Jürgen Becker Poems

Looking up, the chain of cranes
is switching the tip of the wedge it makes,
the direction of flight stays the same, their speed
...

The next hour. As though we were waiting. But
there are always things to be done, we won't even mention
all the baggage.
...

Give me those, papers, tobacco, filter, this
time after the war will never end. Dew, the morning chill,
this is how September starts, September
of second-hand citations.
...

Of course, these water lilies, at any time
a citeable atmosphere; that is not the way
I was brought up, but later we
...

Summer rain. Black evening. On the edge
of a death notice the available data scribbled
that set the interview going, the memory
...

Sleep of history. The cards views and prospects
were out of print, or they were fakes, put into circulation
with an official stamp.
Memories? Memories
...