In solitude
			Many miles from the next housing
			In the gleams of a beech wood fire,
			A plain, sharp mind absorbs His lines,
			Pursuing eyes of a spy mutilate the picture
			To issue, 'His quiet voice has never risen.'

			In desolation
			Secluded from recuperating sections
			In a muffled ward for the dying,
			A person's breath is softening, fainting,
			Toxic drugs freeze the face in agony
			To proof, 'His peace does not exist.'       
 


			(1990 english version
			2012 german translation)
			Udo Frentzen 

Back Home

black palm leaves