Jan Wagner

weighing up my words to you -
silent couples drifting to and fro,
beds of fallen leaves, the naked trees,
the blooms of fences blue as verdigris,
...

the gaze was gripped by the mirror's golden vice:
she with red nails, I with white
cloth, covered like a museum-piece.
...

we met them in the woods within a clearing:
two expeditions passing through the twilight
eyeing one another silently. between us the nervy
telegraphic buzzing of a swarm of gnats.
...

the days' light is running out
and an hour lasts a mere ten minutes.
the trees were playing their last colours.
...

behind the bar facing the door
the framed photograph of the football team
smiling heroes whose faces betray nothing
...

the shadow caravans that every morning
made tracks, and the carwash installation
that always awoke out of a clear sleep.
...

a mighty fish, laid out on newspaper,
a table of wood in a cottage in
normandy. quite still, quite warm - the air is
knitting woollen socks. you can touch him or
...

the river thinks in fish. what was it then
that sergeant henley first wrested
from it, the eyes yellow and locked, the barbels
two firehooks around the ash-grey mouth
...

„ … more exquisite than gold, devoid
of all becoming or passing away …"
- Otto von Guericke -
...

„I am the ninth, a bad position.
But he's still walking."
(Günter Eich)
...

when october hung them in the branches,
bulging chinese lanterns, it was time: we
picked quinces, lugged them by the basket
yellow into the kitchen
...

I

draped only in a
sackcloth mantle. the little
hermit in his cave.
...

‘It's as if one lives on a railway embankment.
At first one notices every train, then one simply
doesn't hear them anymore.'
- a resident of Huntsville
...

„Again he fighting with his foe, counts o'er his scars,
Tho' Chelsea's now the seat of all his wars,
And fondly hanging on the lengthening tale,
...

wir haben helden vergiftet, prinzen gelehrt,
haben helden vergiftet, faß um faß geleert,
und doch war alles irgendwie verkehrt.

wo hört das roß auf, wo beginnt der reiter?
wer weiß schon, ob er roß ist oder reiter?
etwas hielt inne. etwas galoppierte weiter.

die mutter, eine wolke, die uns aufzog,
bis jene düsterere wolke aufzog,
unter den fesseln durch die wiesen flog -

und wir, berauscht vom raub, mit dampfendem fell,
ein lärm in den wäldern. heute dampft kein fell,
klappert kein huf mehr, und die nacht ist grell.

wenn du am fluß stehst aber, suche im dunst
nach den vertrauten schemen. rechne mit uns.
...

we have poisoned all the heroes, taught princes and their heirs,
we have poisoned all the heroes, got drunk and put on airs,
and all was ruined anyway and made unfair.

where does the rider start? where does the steed end?
who can know if he is steed or rider in the end?
something paused - and something galloped, gathering speed.

our mother was a cloud, she watched us grow up together.
until some darker clouds began to gather,
speeding between our legs through grass and heather,

and us, confused with plunder, with steaming animal skins,
making a racket in forests back then. no steaming skins,
no clatter now of hooves. and the night is blinding.

but if you stand at the river: search through the mist
for our familiar shapes. trust we still exist.
...

knollen vor einem gemüseladen im winter -
wie bleiche herzen, sagtest du, gedrängt
in einer kiste, wärme suchend - so daß wir

sie mit uns nahmen und nach hause trugen,
wo feuer im kamin entzündet war,
wo kerzen auf dem tisch entzündet waren,

und ihnen halfen aus ihrer dünnen haut,
die strünke kappten, die zitternden blätter entfernten
und sie zu feinen weißen flocken hackten,

wartend, bis das wasser kochte,
die fensterscheibe blind war vom dampf.
...

bulbs in front of a vegetable shop in winter -
like wan hearts, you said, tight packed
in a crate, in need of warmth - so that we

took them with us, carrying them home
to where the fire burned in the grate,
to where the candles burned on the table,

and helping them out of their thin skins,
topped their stalks, removed their trembling leaves
and hacked them into fine, white flakes,

waiting until the water had boiled,
and the window pane was blind from the steam.
...

nicht zu unterschätzen: der giersch
mit dem begehren schon im namen - darum
die blüten, die so schwebend weiß sind, keusch
wie ein tyrannentraum.

kehrt stets zurück wie eine alte schuld,
schickt seine kassiber
durchs dunkel unterm rasen, unterm feld,
bis irgendwo erneut ein weißes wider-

standsnest emporschießt. hinter der garage,
beim knirschenden kies, der kirsche: giersch
als schäumen, als gischt, der ohne ein geräusch

geschieht, bis hoch zum giebel kriecht, bis giersch
schier überall sprießt, im ganzen garten giersch
sich über giersch schiebt, ihn verschlingt mit nichts als giersch.
...

do not underestimate the bindweed,
its need for wreathe and stifle rooted deep
in its name - hence the blossom, blinding, white,
as chaste as a tyrant's dream.

like an ancient crime, an unpaid debt,

it returns to haunt a scene. by cover
of darkness, beneath the fields or a lawn,
it sends out feelers, fires a riot,

rises glorious in green. behind the barn,
convolved in cypress or bean, the unkind
climber spirals; a seething, creeping spume

it twines up walls and roan, choking
windows and drain, trumpeting, binding, abiding,

till nothing breathes but bindweed, and nothing more is seen.
...