I´m still here, though my country´s gone West.
PEACE TO THE PALACES AND DEVIL TAKE THE REST.
I gave it the elbow and heave-ho once myself.
Now it´s giving away its negligible charms itself.
Winter is followed by a summer of guzzling.
But I remain, worrying at the root of all evil.
And my poem becomes increasingly puzzling,
To wit: what I never had is being filched.
I shall always mourn what never happened to me in
person.
Hope lay across the path like a trap.
And that´s my junk you´ve got your paws on.
Will it ever again be given me
To say mine and thereby mean the collective me.
translated by Michael Hofmann
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem