Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Volker Braun

ART

She dances on the graves, with grace
With her rogue memory. WE KNOW
WE CAN’T HOLD ON TO ANYTHING. She
Calls up the croaked, the forgotten, them
With their knives and demands. Love
Gone out, anger gone cold, the wasted times. What
Is the thought that we are mortal set against
THE GREAT IN VAIN? She dares to think it
Underground where everything lives. How
Is it possible that things the way they are
Are dancing?

Die Kunst

Die Kunst

Sie tanzt auf den Gräbern, mit Grazie
Mit ihrem wilden Gedächtnis.
WIR KÖNNEN JA NICHTS BEHALTEN. Sie
Ruft die Verreckten herauf, die Vergessenen
Mit ihren Messern und Forderungen. Erloschene
Liebe, kalter Zorn, vertane Zeiten. Was
Ist der Gedanke, daß wir sterblich sind
Gegen das GROSSE UMSONST. Sie wagt es zu denken
Im Untergrund, wo alles lebt.
Wie, ist es möglich? daß die Verhältnisse tanzen
Close

ART

She dances on the graves, with grace
With her rogue memory. WE KNOW
WE CAN’T HOLD ON TO ANYTHING. She
Calls up the croaked, the forgotten, them
With their knives and demands. Love
Gone out, anger gone cold, the wasted times. What
Is the thought that we are mortal set against
THE GREAT IN VAIN? She dares to think it
Underground where everything lives. How
Is it possible that things the way they are
Are dancing?

ART

She dances on the graves, with grace
With her rogue memory. WE KNOW
WE CAN’T HOLD ON TO ANYTHING. She
Calls up the croaked, the forgotten, them
With their knives and demands. Love
Gone out, anger gone cold, the wasted times. What
Is the thought that we are mortal set against
THE GREAT IN VAIN? She dares to think it
Underground where everything lives. How
Is it possible that things the way they are
Are dancing?
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