Poem
Marcel Beyer
Uncleaned teeth
Sleep where I didn’t sleep. So many hands on thehandle, at the basin and what was beneath it. Soon such weak
breathing, no sleep. What could have been, should
have been, what remains between my teeth, what it
tastes of. Sleep of the aroused, of the awakened.
What curtain of rain, someone else’s dust and spittle, what
half-snow up to the shirt. So many hands on the
kitchen table, at the window, no sleep. What someone else’s grease
at the radiator, the range, such clear darkness and what should
have been asleep. Thus I walk through sleet, in January
with teeth again uncleaned, where I didn’t sleep.
© Translation: 2004, Hans-Christian Oeser and Gabriel Rosenstock
Die ungeputzten Zähne
Die ungeputzten Zähne
Schlaf, wo ich nicht geschlafen habe. So viele Hände amGriff, am Becken, und was darunter war. So schwacher
Atem bald, kein Schlaf. Was hätte sein dürfen, was
sollen, was zwischen meinen Zähnen bleibt, wonach
es schmeckt. Schlaf der Entbrannten, der Erwachten.
Was Regenvorhang, fremder Staub und Spucke, was
halber Schnee bis in das Hemd. So viele Hände auf dem
Küchentisch, am Fenster, kein Schlaf. Was fremdes Fett
am Heizkörper, am Herd, so klares Dunkel und was hätte
schlafen sollen. So laufe ich im Schneeregen, im Januar
mit wieder ungeputzten Zähnen, wo ich nicht geschlafen habe.
© 1998, Marcel Beyer
Poems
Poems of Marcel Beyer
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Uncleaned teeth
Sleep where I didn’t sleep. So many hands on thehandle, at the basin and what was beneath it. Soon such weak
breathing, no sleep. What could have been, should
have been, what remains between my teeth, what it
tastes of. Sleep of the aroused, of the awakened.
What curtain of rain, someone else’s dust and spittle, what
half-snow up to the shirt. So many hands on the
kitchen table, at the window, no sleep. What someone else’s grease
at the radiator, the range, such clear darkness and what should
have been asleep. Thus I walk through sleet, in January
with teeth again uncleaned, where I didn’t sleep.
© 2004, Hans-Christian Oeser and Gabriel Rosenstock
Uncleaned teeth
Sleep where I didn’t sleep. So many hands on thehandle, at the basin and what was beneath it. Soon such weak
breathing, no sleep. What could have been, should
have been, what remains between my teeth, what it
tastes of. Sleep of the aroused, of the awakened.
What curtain of rain, someone else’s dust and spittle, what
half-snow up to the shirt. So many hands on the
kitchen table, at the window, no sleep. What someone else’s grease
at the radiator, the range, such clear darkness and what should
have been asleep. Thus I walk through sleet, in January
with teeth again uncleaned, where I didn’t sleep.
© 2004, Hans-Christian Oeser and Gabriel Rosenstock
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