rolf dieter brinkmann - a poem
Here is a poem without a hero.
There are no trees in this poem. No room
for entering and going to sleep in is in the
poem. In this poem
No colours can
be seen. No feelings
in this poem. Nothing in this poem
to catch hold of. There are no noises in
this here poem. No one needs to climb
over a fence or wall in this poem.
There’s nothing to feel in this poem.
You cannot cover over the present poem.
It’s not made of rubber. No white shadows
in this poem here. In this poem no
one gets back from a trip.
No one in this poem breathlessly
climbs the stairs. The present poem makes no
promises. Nor does anyone die in the poem.
In this poem you don’t feel any breeze. There are
no sounds of joy in this here poem. No
one in this here poem is desperate. Here
in the poem all is quiet. No one
complains in this poem. No one is talking
here in the poem. Here in this poem
no workers get injured. The poem here
is simply here. It contains no keys
to open doors with. There are no
doors in this poem. The present poem
has no music. No one sings in this poem, and
and no one imitates anyone in this
poem. No one screams, flees,
fucks, eats, or takes drugs in the poem. In
this poem there are no pompous furnishings
for you. The present poem doesn’t move, doesn’t lie,
doesn’t sleep, it knows no day, it knows no
night. Here in this poem you don’t need to
pick up any tabs. There are no landlords
who raise rents in this here poem. There are
no businesses in this poem. In the poem there
is no State of California. There is
no oregano in the poem. In the poem there is
no ocean. You cannot swim in this poem.
The poem that is here contains no
warmth, it contains no cold. The poem
here is not cold, it has no windows and
knows no angst. The present poem doesn’t
shiver. The present poem has no mirror. Nor are there
any fried eggs in this poem. There’s no
supermarket here in this poem. The poem
you’re reading has no tits and no cunt,
the poem here is totally disembodied. No one
moans here in the poem. The poem doesn’t bleed,
it conceals nothing, the poem has no rules,
the poem is not a quotation, not for anyone.
No ones finds a penny in this poem,
and in this poem no one drives
a car. No tyres screech around the corner.
In this poem no one tenderly sucks
a cock. There are no lamps in the
poem. The poem is not a yellow scarf. The
poem you’re currently looking at doesn’t cough.
You can’t kiss in this here poem.
Nor can you piss in this poem here. You
can’t begin anything with this poem. The
poem consists in unadulterated negations. The
negations in this poem become ever more numerous.
There’s no weed in this poem. In this poem
no one laughs. The poem knows no
work. No one in this poem watches television.
The poem doesn’t wear a watch. The poem isn’t
timeless, it needs as much time as you need
to read this poem here. No taps
drip in this here poem, and no one here
in the poem needs a cigarette. The poem
here gives no tips. There’s no toilet
in the poem. There is no city in this
poem. Here in the poem no one washes
their feet. It isn’t necessary, in this poem, to go
to school. No one licks pussy in this
poem. Gender division hasn’t been established here
in the poem. In this poem you can’t sit
down and think. The present poem
is not a country. It is not society.
It is not a pinball machine. This poem
doesn’t have a dog. No one can identify
with this poem. No police drive around
in this poem looking for an infringement. No cows
are lying down in this poem. The present poem
is not thoughtless. The present poem is not
thoughtful. No summer days appear in this
poem. It is never Tuesday in this poem,
there are no Wednesdays in this poem, no Friday
reigns in this poem and no Thursday
is missing from this poem. It isn’t Monday,
Saturday and Sunday in the poem here. The poem
is not the negation of Monday or
Thursday. The poem simply ends here.