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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
page 185
My son, my daughter No one could accuse Hammershøi Not Now all I have is the presence Objectivists are metaphysical Old man Old Wyldes is a former farmhouse Once by the lake in Chicago I recalled Once in the valley of Jezreel Once more I name a city Once there was Jerzyk One softly hinted Our daily work is touched by Pebble, ‘magic mountain’, packed Rise and shine She died before her time: is named the late She leaves me at the photographs Sun sets the scene of quiet without: the land Synagoga, weep for joy Ten seconds later The hardened heart of rock was still The house is full of absence The river is the mother of the city The sleeping passion of volcanic stone The song of a Jewess returns us The street was whole They sweep away pebbles Through myself, I see Through the train To die old To sense Towards the focal point Truly, a philosopher index of first lines 81 137 25 21 61 76 159 41 39 53 146 22 82 30 47 41 92 71 42 35 16 50 70 93 45 19 12 17 51 67 77 15 32 171

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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

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