Poem By Anja Kampmann

of worry in words far from which
we keep the bees so that they
are not carried to the deepest corner
of the maps the dreams are already reached

regions where fear does not speak its name
but is present we fix the gaze on bare
land margins drunkblack are the days as announcement

leaving the world behind illegible a map in the beginning
was no word the nag once again sad will not
be steered only his silver in view and how he leaves you

there are no stories when a country fades
how you hurry here whom we can no longer find
nowhere and where in this land lived

not bitterness quiet now.

Translated by Anne Posten

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his flight does not lie in anatomy
between feathers and lighter bones
you sense a point where poplars
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never so many tracts of land frozen so thick
cold and icestill like the land that turns away from us
sinks into an inner conversation


a heart failure of light
an overlap into yesterday
a river with plums on the banks
pears a market

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The horizon is the concern here the
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and no one knows how deep the lake is
over which you swim pyramids
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softly shifting their answers but