9 November Poem by Volker Braun

Lengths of wire, the brackish water has a barbed smile
Silently, like a dream, the mines drift
Like dinner plates back into the cupboard. Surreal moment:
On tiptoe where the world is sundering, and not a shot.
Reason, so long hounded, utterly fagged out, reaches
For some (any old) mistake ... The filthy bandage bursts.
Neon signs invade to centre stage. REJOICE
BERLIN, too soon. Blow now, nor` easter, hard.

translated by David Constanine