travels, arduous journey southwards, on which i

slept not in the slightest. light came, a dirty

silver gleam coming off the mountaintops.

coming aplenty. sleeping car was blanket dark,

was unconscious (bar me). baffled at the brenner by

a shakily kantesque contraption. or even:

a cantankerous innkeeper. wow, kant!

i was woken, never to sleep again.

woe betide, who was it. i remarked, on rails:

this is a critique of my powers. regardless

of the randomness within, outwardly

beauty tends towards morality. nonetheless:

my famished power of imagination, hollow, bankrupt,

repeats listless effort, and since i’m rendered lipless

worship can be dropped. the complete kant!

that’s how long. and longer still. until it’s time again

for building houses, nice and natural, in leafy glades:

finality plus pleasure in proportion to favour.

translated by nicholas grindell

my poetic persona

came back to me and said: i could do that (this)

‘til the end of days. gently stooping gait,

waistline with a slight delay, all’s well yet, all’s

as it should be. but in the night, we came

upon my brutal double. got called back:

told it’s not me. those heavy bones of mine,

for sure. a bird’s head bobs, speaking,

above my shoulder, meagre pecking, was there

not an almighty beak in the corner of my eye?

was there not constriction and duress?

and have i mentioned: in the depths of night,

in every city, on every street we walked down,

we came upon my brutal double? i have.

monika, you’ve done that. have i? you have.

translated by nicholas grindell

Monika Rinck was born in Zweibrücken in 1969. She studied religious studies, history and comparative linguistics at the University of Bochum, Berlin’s Free University, and Yale University. She is a poet and essayist, a member of the action group ‘Das Lemma’.