The enervated, dignified remoteness
in subjects of the artist Christian Schad
appeal to my base instincts and my goatness.
D’you think this proves that I'm extremely bad?
Imperfect females, with their faces savaged
by poverty and passage of dark time
can’t be redeemed once they have all been ravaged,
though Otto Dix portrays the scenes of crime.
George Grosz unleashes scurrilously sketches
of people Hitler would appreciate;
but I prefer the prostitutes and letches
who think erotomania is great.
Topography of body and the face
yields to psyche when Max Beckmann paints;
the Germans, when expressionistic, face
all torture without harmonized constraints.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem