For years I have sought him.
I knew that he lived in a bottle,
that was soon established,
though where to begin looking?
The world's a bottle, a bottle's the world,
bulging, beautiful
and it cleans itself out —
Rotspon from Lübeck
or heavy Argentinian?
That sherry with the black man on it
or Chardonnay from Table mountain?
I had some idea of his appearance,
that bulk.
I knew about his outlook:
Cheers to the world!
And I knew I had to stand by him.
The trail went cold in Casablanca
but then on the Blue Nile,
in Shanghai,
in the tears of the young girl
he'd promised to take from Dresden to Pirna
on a paddle steamer,
vapour brain, the goddamned
vapour brain
just turned up again
on board his model ship Made in China.

English translation by Mick Standen & Jo Tudor