good evening, Deutschland, turn the fog lights on
we're after telling it like it is, being on cue:
those who want in must chomp their way through
a cake that's not found anywhere in Grimm;
those who want out are gone in two shakes, quicker
than the time it takes to think of a four-syllable word.
just say three times: milkandhoney, milkandhoney.
we've lost our way in your shopping malls
can't tell them apart any more. in Höxter
a fat girl buys an angel of clay and asks
at the till: what does hope mean? in Steinheim
Hakan drinks his coffee strong, he dreamed again he swam across a honey-cake-Mediterranean
sea only to be beached at last on the streets
the brown-silt sands of the Land of Milk and Honey.
in Jena after a three-year trial a priest receives
a hefty fine, for driving towards a police car
to avoid colliding with the line of demonstrators.
my homeland is not only the cities and villages…
it's also the doorman before them. I dreamed
he looks like Kaya Yanar and asks for the code word:
tell me the land where the donkeys have silver noses.
say it three times over: you're not getting in,
you're not getting in, you're -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem