DER DICHTER IM EXIL THE POET IN EXILE
Stella Rotenberg trans. Donal McLaughlin
& Stephen Richardson
Mir muss Vergessenes reichen;
mit Verschollenem halte ich Haus.
Aus Verdämmerndem klaube ich Scherben
von Silben zu Wörtern heraus.

Das sind noch gesegnete Tage.
Scherben sind endlicher Hort.
Wo hole ich wenn die Verstummung kommt
Buchstaben für mein Wort?
Things now forgotten must do me;
with what's missing I have to keep house.
From what's fading I claw back some old sounds
and try pieces till whole words come out.

These days life still looks on us kindly.
What remains is still there, if in shards.
But where can I turn to when death comes
for even letters to make up my words?

Copyright © Stella Rotenberg 2003; Trans. Copyright © Donal McLaughlin & Stephen Richardson 2003 - publ. Edinburgh Review 2003


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