Michael Krüger

Michael Krüger Poems

Before we close up the house
the wine has to go down the drain
and the light leave the rooms.
Each word that is still uttered
...

I saw Greece's stony fist lying
in the Mediterranean and a ship
that peeled back the water's blue
in rippled stripes. Further east
...

While cleaning up the shed
I found a little box of old keys,
heavy device with beautiful Assyrian beards.
Everyone dreams of another door
...

for Harry Mulisch

The city opens up its windows wide
not to miss a sound.
A song rides by on a bicycle
...

The passenger wanted to take the shortcut,
not me. At first a hedgehog crossed the road,
later a herd of cattle, then a deer
...

Michael Krüger Biography

Michael Krüger (born 9 December 1943 in Wittgendorf) is a German writer, publisher and translator. Michael Krüger grew up in Berlin. After the graduating he was apprenticed to a publisher and later studied philosophy and literature. From 1962 to 1965 he worked as a bookseller in London. From 1968 Krüger has worked as a reader at the publishing house Carl Hanser Verlag, since 1986 he has been their chief reader. In 1972 he published his first poems, with his first collection, Reginapoly, appearing in 1976 and his first collection of stories Was tun: Eine altmodische Geschichte (What shall we do: An old-fashioned story) in 1984. Several stories, novels and translations followed. His work has garnered many important accolades including the 1986 Toucan Prize and the 1996 Prix Médicis étranger. He wrote the introduction to the 2010 New York Review of Books edition of Jakov Lind's Soul of Wood. Since 1975 Michael Krüger is a jury member of the European literary award Petrarca-Preis.)

The Best Poem Of Michael Krüger

Indian Summer

Before we close up the house
the wine has to go down the drain
and the light leave the rooms.
Each word that is still uttered
is subject to approval.
And don't forget the garbage bags.
The friendly mirrors
in the entryway bow
with a sad expression.
And leave the key in the lock.

The arch awaits at the water's edge,
on the bow the dog snaps
at flies with panting tongue.
From now on the swallows will
mow the grass. Don't forget love
either.

on the water we
already see the hills burning.

Translated by Bradley Schmidt

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