Matthias Göritz

Matthias Göritz Poems

I go to the window
and become a beautiful evening
...

My day's allotment of people
Papa, Nicki and me

At night we all hang by a thread
Don't worry, one day there'll be childhood
...

My father was a suitable man
He always had things in his pockets
Chocolate for the satyrs
fat polished coins for the ferryman
...

Compromises lead to
nothing, memory sleeps
still
chasing goals
...

You have beheld too many faces
endured too many balls
wig powder and
candlelight, tableaux
...

Or I ask you
to dance in the midst of rain
or I go with you. The splitting stormclouds
in the midst of life, divided
...

But how (and whither)
are birds translatable
notes in a
language, that emerges
...

The moon hangs like an empty building
above the bare branch of a tree
The child's dingling-dangling lantern
an attempt to ape Caspar David
...

Matthias Göritz Biography

Matthias Göritz was born in Hamburg in 1969. Today he lives in Frankfurt/Main as a writer. After his studies of philosophy and literature he spent some time in Moscow, Paris, Chicago, and New York. He published his first collection of poetry Loops in 2001. He received numerous stipends and prizes such as 'Literaturförderpreis der Stadt Hamburg' both in 1994 and 2000 and Mara Cassens Prize in 2006. From 2000 to 2002 he was Writer in Residence at Bard College, New York. In 2002 he attended the International Writing Program (IWP) at the University of Iowa.)

The Best Poem Of Matthias Göritz

For Wolodja in Moscow

I go to the window
and become a beautiful evening

What does one do in heaven?
He who dies is no longer in the world

In heaven they eat ice cream
And if there is color?

Is color only a space one dreams of
I'm in the belly of Mama

God makes pizza there
When I come out there's noise

Mama screams
I screams

As for hell I'd rather not think of it
I'm fairly convinced it exists

In contrast to the many things
Nothingness is white in color

My mothers come from the monkey
I can't look at another banana

All this makes noise
And purgatory, I believe, is like dry-cleaning

Everything in the world dies
And if we live on, for example in heaven

it rains

Translation: Susan Bernofsky

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