Note for the Files, by Michael Kruger
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At night I again heard
the screams of the birds,
and the grass listened in.
Armistice, loaded
with a live word,
an enduring one. For 50 years
we’ve been fed by Hitler;
it’s time for the others
to eat, and we’ll watch
their ugly convulsions,
a fork in each neck.
At night I again heard
the screams of the birds,
the winged epic poem
on Angst.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY RICHARD DOVE
From “At Night, beneath Trees” by Michael Kruger (George Braziller: 90 pp., $12.50)
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