HERTA MULLER POEMS TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY ROGER WOODHOUSE 1.

I grow time, beans, the colour gray And stitch the shadows of a dying day They make a woman, rather a girl Lost in the ocean like a grain of pearl The swans of Coole fly over me Will they rest for a while by me! Maybe its my turn now. Deep in the frost where my eyes shall never go The leopard will print his paw And with a sudden leap break free All the chimes of poetry Maybe its my turn now. The rough beast was never born Though we devised a cage for his morn Maybe its my turn now. I have a tale to tell I shall also ring the bell When you start believing When you start hearing Maybe its my turn now. 2. These days I don’t think of you But after the soot covers me I begin to wonder where those Evenings have gone, those wanderings In the spacious lawns of enchantment That smacked of no design, though We were bent on making a sense The early birds get their worms I lie in the tireless ticking of my old watch Counting the bits of frozen blood, Listening to the worms That are in all of us Then I begin to crawl towards the womb That threw me off a long way back And look for the dark, the black hole To suck me up. 3. I was nice to him He was nice to me Only Our doors, our windows Kept closed Lest we smell each other.

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