Earfield Poem by Gerhard Falkner

Earfield



I desired, blind breath, as of hope
the most fervent picture will be of this, our wandering
so different, so heaped unto summer
who at that time, no lounger finds rest, but the manner
goes on to the next, to the text, in nerves finer

Translation: Rosmarie Waldrop

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success