Poem
Thomas Kling
stratum III (beatrice)
this hair is snow-white, this hair
is black, growing again at the root.
we became liquid. eventually we were
liquidated. so we drifted off, bees
saved in dawn’s shimmering honey.
sacrifice, invocation, food for the dead.
how your voice unfolded!, its lowland
luminosity in the blacklight of the sunflower
we flow into, sleepless, honey, the liquefaction
of words: a hunger, deeply felt, for everything.
© Translation: 2002, Peter Filkins
From: Poetry Magazine Oct. Nov. 1998
From: Poetry Magazine Oct. Nov. 1998
schicht III (beatrice)
schicht III (beatrice)
dies ist schneeblond, dies istdas blau, das in den achsein nachwächst.
da wurdn wir flüssig. schließlich ver
flüssigtn wir uns. so sankn hin, gerettete
bienen, wir, im morgnlicht schimmernder honig.
ein götteropfer, anrufung, speise der totn.
wi deine stimme sich öffnete!, tiefebene erhellt
im schwarzlicht der sonnenblume, in was mündn wir
einstrahlungn, ohneschlaf, honig. wort und ver
flüssigungn: di gier ist es, herzgier, nach vielem.
© 1996, Suhrkamp Verlag; Veröffentlichung mit freundlicher Genehmigung
From: Thomas Kling: morsch. Gedichte
Publisher: Suhrkamp, Frankfurt/Main
From: Thomas Kling: morsch. Gedichte
Publisher: Suhrkamp, Frankfurt/Main
Poems
Poems of Thomas Kling
Close
stratum III (beatrice)
this hair is snow-white, this hair
is black, growing again at the root.
we became liquid. eventually we were
liquidated. so we drifted off, bees
saved in dawn’s shimmering honey.
sacrifice, invocation, food for the dead.
how your voice unfolded!, its lowland
luminosity in the blacklight of the sunflower
we flow into, sleepless, honey, the liquefaction
of words: a hunger, deeply felt, for everything.
© 2002, Peter Filkins
From: Poetry Magazine Oct. Nov. 1998
From: Poetry Magazine Oct. Nov. 1998
stratum III (beatrice)
this hair is snow-white, this hair
is black, growing again at the root.
we became liquid. eventually we were
liquidated. so we drifted off, bees
saved in dawn’s shimmering honey.
sacrifice, invocation, food for the dead.
how your voice unfolded!, its lowland
luminosity in the blacklight of the sunflower
we flow into, sleepless, honey, the liquefaction
of words: a hunger, deeply felt, for everything.
© 2002, Peter Filkins
From: Poetry Magazine Oct. Nov. 1998
From: Poetry Magazine Oct. Nov. 1998
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère