Thia is the Bauhaus
where lumbering maverick hands
-a kind of tragedy unfolding-
mould cumbersome laminate
and cold implausible steel.
An odourless vision-
unwieldy, ill conceived
-the transformation of man
to machine-made man.
And looking outwards,
staid Fraulein Dambeck,
lips and nose pressed to recalcitrant glass,
performs industrial striptease.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem