Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Marcel Beyer

Olympia, the Late Film

Too late, too late, on the walls, on my own,
the neon sign, the late film, the folding
seat, too late. You talk in your sleep,
in knife language, I hold my breath,
your face, it’s too late, it gets lost in the crowd,
it won’t show. Only the moss,
the woodlice, the shimmering curtains,
it’s too late, you haven’t forgotten,
but I have. The plants recede into shade,
it’s damp, you speak. Too late, I said.

Olympia, Spätfilm

Olympia, Spätfilm

Zu spät, zu spät, an Wänden, allein,
die Leuchtschrift, der Spätfilm, der
Klappsitz, zu spät. Im Schlaf sprichst
du, ich atme nicht, in Messersprache,
dein Gesicht, zu spät, das geht verloren,
kommt nicht mehr hervor. Allein das
Moos, die Asseln, der Gardinenschein,
zu spät, du hast das nicht vergessen,
aber ich. Das Kraut fällt in den Schatten,
feucht, du sprich. Zu spät, sagte ich.
Close

Olympia, the Late Film

Too late, too late, on the walls, on my own,
the neon sign, the late film, the folding
seat, too late. You talk in your sleep,
in knife language, I hold my breath,
your face, it’s too late, it gets lost in the crowd,
it won’t show. Only the moss,
the woodlice, the shimmering curtains,
it’s too late, you haven’t forgotten,
but I have. The plants recede into shade,
it’s damp, you speak. Too late, I said.

Olympia, the Late Film

Too late, too late, on the walls, on my own,
the neon sign, the late film, the folding
seat, too late. You talk in your sleep,
in knife language, I hold my breath,
your face, it’s too late, it gets lost in the crowd,
it won’t show. Only the moss,
the woodlice, the shimmering curtains,
it’s too late, you haven’t forgotten,
but I have. The plants recede into shade,
it’s damp, you speak. Too late, I said.
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