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    January

    toward unshakeable evening
    fanatical engagement of the SA
    no complaints exchanged
    in between hiccups nausea
    when do you call on fate
    listless opus
    hopeless Hitler
    black white and red
    Jew’s flag flapping in triumph
    pipedream on clothes pole
    who votes for the status quo
    next payday more vivid than Hindenburg’s deathbed
    Hitler’s Germany
    no Germany
    Führer servitude slave ballot
    death of the Jews
    on earth
    lulled in

     

    February

    still at the beginning
    Eighteenth Century for weekends
    shortage of breath burden of house
    wearing thin
    is your heart calling
    tangos on records
    years of the Republic
    historical landfill
    a world free and decent
    who were the Europeans then
    books not for the people despite the censor
    Hemingway too pacifist
    Wassermann intellectually Jew
    do the English still feel for the landscape
    evening dress ultimately for dinner
    are you against mass
    is Europe against city and state
    whose intellect against whose blood
    what do you say say
    sense of justice whisking off battle line
    nocturnal galas painting communist gang
    romantic Dölzschen from a distance
    he falls on black ice
    anything pulls in the left leg
    damped face hampered in
    politics unchanged
    through the park reminder of the past
    Hornung for February
    the Teutons oozing in bottomless well
    frost and snow

     

    March

    general mood
    dully yielding waiting despondent
    who points to hope or less hope
    victory of National Socialism
    Hitler on the Saar horse
    severe cold amounts to resolute cough
    life work no more than journalism
    who keeps a journal on raw wood
    insipid intellectualism
    what does the heart try to find

     

    April

    idealist nationalist communist
    are you enslaved
    snail pace of Eighteenth Century
    Jewish child or Nordic child
    are you coming on your own
    what is your misfortune
    who knows the evil
    short walk on the Dölzschen plateau
    dismissal through the mail
    Germans
    nothing short
    of tragic
    are you already there

     

    May

    in the name of the Reich
    who needs house and garden
    philosophical comforts suffice not
    changing moods
    who will be the next
    were you dead through bullet rains
    war mentality
    if only
    worse
    who saw happy times
    he wrote she typed
    the keys lost teeth gathering dust
    naked misery
    government firm in the saddle
    radical measures on the go
    who clings to his house
    who stays in Germany
    in comfort and dishonor
    do you have the face
    when does the heart go out
    reading inward

     

    June

    nothing but rumor
    anything but secret
    everybody has a condition
    what’s yours
    do you call it human
    no space between lines
    memento mori mori memento
    day after day digging in
    delphinium for the garden
    like this
    no post
    thus no prospect
    limits of literary history

     

    July

    vanitas in machina
    who jumps in the trench
    who worries about the next shell
    fleas and bedbugs
    are you the enemies of state
    Jews nationalized
    Catholics sacrificed
    set alight your own house
    the roof falls first
    time to dig your own grave
    digging without hate
    who is un-German
    Nazi or you
    sick on the Eighteenth Century
    besieged besieged fortress
    plague raging and wipes through
    what principles do you hold about Germany
    wobbling old man’s teeth
    sink the pleasure peasants

     

    August

    purger of the people
    tram signs on Prager Straße
    who buys from the Jew
    traitor to the nation
    no Jews do you want no Jews do you want
    like this
    or that
    closing on the end
    fermenting
    gunrunning Levantine monster
    who whispers the Jew
    Jews Jews
    are you yet to break the word

     

    September

    économiste finished littératur under way
    nothing reckons on nothing
    Jews cannot publish in Germany
    helpless condition
    what’s yours
    new laws on German blood and honor
    no marriage between Jews and proper Germans
    helpless condition
    civil rights withdrawn
    prohibition on proper German maids
    helpless condition
    bitter and bitterly German
    who’s in your camp
    Brecht smuggled from Denmark
    long live Lenin Heil Hitler
    tear down the wall
    helpless condition
    winter garden roofless
    elegant veranda useless
    everybody has a condition
    colored windows stripped light
    spring without summer

     

