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    AC Benus
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

a Glass Floor Underfoot - 9. crackling veins

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Der Abend

für Golo Gangi [alias Erwin Loewenson]

 

1.

Was soll ich tun?

Soll ich/ gelähmt mich/ während die Flotille

Geschwollner Wellen ihre Wut zerschlägt,

Hinwerfen?

 

Oder die Blätter hin

Ohnmächtig

Ihren knirschenden Adern entlang

Aufreißen.

 

Während ich schreie, weh,

Schreitest du weiter, schwindet dein weißes Kleid

Weit in klanglose Dämmerung. [i]

 

---------------------------------

 

 

The Evening Light

for Golo Gangi [aka Erwin Loewenson]

 

1.

What do I do?

Shall I/ paralyzed myself/ among the flood

Whose swelling tides and fury can shatter,

Fall prostrate?

 

What of the fallen leaves

Cast downward

Along with their gnarled crackling veins

Torn open.

 

And while I shout, aching,

You stride relentlessly on, your white smock fading

Far into the silent twilight.

 

 

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Ernesto García Cabral

 

 

 

 

 


[i] Der Abend (“The Evening Light”)

Die Aktion, Vol. 1, No. 29, September 4th, 1911, p. 912-914

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Copyright © 2022 AC Benus; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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This feels almost like an impressionist work; skilled brushstrokes of imagery giving rise to a full, autumnal kind of painting. In it, one feels chill, icy winds, and the dark fingers of despair. 

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1 hour ago, Parker Owens said:

This feels almost like an impressionist work; skilled brushstrokes of imagery giving rise to a full, autumnal kind of painting. In it, one feels chill, icy winds, and the dark fingers of despair. 

This is a very astute observation. I chose to imagine the weißes Kleid of the original as an painter's smock, since the poem is dedicated to a man. Although Loewenson was a writer, each of the poems in the series for him portrays the man more like a visual artist. 

Thanks for your comments and support, Parker!  

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