A translation on the occasion of cousin Seth’s 50th birthday party.
Heaven-murdered.
Among the snake’s forms
and forms that search for crystal,
I will let grow my hair.
With the stumped tree that doesn’t sing
and the boy with the white face of an egg.
With the headbroken little animals
and the ragged water of dried-out feet.
With everything that is deaf-mute and languishing
and butterfly-drowned in the inkwell.
Stumbling around with a different face each day.
Heaven-murdered!
Original translation by David Backer.
david (isaac) backer 