Sunday, 30 November 2014

A poem from the collection 'Galgenfrist' by the Danish poet Ivan Malinowski


But after the fire
one could almost
spell one’s way to the grass’s veins
the mayfly’s track
the cobweb

so rich a destruction
so good a hatred

(there they sit in their nests
of chewed paper
death does not understand them
shame comes and has lost
its simplest metre)

yes I know it
the cry in the street
hunger’s spurts of flame
in leap on leap
against these walls

this horrible world
now finally so beautiful so pure

in the hot ashes of your poems.

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