Andreas Altmann
Andreas Altmann Poems
the memory, when it gives up
one remembrance after another,
goes blind with its own words.
in empty rooms you touch
...
you look to the border through your eyes. dispersed
settlement, the decaying skin of the houses.
you in those rooms as a child. beyond that paths
lacing around the lines of sight. stomach
...
barred bunker walls lie at the head
of the island impelled the sea laps as it will
long-gone hands have bound single feathers
to fingers thick wires in the stone
...
night frost had obliterated the region,
colours collapsed into each other. you wrote
and said to me make a new start and spoke
my name at a different door. its wood was hard
...
the path loses its way beneath the bushes.
maybe i'm the only one who still walks it.
the light wood of the trees knocks against the wind,
which scatters it. the nearby factory is deserted. and
...
the snow begins in your eyes
when the wind drives the light
loudly from the poplars.
you must make up your mind
...
november wind impresses its faces
into the water of the lake. they sink in it.
sightings containing themselves grow
weeks later into the ice. the boats
...
Andreas Altmann Biography
Andreas Altmann was born in 1963 in Hainichen (Saxony). He has worked as a typesetter, a roadie for an orchestra, a street sweeper and as a carer. Between 1993 and 1996 he studied social pedagogy. Since then he has published seven volumes of poetry, the last appearing in 2010, entitled 'Das zweite Meer“ (The second sea). Altmann lives in Berlin.)
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the memory, when it gives up
one remembrance after another,
goes blind with its own words.
in empty rooms you touch
along the wall, which grabs your hands,
over doors, which you don't open,
at the window. glances, which are dark
which are light, soften the eyes.
a voice forms out of noises,
which doesn't make it past the
silence. once again you go
with groundless steps through the house.
light has cut out shadows,
for which there are no reasons here.
you scratch open your fingers on the edges.
someone follows you with
crossed arms, that look. you plead
to stay longer. before the door
the car waits. the motor starts up.
Translated by Mark Terrill
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