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Ingeborg Bachmann
Salz und Brot
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Ingeborg Bachmann
The Collected Poems
Salt and bread
Now the wind sends its rails ahead;
we will follow in slow trains
and inhabit these islands,
trust beside trust.
Into the hand of my oldest friend
I place the key to my post; the rain man will now manage
my darkened house and lengthen
the lines of the ledger which I drew up
since I stayed less often.
You, in fever-white vestments,
gather the exiled and tear
from the flesh of cactus a thorn
— symbol of impotence
to which we meekly bow.
We know
that we'll remain the continent's captives,
and again we'll succumb to its troubled ills,
and the tides of truth
will arrive less often.
For sleeping yet in the cliff
is the barely lit skull,
the claw hangs in the claw
in the dark stone, and the stigmata
are healed in the violet of the volcano.
of the great storms of light,
none has reached the living.
So, I gather the salt
when the sea overcomes us,
and turn back
and lay it on the threshold
and step into the house.
We share bread with the rain;
bread, a debt, and a house.
transl. by Peter Filkins
Salz und Brot
читать дальше
Ingeborg Bachmann
The Collected Poems
Salt and bread
Now the wind sends its rails ahead;
we will follow in slow trains
and inhabit these islands,
trust beside trust.
Into the hand of my oldest friend
I place the key to my post; the rain man will now manage
my darkened house and lengthen
the lines of the ledger which I drew up
since I stayed less often.
You, in fever-white vestments,
gather the exiled and tear
from the flesh of cactus a thorn
— symbol of impotence
to which we meekly bow.
We know
that we'll remain the continent's captives,
and again we'll succumb to its troubled ills,
and the tides of truth
will arrive less often.
For sleeping yet in the cliff
is the barely lit skull,
the claw hangs in the claw
in the dark stone, and the stigmata
are healed in the violet of the volcano.
of the great storms of light,
none has reached the living.
So, I gather the salt
when the sea overcomes us,
and turn back
and lay it on the threshold
and step into the house.
We share bread with the rain;
bread, a debt, and a house.
transl. by Peter Filkins