POEM UNFINISHED, FINAL VERSION Poem by Ulrike Draesner

do you know what it's like when you
go into a spin (the falling leaves) he asks
with gentle polish calm: wulkan.

the lay of the edges the porcelain
all the things in the house he said
put them in mind of their own needs: photos
of christenings, initials on linen
the plumped eiderdowns the blue
dream of a dresser with prancing
peacock the wine from the wedding year -
theirs that is, still warm their german lips
on the glasses by the sink. we were ashamed
not of taking but of looking
that is how we arrived.
wulkan. ancient figure for life.
the human piling up in layers
knotted utterly gray prolific
and hot, hardened - sitting on packed bags
in new homes for 30 years: fleeing
to what others have fled. they sawed up
the bed the others for fuel the only
salvaged sack the wooden leg
of a dead brother, i can see
their hands, grandma, granddad, father,
their nails, they had not lost
everything had kept almost all
their body parts kept something
of the soul - perhaps

some of us lie down and make love
on european grass, a tower rises
it is only of iron and reconstructed
which is normal, a tram
passes and the heart, wulkan
beats its hooves softly against the walls
in a bygone polish
stable