To my Offspring (Übersetzung von An Meinen Nachwuchs)

[KonradS]

The plough left a gaping tear in the ground
I lean over, I peer inside
little hands and feet are scattered just like seeds:
“So—
the cultivation of misery
is even easier
than the planting of rice or rye.”

A blow to my head, a muffled clop
I slide gently, quietly inside
to the fingers, the heels
their pinching caresses
their cracking, their grabbing
their stomping and pressing
they fondle me rough and dry.

I sink down deeper
without even dying
I become a seed, a grain, I sprout!
My thumbs are shoots, my toes are tubers
oh earth! A bitter domicile.

Can you hear me?
My voice is hoarse:
"Lift yourself up! Don't look inside!”
Don't stare at the worming, winding limbs
their thirsty pitch, their A-minor moans
are sweeter than a siren's sigh.

Your glance is warm, the spell is cast
my fingers beckon, curl, beguile
they are hard and shiny, alluring, long
they feel up the soil; the soil wafts like spring.
Come.
My Darling.
In my misery you too will lie.

[KonradS]

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