sábado, 15 de agosto de 2015

Novemberland: Selected Poems, 1956-1993 - Günter Grass


...mirrors play at being nature. (5)

Our city our city.
All scattered lies Berlin,
leans with its fire walls against winds...

For it was in this, ivy,
the growth rate of immortality,
that he surpassed us.

Some rational nonsense in his lines.
A wounded Germany in his heart.
A little humor.
A little tragedy.
Absorbing creativity.

Two poems for a review:

Nursery Rhyme
Who laughs here, who has laughed?
Here we have ceased to laugh.
To laugh here now is treason.
The laugher has a reason.

Who weeps here, who has wept?
Here weeping is inept.
To weep here now means too
a reason so to do.

Who speaks here or keeps mum?
Here we denounce the dumb.
To speak here is to hide
deep reasons kept inside.

Who plays here, in the sand?
Against the wall we stand
players whose games are banned.
They've lost, they've burned their hand.

Who dies here, dares to die?
"Defector!" here we cry.
To die here, without stain,
is to have died in vain. (21)


In reality
the glass was filled only hip high.
Plump, well-rounded. Lies in the dregs.
Engrave syllables.
Live next to the garbage disposal unit
and distinguish between a stench and a smell.
Deprive the cake of its springform.
in their cases
can't fall over.
That, often interrupted, is how my thoughts went.
When does the milk grow funny?
Measure progress in crayfish gait.
Wait patiently until metal tires.
Let the bridge slowly,
so that the writing keeps pace,
Before that, calculate its value as scrap.
Sentences bid farewell to sentences.
When politics
the weather's way of speaking:
A high-pressure belt over Russia.
At home
to have gone abroad; on travels
to remain at home.
We will not change the climate.
Only naïveté
wants to make something live,
declare it dead.
Be stupid, always want to begin from scratch.
Please remind me as soon as I say
hay fever or the Corso of Flowers in Zoppot.
Retrospectively look out of the window.
Rhymes for snipes' droppings.
Loudly join in when anyone's talking nonsense.
Urbin, that's it!–Urbin, that's it!
Hit on the imprecise thing precisely.
are full of old admission tickets.
Where is the car key?
Delete the car key.
Compassion with verbs.
Believe in the eraser.
Conjure an umbrella in the Lost and Found.
Bulldoze the moment with the rolling pin.
And take the connections apart again.
Because ... due to ... when ... so that ... to ...
comparisons and similar adhesive aids.
This story must come to an end.
Conclude with a colon:
I'm coming back. I'm coming back.
Remain cheerful in a vacuum.
Steal only things of one's own.
more skillfully executed.
Not adorn-write: (*Yes, it ends there. 63/65)

This is a bilingual edition of selected poems from four decades. It would have been great to read some more notes for a little more context. If you don't do a research of your own, it is quite inaccessible.

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