CAPUT VII
159
Western Germany, capsized cathedral
and I have seen them stranded in all
the German cities (Köln, Frankfurt et ce
tera) or caught like nighttime moths in the
diagonal cones of the searchlight
surrounded by pastiche and artificial
patina, emptied of bread, wine and Holy
Spirit. I have seen them like great arks
aaaaaadddddddddddddddddeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeeeffgggggghhhhjjjllllmmm
nnnnnnnnnrrrsssttttttuuuxxyyøøååå
that burn up with gilding among the
mass of canneries and of silos
there on the radiant coasts of welfare
160
There on the radiant coasts of welfare
bathed in dangerous halogens
the espaliers of the shipyards creep
upward along the sky’s steel meridians.
I have arrived on the ‘Deutschland’ ferry
across the waters of the subconscious.
Not because my beloved has left me
as was the case in ‘Winterreise’ not
aaaaaaaddddddddddddeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
fffggggggggggggjjjjjjlllllllll
nnnnnrrrrssttttxxæææøøøøøåååå
to pay homage to Schubert’s monument
but to study capitalism’s and
the machine age’s saurian heads.
161
The machine age’s saurian heads
lift themselves up above a new Fall
like some strange bacchanal of clouds
on carbon monoxide horizons.
This time it is the bite into the
apple of materialism and greed
that counts. This time it is the man
who tempts the woman till she crashes. But
aaaaaaaaddddddddddddeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
fffggggggggggggjjjjjjlllllllll
nnnnnrrrssttttxxæææøøøøøåååå
even so he has enough shame in him
to conceal the cores as dragons that
stand guard over their nuclear waste.
162
Stand guard over their nuclear waste
as well as their gastronomic aca
damies. Keep a watch on the oil-flare
at the refineries and the mighty
mills of Satan in all the branches of
industry. Protect all the criminals to
be found in parliaments and banks
with paradise-coloured shadows.
German sun German sun and and German
German sun German sun and and and sun
is is is is is is is which which landscape
It’s the Bundesgrenzschutz. It’s Western
Germany, late February, no sun.
I have criss-crossed this entire landscape.
163
I have criss-crossed this entire landscape
which lies like some cut-off eagle’s wing
decorated with emeralds and snow
stains as large and murdered embryos.
I have eaten Sauerkraut in Hannover
and I have drunk dark beer in Munich
(the time before with my parents, an
extenuating circumstance) and each
the maw the maw the maw the maw maw I
maw maw maw maw maw maw maw maw maw I
right into right into right into maw
time I have approached Hamburg I have
seen a very strange light corona. I
have travelled right into the Underworld’s maw.
164
Have travelled right into the Underworld’s maw;
that is of course a load of nonsense or
perhaps rather an allegory a
mong other images of the Ruhr’s landscape.
But do not underestimate the dark
angels of allegory and sleep, who
fling both ammonium chloride and cinna
bar on the flames of the soul and heart,
maw maw maw maw maw the maw the maw egg
maw maw aw maw the maw the maw zooming
I I I I I I I expresses
in order to generate poetry’s might
y fresco through which I am zooming
with ‘Parsifal’ and other expresses.
165
With ‘Parsifal’ and other expresses
powered by electricity and the li
bido’s green apocalyptic current
I am travelling all the way across the
continent of the Federal Republic and
the violet atlas of dreams. Trains and
buses I have also frequented in
order to map out the light and dark
that that that that that that the sphere trains we we
the sphere the sphere the sphere the sphere the sphere
train train the train the train journeys journeys
squares and cardiograms in the me
taphysical sphere of human beings
on these blue and winter-like journeys.
166
On these blue and winter-like journeys
(the log-book of which is this collec
tion of poems) I never reached Dessau
in Eastern Germany, the birthplace of
of the poet Wilhelm Müller (the man
who wrote ‘Winterreise’ set to music by
Franz Schubert) mainly since the title al
ludes more to the Bundesgrenzschutz action
‘Winterreise’ where the hunt to hounds for
partisans really got underway while
I flew through the air space into exile.
167
I flew through the air-space into exile
over toy cities and in doing to
overturned the dominoes over miles of
snow and the black stone of the Kabbala.
And the gleaming strings of pearls: the roads I
saw from above as well as the last ta
boo: lawcourts, prisons and chancelleries
glowing all around with the aura of power.
I saw an angel an angel and ether
and Frankfurt airport which was jam-packed
and and Frankfurt airport which was fire
I saw an angel of azure and ether
above Frankfurt airport, which was jam-packed
with Caravelles and with dragons of fire.
168
With Caravelles and with dragons of fire
I rose up like some sort of silhouette towards
the sunset, a dark demon at work a
bove the Rheinland-Pfalz region of tinfoil.
