Kater Murr Poem by Donatien Moisdon

Hans von Brunnfengrongen smokes a tiny cigar
as he listens to a CD of J.S.Bach.

Sitting in a leather armchair, he looks out of
the tall window, the one with leaded lozenges.
He gazes at the sunny wall of the old church
where he happens to be honoured Kapelmeister.

His plump little hand holds a cup of black coffee.

His feet are dozing off in rabbit-skin slippers.

A corner of blue sky, transparent soprano,
beyond the solid walls of the church sings away.

In the kitchen, Bertha, the faithful housekeeper
has worked all day on an Aspic Schinkenschitten.

When the music stops
only clinking forks,
knives, glasses and plates
will, in a day-dream,
be heard, faint, unreal

or

the cooing of birds
in the neighbour's tree.