Your voice from grayed void, an echo
etched on wax cylinders.
Die Nachzustotterende Welt,
bei der ich zu Gast
gewesen sein werde,
[The to-be-restuttered world,
whose guest I have been]
Your poems: brain-thrashing
thickets. They face
wounds.
Unentworden, allerorten,
sammle dich,
steh.
[Undebecome, everywhere,
gather yourself,
stand.]
Your dark matter
fragments where words
are scars in need of de-
ciphering.
Du liegst im großen Gelausche,
umbuscht, umflockt.
[You lie in the great listening,
ambushed, snowed in.]
15 years ago, I wrote you
a poem. Through the years,
I've slashed unneeded
words, sins against
language. This is what's left.
May it be enough:
whittled/worlds
whittled
worlds velvet
brain-blasting
bell-clang
of light.
alcoholic angels
in syphlitic sores
begs us to eat
their
eyes
to taste the
recorded
horrors
May our spirits meet,
Rusty
P.S.: Thanks to Pierre Joris for his astonishing translations.