Action ‘Winterreise’ was started on
the twenty-sixth of November nineteen
seventy-four. Three thousand policemen
heavily armed took part in fifteen of
and and and and and and and the witch-hunt
began me me me me and and and me
to examine the crisis of the spirit
Germany’s major cities. The witch-hunt
began, while I firmly prepared myself
to examine the crisis of the spirit.
169
To examine the crisis of the spirit
I have dressed myself in black this winter
and have played music by Zimmermann, who
himself became a victim of its break-up.
I have during the late hours of the night
burnt black stearin candles in honour
of the urban partisans who have fall
en because they too were forced to their knees.
occasionally I have studied or
chids and have perforated the paper
with the aid of the poetic method.
170
With the aid of the poetic method
I have approached forbidden areas,
bitter as aluminium, grey with
suffering and shame and degradation.
Areas on the other side of the
mind that are fenced in with spiritual
barbed wire and high voltage, where not e
ven suicide or death is sufficient
to annihilate the red admiral
butterflies of fear or memory.
I have discovered my personal roots.
171
I have discovered my personal roots
in the town of Limbach near Saarbrücken.
From here the baroque poet Theobald
Höeck emigrated to Prague, where my an
cestors come from. He became Peter Wok
von Rosenberg’s secretary. And later
condemned to death for conspiracy a
gainst the Emperor, but liberated
aaaaaaaaaddddddddddddddeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeffflllllllllllllll
mmmttttuuuuxxxøååååååå
once more in sixteen eighteen in a rebel
lion, after which he vanished without trace,
the moon shadows of my own transience.
172
The moon shadows of my own transience
of rather those of my own vanity
I have celebrated and emptied a
thimble of digitalis in honour
of hubris and origin: all that has
to be overcome. But perhaps the gold
en section between horizontal and
vertical history is even so
aaaaaaaaaaaabbddddddddddd
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeefffjjjj
kkpppppppsssssuuuuuxxxøøøøøåååå
the only location where time stands still
and where it therefore overcomes itself.
Western Germany, capsized cathedral.
173
Western Germany, capsized cathedral
there on the radiant coasts of welfare.
The machine age’s saurian heads
stand guard over their nuclear waste.
I have criss-crossed this entire landscape,
have travelled right into the Underworld’s maw
with ‘Parsifal’ and other expresses
on these blue and winter-like journeys.
I flew through the air space into exile
with Caravelles and with dragons of fire
to examine the crisis of the spirit
with the aid of the poetic method.
I have discovered my personal roots
the moon shadows of my own transience.
174
The moon shadows of my own transience
(as I saw them in Gelsenkirchen
on the large-sized planet reliefs of
Yves Klein) will soon be filling all the night.
But the darkness is necessary for
us who dragged their gaze towards the day’s Chremnitz-
white horizons. And other sources of
light open up within us like distant
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadddddddddddd
eeeeeeeeeeegggggjjjlllllllpppp
rrrsssuuuuvvvxxxøøøååå
points that coruscate with salt over
the clandestine growth-places of the heart.
I have discovered my personal roots.
175
I have discovered my personal roots
and now I only need to plant the last
flower: closing time’s great, white rose that is full
of fallen dew and undefinable
firewood smoke coming from distant gardens
cemeteries and railway embankments.
I want to set out into ignorance,
not in order to cultivate it, but
aaaaaaaaaaddddddddddeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeekkklllllllllllllllmmmmppppp
rrrrrrrrrrsssssssssstttttttttxxyyøøåååå
more to fertilise and nurture these lay
ers of humus from which certainty grows,
with the aid of the poetic method.
176
With the aid of the poetic method
you cannot always determine the black
oak foliage of power and bring down
its tungsten eagles, because one defi
nition of power almost sounds like this:
power can never delegate or ab
olish itself: it can be brought down by
the spirit or other armed force, or by
Main Main Main Main Main I I I I I
crisis crisis crisis crisis Main Main
crisis crisis crisis crisis crisis
the hand’s submachine guns that bark in the
night, while I am off to Frankfurt am Main
to examine the crisis of the spirit.
177
To examine the crisis of the spirit
I came to vineyards that were black as lac
quer under the white death mask of the snow.
I got utterly blind drunk on brandy
so as to connect the inner with the
outer universe. But since the spirit
is one, indivisible and crisis
comes from krinein (divide) it became
Frankfurt Frankfurt Frankfurt Main exem
Frankfurt Frankfurt Frankfurt Main home home
fire fire fire fire I I I I I fire
clear that it is man who is in crisis
exemplified in myself. I flew home
with Caravelles and dragons of fire.
