Haidee Becker’s flower paintings

Half-awake

Here, late at night, the ground floor window

He smiles: the interview is over

He took my words

His ancient moments dropped like leaves

His virgins meditate, they stare into

Horizon

How shall I know for certain there is no past

I am determined by my class

I ask my friend to visit Kafka’s grave

I dismember the lines of your beautiful poem

I disturb them, to be reassured

I feel an urge to cross the water

I hear them knocking

I leave your flat, you know

I live on the edge, on edge

I loved the man

I make a move

I put my book on the table

I read each phrase, each line, re-read

I said things

I stand before an Auerbach picture

I walk across the park

I write

‘If you interrupt me once more I

Imagine dead

In a dark time

In his death

In the East End

It was an ordinary city

Leaving my study

Let the exiles in-gather

Long ago, during my first year

Mind is dancing

Mother of lightning

My mind is made up of images

145

62

59

40

62

11

56

55

74

75

58

43

11

108

40

110

20

45

97

34

77

60

69

52

57

41

79

78

58

103

135

49

33

139

109

71

102

170

european hours: collected poems