POEM
Gladioli
A bunch of glads,
certainly highly emblematic of creation,
remote from frills of working blossom with hope of fruit:
slow, durable, placid,
generous, sure of kingly dreams.
All else is natural world and intellect!
Over there the mutton herds:
strenuous ends of clover and daggy sheep—
here friendly talents,
pushing Anna to the center of attention,
explaining her, finding a solution!
The glads offer no solution:
being—falling—
you mustn’t count the days—
fulfillment
livid, tattered, or beautiful.
Translated by Michael Hofmann
Source: Poetry (November 2009).
This poem originally appeared in the November 2009 issue of Poetry.
BUY THIS ISSUE »
Gottfried Benn (1886-1956) served in the German army’s medical corps during WWI and . . . MORE »