178
With Caravelles and dragons of fire
I have inspected from the air this ord
nance survey map of Action ‘Winterrei
se’ the first result of which proved to be
the detention of fourteen anarchists,
extremists (writers, artists) until deep
into the month of February as
well as the seizure of 600kg of che
and and and I I I am am I kinds
through through through sodium bicarbonate
am am am am flying not not exile
micals all different kinds: charcoal,
saltpetre, sodium bicarbonate.
I flew through the air space into exile.
179
I flew through the air space into exile
about fourteen days at a time or a
week at a time to various hotels
among jewellery shops and cheap prosti
tution. I purchased a Rhöner gas pis
tol Mod. 110, calibre 8 millimetres,
partly because I happen to be fond
of weapons, partly so as to prove the
am I I I I from from from from and and
contraband goods pistol contraband goods
journeys journeys journeys journeys journeys
supreme ease with which I can cross borders
and customs houses with contraband goods
on these blue and winter-like journeys.
180
On these blue and winter-like journeys
when I rode through the dark corridors of
the Teutoburgerwald between rusty
sculptures of iron and the five burnt-down
pines of fear, I often thought about my
father and those in my family who
were dead in order to reduce the lone
liness probably and to create a
there there burning burning counterweight
counterweight counterweight journey journey is is
expresses expresses and expresses
kind of constancy as a counterweight
to the acclerations of movement
with ‘Parsifal’ and other expresses.
181
With ‘Parsifal’ and other expresses
of silver and green aluminium
I came to the main railway station which
lay almost outside the land of the mind.
Here also winter received me with the
snow of dreams, which gently floated down o
ver the platforms of insomnia which
butterfly wings that had been ripped or torn
floated floated floats yard land my my my
burnt-down platform platform platform land is
the maw the maw the maw the maw and maw
into shreds. And I held my pfennigs read
y just as all other people would who
have travelled right into the Underworld’s maw.
182
Have travelled right into the Underworld’s maw
(which possibly lies not far from Essen)
in order to inscribe the consequence
of the Western way of thinking (its mad
ness and its genius) as curves and pa
rabolas, hyperbolas for growth and
decay (curved like the necks of peacocks) in
every one of my poems and sonnets.
maw maw maw maw maw maw is in maw in
in maw in maw in maw maw maw maw and
my poetry maw maw maw maw maw ness
I have hazarded all my politi
cal ideas and my poetry, and
I have criss-crossed this entire landscape.
183
I have criss-crossed this entire landscape
where during Action ‘Winterreise’ some
thing approaching a hundred hiding pla
ces (collectives) were uncovered and the
staff decided to confiscate mater
ial that was considered submersive
(books and magazines) and they arrested
E. Michel. Reinhard and B. Heinrich, who
I I I I I I I I and are
against state against state against state still
against the state against the state and fall
everyone thought of as conspirators
against the state and the police, who still
stand guard over their nuclear waste.
184
Stand guard over their nuclear waste,
keep watch on the share capital and the
insurance companies’ grey collusion,
cherish the horse stable of the magnates
and too the so-called integrity of
science and its free right to bring human
ity in danger, ultimately en
sure the disgusting conduct of the rich:
It’s the Bundesgrenzschutz. It’s Western
Germany under the vast sulphur clouds,
the machine age’s saurian heads.
It’s the Bundesgrenzschutz. It’s Western
Germany under the vast sulphur clouds,
the machine age’s saurian heads.
185
The machine age’s saurian heads
stand ready on their launching ramps some place
or other in Bavaria or in
Hessen all set and ready as in the
Bible to unleash an Armageddon
(Oh, all that prophetic nonsense which a
las is starting to become real
ty) in the middle of the snowstorm’s heart
nitrogen oh nitrogen nitrogen
oh what a great spiritual shipwreck
oh coast oh coast oh coast and and oh coast
of carbon dioxide and nitrogen.
Oh, what a great spiritual shipwreck
there on the radiant coasts of welfare.
186
There on the radiant coasts of welfare
lie the harbours blasted into winter
like shot into a pheasant’s breast, wealth that
has cost so many people poverty
death and suffering, that still calls for blood
and for degradation. Perhaps RAF has
let down the left wing, but then the left wing
lets down the defence of the revolu
aaaaaaacddddddddddddddeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeejjjjlllllmmmm
ppppppuuuuuuuxxxyyøøøåååå
tion, decency and the case of human
ity. Oh, what a gigantic error.
Western Germany, capsized cathedral.
187
Western Germany, capsized cathedral.
My winter travels are over, so I
return home to other worldly calls, such
as pursuing my literary path.
So there is plenty to get going on,
which is why I won’t be coming back for
four years at least, and am perhaps only
wished for (persona in-grata) by few.
aaaceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
gghhhlllnnnnnnnnpppprrrrrrr
ssssssssuuuuvvxxyyyøøøøø
I have undertaken the defence of
Cain against the intellectual Abels,
the moon-shadows of my own transience.
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