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Note for the Files, by Michael Kruger

At night I again heard

the screams of the birds,

and the grass listened in.

Armistice, loaded

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with a live word,

an enduring one. For 50 years

we’ve been fed by Hitler;

it’s time for the others

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to eat, and we’ll watch

their ugly convulsions,

a fork in each neck.

At night I again heard

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the screams of the birds,

the winged epic poem

on Angst.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY RICHARD DOVE

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From “At Night, beneath Trees” by Michael Kruger (George Braziller: 90 pp., $12.50)


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