bitte! spreschen frei!
anruf es amerikanisch befreienvers,
oder ein rückkehr zu die klassischerzählung!

perhaps all i was required was a sketch...
cannot anyone tire with me as
to the shortening of german history?
nazis... portland toys'r'us antics...
yawn...
there is such a volume of germany i'm yet
to unearth in me...

every time i visit my grandparents...
i pass through Warsaw and i'm not even amused:
i'm either in Ukraine or Belarsus...
or perhaps i will drain this english out of my head:
in order to accomodate the german?
i would very much like to...
i'm tired of english in that it has become
such an exhausting culture...
anyone and apparently everyone can
latch onto it!
revising english colonialism...
while playing cricket with the former masters?
confusing...
i'm watching a carcass of tongues
being ripped apart by a hunting spat of
hyenas!

em... there are gradations of a congregation
of vultures...
there's the kettle, the committee or a wake.
a kettle of vultures? vultures in flight,
a committee of vultures? vultures resting
on the ground or in trees...
a wake? vultures feeding...
but hyenas are not vultures in that they
are scavengers...
yet a hyena will pretend to be a solitary
predator... besides: i'll call it for what i see it as:
a hunting spat of hyenas...
since the scavengers will always
argue over what is already so little
to argue over...

i personally don't believe these tales of love...
by reading them?
mein gott... it would be exhausting
to even begin to love oneself...
let alone another human being
by the set standards of idealism!

it's almost akin to receiving a postcard from
these people in their tall tales of
Atlantis where they send you
the stereotypical: wish you were here!
and you reply:
and you lying little fucker better stay there
with your taunting load of bollocks!