    October

    Zion Zion
    Jewish nation a comedy
    candles burnt
    nothing but
    mood of panic
    crowds of people
    broken windows unrepaired
    prayer for the dead
    flee flee like a bee
    no buzz in many tears
    the loyal and the brave
    this is the how
    do you scribble it down
    raised arm criminal or idiot
    what do you say
    serenity of heart embittered
    who’s there to cry out
    German unity
    special trains to the east
    curved ceiling on the lookout
    the last judgment near
    whose carriages move sans horses
    butter lines snaking
    NSDAP youth über Berlin
    without you and after
    rabbis in England
    boycott preach of German goods abroad
    Hitler in Nuremberg
    whisper due to larynx cancer
    amplified thunder by loudspeaker
    blood determines character and soul
    does your soul rest in your blood
    has the Jew spoiled your blood and soul
    then you are dead, dead for race and Fatherland
    ritual murders one more time

     

    November

    Hitler’s apostles fell at Feldherrnhalle
    and rose from the triumphant grave
    religion destroyed and sprinted from radio
    everybody is a mythic or has to be one
    the age dependent on the cats
    tragic or comic
    what’s your call
    Nichelchen ailing in the music room
    Muschel overnight in bed
    Marta asleep on the floor
    a stray cat needs a hut
    where’s yours

     

    December

    attend to tension
    frivolous to the utmost
    radio and airplane
    power and powerless
    Nickelchen fades daily
    dreadful looking dreadful smell
    will the tomcat recover
    will you live a long life
    path through park
    morning memento
    what’s a rich way to repress
    do you know
    senseless in snow contrary to nature
    shut up your mouth and drive your car

    only the personal only the faith
    God will not be taken you will be fine
    language of the Twentieth Century:
    We Would Die

     

    mild winter no snow it is a sunny day Dölzschen alive the cemetery full of locals flowers laid words left in fogged breath will return after a short walk taken slowly they are hesitant to leave the house Nichelschen the tomcat died last night a soft little lump wrapped by her cracked hands the cat used to sleep in the music room neither of the other two cats would move in they have their own rooms they are still sleeping in their rooms their lethargy not yet contagious everything takes her heart away now the cat intimacy dooms and looms when the living pays tribute to the dead will the dead listen she does not cry but digs a little pit for her dear cat its fur feels still soft to the touch its warmth evaporates with the slight wind the garden is fenced will the corpse of the cat root its body fluids will flow its blood will brown the earth she wonders whether she should plant a tree so that she can see it through the kitchen window will she then forget she almost forgets that they have just moved here not long ago but it feels like another life yes another life she knows he must be plowing through his Eighteenth Century now the part on Voltaire is done will he cheer up a little they have not taken a walk together for a long time they are attached to the house now they are enslaved by the lacks of electricity of heater of everything that needs to be in but they had no choice and they willed their own moving his boxes of books returned his other boxes of books shuffled up and down the stairs to the cellar the roof flat it looks all German no one is supposed to stand out Dölzschen houses all look the same brick wall rock garden and flat roof their house wooden at least not a dog kennel she looks pleased then her heart drops she hears a meow light yet insistent he is reading out loud his manuscript she shouts to ask him to shut up he runs out she runs to the fence a tomcat is trying to squeeze itself into the garden it gets stuck what is it looking for another stray cat dreadful looking and dreadful smell the old ailing Nichelschen went early perhaps it envisioned its quick return magic is not to be believed miracles do not happen in their desolate garden but something does stir like a little breeze in the tranquil air like a meow among the silent throng to the graveyards he seems to be smiling standing on the threshold she looks at him and around they are not taking a walk today the house is here the cat jumps off her hands she follows and flings her cold arms Schubert Schubert Schubert

     

    Dong Li was born and raised in P.R. China. A poet of the lost world, he has poems in Cincinnati Review, Conjunctions, Kenyon Review, and many others. His works have been translated into German, anthologized in Fischer Klassik (S.Fischer Verlag, Germany), and have appeared in manuskripte (Austria) and Neue Rundschau (Germany).

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