Introductory
Remarks about this section: This section will feature contemporary poetry -- and accompanying poetics / essay / journal writing, when possible -- translated into English from other languages. If you are translating work, please propose your ideas to our on-going translation coordinator: Cole Swensen, <xoxcole@cs.com> featuring poems by Elke Erb "Buying Rolls and Crossing Borders - Reading Elke Erb" by Kornelia Freitag
Translator's Note by Rosmarie Waldrop Elke Erb shares with her generation of GDR poets an emphasis on the concrete, but her way of presenting it is unlike anybody else's, East or West. As she has said, she has her "eye fixed on the molecule" because "truth is always concrete and stands in a fruitful working tension to logic and its formulae. But like the latter, it requires strict precision and clarity." In the poems from the GDR years, the complex syntax gave the lie to official simplicities, and the close observation of everyday occurrences or social structures leaped off the page into the unexpected and surreal. The more recent poems presented here come with the subtitle: "Poems and other Journal Entries," which points us toward their more relaxed, more open structure. But Erb's formulations always have an intense precision, while at the same time allowing the full range and richness of overtones in the language (somewhat lost in translation!). Elke Erb lives in what used to be East Berlin. She has published ten volumes of poetry, most recently Mensch sein, nicht [To be human, not], from which our poems are taken. Also a book of essays and many translations from the Russian (Zvetaeva, Achmatova, Chlebnikov, Essenin, Pushkin, etc.). Her many honors include the "F. C. Weisskopf" prize of the Academy of the Arts in Berlin (1999). A selection of poems in English, Mountains in Berlin, was published in 1995 by Burning Deck Press (my translation). In March 2000 she will read in Providence and other US cities. (If interested, contact J�gen Keil, Dir., Goethe Institute, 170 Beacon St., Boston, MA 02116. E-mail: 100627.1010@compuserve.com).
Talking to Oneself is Just a Roar from the Sea Untitled (first line: "To be human, not:") Untitled (first line: "Now I've visited the Etruscans.") Some-
Talking to Oneself is Just a Roar from the Sea because
the self, as we've got it, that our
Sibeirian, Carpathian and Klondike claws extraordinarily
soft to modify
mechanically, and a monstrance disk it nods on its stem neither listens nor talks itself, an incarnation from distant
seas, traveling amoeba in
May7/3/94
You would
come to Caputh*
You'd go
through twelve locals till you'd
get one who didn't the one in Caputh who really when it really or another
in Caputh the one, when in Caputh and every
one of those in Caputh my heart
like poison or even
ask every one Ask yourself
too and your kind Let their
lips move this poison,
this blood, this eye-devouring green Nest egg seals destruction They rise
they go walk wear
faces are the ones who tell 2/9/92 - 9/3/94 *Town near Berlin, location of a Jewish children's home. During the Nazi time, the home was destroyed and the children deported, with the collaboration of the inhabitants.
Yes stroking below,
from quay to quay the precise strokes in balance
with itself as well as in motion,
engaged in continuous in concepts there's rest. If only
we'd sensed, Now I don't
suppose we'll get, 9 / 20 / 94
a horse
that rears and bolts, reins like
tangled trajectories 10/23/94
Once clear
of danger he Its name: not you. Figures
of speech, mechanisms, Like characters
1/6/95
Now
I've visited the Etruscans. *This question accepts the claim to perfection inherent in our concept of art. Aside from the distorting aura of the absolute with which this claim tends to appear (thanks to the unwise standards of our society) the aggressive point of the question "Why again?" calls on the conditions of historical reality to attack it from the rear, and then has to shut up. 2/6/95
Below the
mosaic dome of the apse a strip of sheep, From the
one in the middle, as if shrunk
to those
others: a charge of inner light such Santa Maria in Trastevere, Rome, 3/8/95
When sadness
prepares its rising line: out of wintery
ground pricks its tiny green. 7/16/95
after all
only 7/20/95
The bushes,
the bushes, the brambles, 8/29/95
Stray dogs
6/30/96
...truly
universal thinking that doesn't just expose no way,
forget it: This leads
me (to bring in what's below I'd ask)
to consider the optical arrangement 8/19/98
or that
he, in the clearing, at the knee milky beige.
Too far afield. Colts- back perhaps
against hands chicory 8/23/98
one... somewhere...
ghostlike, but the opposite on a bare
field a hedgerow-rabbit just once
more this once "Buying Rolls and Crossing Borders - Reading Elke Erb" by Kornelia Freitag go to this issue's table of contents
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