Why don’t we in case of despair, no matter whose, make formations
like ducks suddenly form a v against a whirlwind.
Perhaps a herringbone floor of us hundred
standing closest, feet crossed over crowns
as soon as a gong resounds with which one person applies for
temporary release, evacuation from himself to
‘the species’. Or more feasibly: that one helpless one who squeezes
acrobatically into a suitcase which we then pass on and on through
streets, with as destination only his unconditional remaining.
Till he kicks the suitcase open, can deal with himself again, get a
Translation by Paul Vincent