To read / 29 April 2019

At Home on the Precipice and in Heaven, First Part

Poems

You can read the introductory part here.

I

Icelight melts, but the warmth

Doesn’t warm, just more

Darkwater in the lake. The shores

Are words, the telephones

Dead devices flickering

On and off like candles

In cemeteries.

II

Awoken, exhausted by the run

Through the night that is not yet

Over. The standby light

Takes the place of the star. From no

Where you look at me, from no

Where you come. The lilacs bloom,

The birds fly up, as if

They were following the promises

That kept themselves in sleep. 

III

Mourning is madness. I

Turn on the recorder

And listen to the snoring

Of the dead. Heavy breath,

Recorded on April first.

It was warm island air.

The tides still had no 

History, the springtime blossomed

Into the future. The

Returning rattle

Now makes my own heart

Race. No solace. 

IV

No joy in the company

Of trees that change their 

Colours. In my hand a 

Single maple leaf, I watch the

Women carrying candles,

Rummaging in their pockets for lighters. 

Death wears green, he knows

No times, just you and

Me in the grass. And tries out

Spring in the dark. 

V

Half a home, half a

Room, half a life: 

Unalleviated love. Where’s this hand

Supposed to go, why are the curtains holding

Still? 

Translated by Geoffrey C. Howes

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