Radar

Photo: Mourner. CC-BY-NC

Like fog upon the sea —
my broken bel étage
rig tattered, jib dislodged,
drifts quay to quay.

It cannot find a pin
there to tie its line, so
into the tidal flow —
and gone again.

How far the sound and strait,
how heavy harbor’s head
when now — no sail, no thread —
the fog awaits…

Poem: Gottfried Benn. Translation: Omar Willey.


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