Tuesday, September 7, 2010

ib








i see them mia
over there, under the dark, stormy sky.
they're all there
and death, the grim master, bids them dance.
he commands them to hold hands
and dance in a long line.
the stern master leads the way with his scythe and hourglass.
but skat dangles at the end with his lyre.
they dance away from the dawn
in a solemn dance,
away to the dark country,
while the rain runs down their faces
and washes away their salty tears.

the seventh seal


*********


black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening
we drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
we drink and we drink
we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
a man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to deutschland your golden hair marguerite
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling
he whistles his hounds to come close
he whistles his jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
he orders us strike up and play for the dance

black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
a man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to deutschland your golden hair margeurite
your ashen hair shulamith we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
he shouts jab this earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
he grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue
jab your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing

black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
a man lives in the house your goldenes haar margeurite
your aschenes haar shulamith he plays with his vipers
he shouts play death more sweetly death is a master from deutschland
he shouts scrape your strings darker you'll rise then in smoke to the sky
you'll have a grave then in the clouds there you won't lie too cramped

black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday death is a master aus deutschland
we drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
this death is ein meister aus deutschland his eye it is blue
he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
a man lives in the house your goldenes haar margarete
he looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
he plays with his vipers and daydreams
der tod is ein meister aus deutschland
dein goldenes haar margarete
dein aschenes haar shulamith

death fugue

1 comment:

alpheratz said...

Thank you. This was one of the first causes of my infatuation with poetry. The very first, if I recall correctly those dark years, was Yeats.