Translation Heike Henderson
Small Theology III
Everybody wants three things: Love,
love, love. The fourth is
rather more difficult, an hour
rest in the afternoon.
fly lands again and again
on the back of the hands’
sensitive skin, on cheek
and neck, a power surge,
very light, bsss, it wants something
from you, you shall feel, it
is and you are, it caresses
you at the verge of a
You could die
for a minute sleep, but
you are not even injured.
No scratch, no tear and
no doubt – you have rested.
If you get up now and
slay it, the hour is
over. One, two, three…
From Der Pilot in der Libelle. Gedichte. © Wallstein Verlag, Göttingen 2010.
After felt eternities we meet again,
between us assorted children, three of which live,
a cat from the shelter, on withdrawal of love,
four economic crises like a long, quiet afternoon
in bed, a whispered “that hurts me,”
the desire for scratching, joke and edge.
Countless angels it took, to acknowledge: Even I,
I would not be familiar with me in nobody’s stead.
From Das Liebesleben der Stimmen. Gedichte. © Wallstein Verlag, Göttingen 2016.