Kumst Poem by Marion Poschmann

The simple branch and its adjectives: swaying,
gently-moving, densely-leafed, long-stretched-out.
Beneath the branch couples walking and reading poems
to each other from their mobile phones; at their backs
the after-glow of open-air stages, sobriety
wet with rain.

Beginning the park by stepping. With every glance
letting grass shoot up, asphalt paths winding, binding
the bridges into bows. Blinked once, the tulip bursts open.
Heads appear above the bushes, wreathed round
with highly complex hairdos, their bodies for seconds
plump and green.

Then stiletto heels, crocheted pullovers and blazing nylon scarves,
flame and sword. Park is the body of the thought and I,
God's garden consultant, discuss the fact that each
generation creates its own world or is uprooted by the way
it takes a stroll. Bodies walking on, completely lost in thought,
past bushes.

Translation Catherine Hales