Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Thomas Kling

voice fleece

of course everything’s wet through; slick
with wetness, from all the showings, from the
talk about farness, so to speak, a voice
fleece of advanced sweetness, in which our na-
mes are spoken, turmoil hair, ravaging
of brows, under the shadow, your shadow,
which I distinguish with my face (name);
wet hair off the hand, wrangling in the ordinances
of breath.
                          eyes and eye sockets. show,
show me, while the fitter guys outside
try to install their all-weather cladding.
tinkling, trembling room; our voices,
bodies thrust against each other. patches of light. gaze-
sheet.
              in wetness talking in tongues, assertive song, that
’s not too loud, is it? morning’s gold lacquer which
wanders over the encampment, a waste of palates, a shed
of the borders of the bodies of the voices. with that something
from the ghetto-blaster, announcer and song, exchanging
in the wet.
                                              voice fleece, my sweetness!
the spring: cadaver, lacquer tablet in the light, your hair, my star,
(inhale), is like a herd of goats (snare for dials), shorn smooth
on the mountain!, one has to, shown, keep it in front of one’s
eyes and allow it. lacquer tablet, timetable of bodies! of course,
a rose is natural: roses.
                                                                                bright shadow-stuff
of voices, now it’s raining, dripping, gold lacquer (as we said) of the
morning, so we say. the light now, of your eyes,
like a split in the pomegranate.

stimmschur

stimmschur

es ist natürlich alles völlig naß; glätte von
nässe, von den ganzn zeigereien. von der
rede von fernigem, sozusagn. eine stimm-
schur vorgestoßener süße, in der unsere na-
men ausgesprochn werdn. haarwust, brauen-
verwüstung. unter dem schattn, deinem schattn,
den ich mit meinem gesicht (name) unterscheide;
nasses haar von der hand, gerangel in den atem-
ordnungen.
                                  augn und augnhöhlen. zeige,
zeig mir, während di montagejungens draußn
ihre elementa-bleche zu installieren suchn.
geschepper, gezittertes zimmer; unsere stimmen,
körper dringn auf einander ein. lichte fleckn. blick-
lake.
             in nässe zungnredn, eindringlicher gesang. das
is doch nich zu laut oder? goldlack-der-frühe der
übers lager wandert, eine wüste der gaumen, ein getrenn
der grenzn von den körpern der stimmen. dazu einiges
ausm ghettoblaster, sprecherin und gesang, das wechselt
im nassn sich ab.
                                                 stimmschur, süße!
der frühling: kadaver, lacktabelle im licht, deine haare, stern,
(beatmung), sind wi eine herde ziegn (zeigeherd), di auf dem
berge glatt geschoren!, das muß man sich, gezeigt, vor augn
haltn und erlaubn. lacktabelle, timetable-der-körper! natürlich,
eine rose ist natürlich: rosen.
                                                                                    helles schattnzeug
der stimmen, es regnet jetzt, getriefe, goldlack (wi gesacht) der
frühe, so redn wir. das licht jetzt, deiner augn,
wie ein ritz im granatapfel
Close

voice fleece

of course everything’s wet through; slick
with wetness, from all the showings, from the
talk about farness, so to speak, a voice
fleece of advanced sweetness, in which our na-
mes are spoken, turmoil hair, ravaging
of brows, under the shadow, your shadow,
which I distinguish with my face (name);
wet hair off the hand, wrangling in the ordinances
of breath.
                          eyes and eye sockets. show,
show me, while the fitter guys outside
try to install their all-weather cladding.
tinkling, trembling room; our voices,
bodies thrust against each other. patches of light. gaze-
sheet.
              in wetness talking in tongues, assertive song, that
’s not too loud, is it? morning’s gold lacquer which
wanders over the encampment, a waste of palates, a shed
of the borders of the bodies of the voices. with that something
from the ghetto-blaster, announcer and song, exchanging
in the wet.
                                              voice fleece, my sweetness!
the spring: cadaver, lacquer tablet in the light, your hair, my star,
(inhale), is like a herd of goats (snare for dials), shorn smooth
on the mountain!, one has to, shown, keep it in front of one’s
eyes and allow it. lacquer tablet, timetable of bodies! of course,
a rose is natural: roses.
                                                                                bright shadow-stuff
of voices, now it’s raining, dripping, gold lacquer (as we said) of the
morning, so we say. the light now, of your eyes,
like a split in the pomegranate.

voice fleece

of course everything’s wet through; slick
with wetness, from all the showings, from the
talk about farness, so to speak, a voice
fleece of advanced sweetness, in which our na-
mes are spoken, turmoil hair, ravaging
of brows, under the shadow, your shadow,
which I distinguish with my face (name);
wet hair off the hand, wrangling in the ordinances
of breath.
                          eyes and eye sockets. show,
show me, while the fitter guys outside
try to install their all-weather cladding.
tinkling, trembling room; our voices,
bodies thrust against each other. patches of light. gaze-
sheet.
              in wetness talking in tongues, assertive song, that
’s not too loud, is it? morning’s gold lacquer which
wanders over the encampment, a waste of palates, a shed
of the borders of the bodies of the voices. with that something
from the ghetto-blaster, announcer and song, exchanging
in the wet.
                                              voice fleece, my sweetness!
the spring: cadaver, lacquer tablet in the light, your hair, my star,
(inhale), is like a herd of goats (snare for dials), shorn smooth
on the mountain!, one has to, shown, keep it in front of one’s
eyes and allow it. lacquer tablet, timetable of bodies! of course,
a rose is natural: roses.
                                                                                bright shadow-stuff
of voices, now it’s raining, dripping, gold lacquer (as we said) of the
morning, so we say. the light now, of your eyes,
like a split in the pomegranate.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
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