Words That Burn

Words, by Karl Krolow (1915-1999)

Candor of words invented,

Said behind doors out of sight,

From windows and against blank walls,

White-washed with patient light.

 

Reality of words spoken,

Of two syllables or of three:

Carved from the riddles of heaven,

From a vein in the stone set free.

 

Deciphering of strangers’ faces,

With lightning under the skin,

With beards in which the wind stands,

By a sound, whispered within.

 

But the names, still remaining,

A hum in the ear, so slight,

As of bees and of cicadas,

Returning into the night.

 

Vowels — humble insects,

Invisible in the air.

Floating down as ashes,

As quince scent lingering there.

 

(Trans. by Ingo Seidler)