For Karl-Heinz Ströhle (1957-2016)
When he breaks off within me,
When he goes to splinters, piercing me
With every particle, when he dissolves in me,
Deluges me, when he blazes and burns me,
What is left of me then? What am I
Without his knee, without the hairless, soft
Nape of his neck, the vivid skin of his hands, the blue
Of his eyes? There a man greets and goes, an
Other writes and laughs, a third one
Implores: Follow me. I’ll make firewood for
Your winter. The quince trees are mute now,
On the bird feeder hangs the woodpecker. I know
That time is thin. We fatten up our days
With young venison and stuffed geese,
With chocolate cookies and Christmas wreaths.
A fourth man sits in silence, a fifth one
Shows he’ll stay, but he desires what he
Thinks is delight: wine, women and loud
Warbling
When he breaks off within me,
When he goes to splinters, piercing me
With every particle, when he dissolves within me,
Deluges me, when he blazes and burns me,
What is left of me then? What am I
Without his voice, his dusky, abrupt
Laughter, without his pet names, his broad
Mouth? There’s the woman. Where she lies, there’s
Nothing left. Where she waits, everyone’s
Already gone. Where she survives, the heart
Beats are numbered. It is high time.
The sky hangs low. The quince trees are
Trimmed. The woodpecker’s flown off.
No morning will ever again get so close to me,
Nor any rosy light. The woman inside me is gone,
She’s moved on, she’s gathering
Eternities, quick glimpses. Silent
Sentences
Translated by Geoffrey C. Howes. Originally published under “Am Abgrund und im Himmel zuhause” by Haymon, Innsbruck 2018.
Author
Sabine Gruber
, born 1963 in Meran (South Tyrol, Italy), grew up in Lana. After teaching German in Venice she became an acclaimed writer. Her work includes novels, poems, and essays. In 2016 her latest novel, Daldossi oder Das Leben des Augenblicks, was published by C.H. Beck and shortlisted for the Austrian Book Prize. Sabine Gruber lives in Vienna.
Photo (c) Peter Eickhoff