That quality of the great boxers
to be able to stand there
and take shots,
gargle with firewater,
encounter intoxication
at sub- and supra-atomic levels,
to leave one's sandals at the
crater's lip
like Empedocles, and descend,
not say: I'll be back,
not think: fifty-fifty
to vacate molehills
when dwarves want space to grow,
to dine alone,
indivisible,
and able to renounce your victory
-
a hymn to that man
-- Gottfried Benn
--Translated Michael Hofmann
When everything is over,
there will still be sound.
I am done with
those paradoxes about
trees falling in the forest
and the ego.
I have accepted indifference.
There will still be sound;
the rattle of the table,
the buzz of old words,
the fairgrounds,
abandoned horse races,
lingering sound.
All these things get louder
buzzing quickly
forming mass.
