Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Jan Wagner

AN ESSAY ON MIDGES

as if all the letters had suddenly
floated free of a paper
and formed a swarm in the air;

they form a swarm in the air,
of all that bad news telling us
nothing, those skimpy muses, wispy

pegasuses, only abuzz with the hum
of themselves, made from the last twist
of smoke as the candle is snuffed,

so light you can hardly say: they are –
looking more like shadows, umbrae
jettisoned by another world

to enter our own, they dance, their legs
finer than anything pencil can draw,
with their miniscule sphinx-like bodies;

the rosetta stone, without the stone.

VERSUCH ÜBER MÜCKEN

VERSUCH ÜBER MÜCKEN

als hätten sich alle buchstaben
auf einmal aus der zeitung gelöst
und stünden als schwarm in der luft;

stehen als schwarm in der luft,
bringen von all den schlechten nachrichten
keine, dürftige musen, dürre

pegasusse, summen sich selbst nur ins ohr;
geschaffen aus dem letzten faden
von rauch, wenn die kerze erlischt,

so leicht, daß sich kaum sagen läßt: sie sind,
erscheinen sie fast als schatten,
die man aus einer anderen welt

in die unsere wirft; sie tanzen,
dünner als mit bleistift gezeichnet
die glieder; winzige sphinxenleiber;

der stein von rosetta, ohne den stein.
Close

AN ESSAY ON MIDGES

as if all the letters had suddenly
floated free of a paper
and formed a swarm in the air;

they form a swarm in the air,
of all that bad news telling us
nothing, those skimpy muses, wispy

pegasuses, only abuzz with the hum
of themselves, made from the last twist
of smoke as the candle is snuffed,

so light you can hardly say: they are –
looking more like shadows, umbrae
jettisoned by another world

to enter our own, they dance, their legs
finer than anything pencil can draw,
with their miniscule sphinx-like bodies;

the rosetta stone, without the stone.

AN ESSAY ON MIDGES

as if all the letters had suddenly
floated free of a paper
and formed a swarm in the air;

they form a swarm in the air,
of all that bad news telling us
nothing, those skimpy muses, wispy

pegasuses, only abuzz with the hum
of themselves, made from the last twist
of smoke as the candle is snuffed,

so light you can hardly say: they are –
looking more like shadows, umbrae
jettisoned by another world

to enter our own, they dance, their legs
finer than anything pencil can draw,
with their miniscule sphinx-like bodies;

the rosetta stone, without the stone.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
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