|
From the Depths
it’s the letter that should
never have come
it’s the fields of stubble
round the village
it’s the friend crying
into the telephone
it’s the black oaks
by the ditch
it’s the castle that
all see and fear
and the friend singing
in the castle’s park
with wind-blown hair
and always again
the quietness that comes
from the village
it’s behind all the windows
and the doors
like someone waiting
it’s in the fields of stubble
waiting to be harvested
the friend playing
waltzes on the piano
with clammy hands
it’s having been too shy
to dance she says
it’s those rare times
of feeling free dreaming
someone desires you
it’s the letter it’s the friend
dead
English translation by Paul Archer of Sabine Schiffner's Aus der tiefe from her book of poems: Dschinn. |
