POETRY frederick seidel: poetry


Ausgewählt von Norbert Lange

Léonce W. Lupette hatte ein Gedicht von Johann Fischart in die Textkette eingebracht, das mir gefiel. Und so schlug er mir vor, ein Gedicht von Frederick Seidel zu posten. Tatsächlich hielt ich das Gedicht erst für kürzer, weil die letzten beiden Strophen auf einer separaten Seite standen. Tippe trotzdem das ganze Gedicht ab, obwohl ich finde, dass die letzten beiden Strophen für sich genommen schöner wären.



Starched and folded to sit up.
The babies did not choose the carriages,
Limousine coffers, blackly London;

They did not choose the rayless Tartar sun,
Sterile as the infected
Industrial steppes of Calvin – his
Bayonne. The reservoir banks were a purple socket
Like a black tulip.

„Anything“ would do now
That inspired you
Below the Ninth Sphere, below the fixed stars
With Fall, the electric cattle-prod,
The cold juice that dhocked you from your sleep

Lovelorn: slight,
Frizzy, sweating animal with feelings.
For Fall, dawn rises in combers
Above the radiator shield’s metal canning,
The sill flows like a pennant.

You smell the back-to-school,
Steam and rain on wool,
The tears not learning
And learning to write
With the sharp new chalk

Jacobean black and white,
The fantastic wrong and right, now dissolving
In Jamesian gray. You want to be a child –
You want to find the way
To either more or less than you are.

If you could choose.
Everywhere changes or fades.
Her hair streams like a willow’s
As it leans to the river
When she leans toward you

He anodyne, her healing face,
Eurasian, gyypsy ease
(You have your memories),
Lovely lost love;
Erato’s dark hair.