STATE OF AFFAIRS Poem by Lucebert

in the big nest there is always violence
god who like good gold leafs
like a madman though his own book
and counts and counts the mutilated
the harvest is considered lost
all the peaches lie bruised in the parched grass
the apples rot under the most exquisite trees
and books have suffered irreparable water damage
even the smile lies bewildered and people
have disposed of the bacon of the neck
malevolence peeps through every chink and even
at the smallest graveside speeches are no longer made

the outstretched hand will first cheat and then threaten us
it is burning hands into which the eggs disappear
and even blue love lies stiff in the bluestone bed
oh all the efforts to postpone the great death as far as
the stars to petrify the last breath in a smile
in a wry smile above an empty stomach
full of snow full of bone meal and everywhere the fleeing
foot digs into the weak spots in the firm flesh

where can I find the suspicion of a real god
or even that of a demigod born
out of rubble and sulphur and superfluous seed
big tyrants have secured themselves in small rooms
mere hideouts with faded wallpaper and leaking pipes
telephones are available there are thousands of telephones
only connected to peculiar people on all the lines crackles
their wrangling they pull faces out of creaking cupboards
they can also cut faces from limbs
and every new face is connected to the uncontrolled tyrant
his room is filled with cursing and swearing
there is no end to the suffering
with every new face the cries of distress are multiplied
never is anything without violence and nowhere is it quiet