I gripped my breath

I gripped my breath in self-ironic hand:

No drop of ink should show that I am hurt.

That is widely known as an anticlimactic end:

This stupid me that tried to get to word –

And, I´m afraid, was well and clearly heard –

And he just fled.

I could write you a beautiful poem…

I could write you a beautiful poem,

yet one more,

as those many, my goodness, so many

I had written before.

.

It would run, sacramental and touching,

of your eyes,

that I dearly yearned to see glancing

Back at me – I hoped once.

.

Or this scent of yours. – Probably lilac?

and my want…

But, apparently, I can keep loving

All of you only then, if I don’t.

Rien

I fell in love with emptiness

Of sentence ends,

In which I put,

With shivery uncertain hands,

This meaning.

So painfully ashamed

Of my irregular vector,

Forcing myself out of my own muteness,

Challenging myself to open –

What was it all for?

 

Nothing.

 

Pre-emptive nothingness,

Moist, cold, and thick greyness.

I fell in love with emptiness.

There was nothing in it.

Famous blue raincoat – part 2

Thanks – for the trouble you took from her eyes.

All along it was there for good,

And no one, indeed, ever tried.

Thanks – for you made her a flake of your life,

Shiny, weightless, amusing and free

Best before: Friday, quarter to five.

Thanks – for you showed her: no matter how good,

You just had all the flakes in your world,

You just hardly could care for one more.

Thanks – so sincerely, as never before,

For the trouble you took from her eyes,

Stunned at it for a while – and placed back.

Famous blue raincoat – part 1

 

He made me so aware 

Of the nods, and edges,

And witty shingles of my

Queerly shaped uneven spirit

And body that reacted bluntly and 

Shun itself into exhaustion.

He made me yearn for easiness of being with him

While I would never be but a flake

Of his illuminated life.

And though I hurt to be a flake,

He made me live at once.

Indeed, he took the trouble from my eyes…

 

In Deine Hände

In Deine Hände, große Stille,

ich lege meine kranke Stirn.

Entstellt, gelöst, geklärt, entzwirnt –

Befreit von Hoffnung´ sanften Wirren,

Entkleidet aller Kraft und Wille –

Ich füge mich reumütig – Dir.

Drück Deinen Mund an meine Schläfen,

umarme mich – ich bin so leer,

so einsam, ruhig und verklärt,

im tiefen, trüben, kalten Meer –

lass dieses Weh in mir einschläfern

Durch Deine Ruh. Ich träum nicht mehr.

history

… and when I’m asked upon the life I saw

and thought, and felt, and cast in line and rhyme

amidst this world – immediate to God:

I did not less, perhaps, I did not more,

but sat and span my yarn, assembling time…

in your eyes only

Show me how to be precious,

desperate, devious, hysterical,

быть восхитительно бешеной, –

woven between these lines

of some heretic simplicity

my overzealous mind

never could fully grasp.

 

Your intricate pattern:

this subtly feline

– indescribable –

line of your silhouette,

perfectly filling space,

maddens me out of my wits.

 

This delicate subtlety of

– ! your exclamation marks ! –

hidden

from unaware eyes,

bent to still question marks

over my pertinent fear

mixed with this stubborn anger,

spiced with unfulfilled longing,

drenched in endless coffee.

 

See me with those eyes of yours, –

the eyes of the Other –

see yourself in dissimilarity,

for I, too,

recognise

myself

– this new me –

in your eyes only.

 

Winter

Vom sommerlichen Rennen reichlich noch getrost

Und nicht begriffen, dass das Spiel verlor´n,

Noch Kraft im Herzen, noch der Kopf empor

Begegn´ ich diesem ersten leisen Frost.

.

Er tritt heran so weich und so umsichtig,

Allwissend wie ein alter Psychiater,

Der meine Regungen – wie eine Maus ein Kater –

Erkannt, belächelt hat… und hingerichtet.

.

In sein beruhigender Hand gefangen,

Vergeblich ringt man: noch ein Schritt! Ein Wort…

Er ist zu zart, zu unausweichlich, dieser stiller Tod.

Ich zittere nur kurz – und bin vergangen.

Так нежно…

Так нежно.

Так тихо и нежно,

Как воздух, что в горле, смутившись

Банальностью голосовых связок,

Беззвучно, пугливо, интимно

Вплавляется в бесконечность

Движений, улыбок и взглядов.

Как кончики пальцев,

чуть вздрогнув,

смолкают, не смея коснуться,

И дух раздосадован этой –

Незримой. Неумолимой.

До бешенства вездесущей –

Тончайшей прозрачной границей.

Ах, как мы исполнены такта!

С Тобой – говорить и смеяться,

Лелея те взгляды украдкой,

Невинные прикосновенья –

Так близко и так бесконтактно.

Как будто мы малые дети…

Так нежно, легко и безмерно,

Лишь вовремя, как при румбе,

Шаг

сделать

назад, – и смирно

Бежать по привычным спинам…

Так нежно, украдкой, с улыбкой,

Так трогательно и… параллельно

Эвклидово наше пространство.