(dedicated to D. who was recently asked the same question, but under very different circumstances)
It was late
late into the night
when he asked
Sind Sie Deutsche?
the sun had set
and I had already left
the Heide, der Fluss
I no longer knew
my can trash from my bio
I now left
all the lights on
It was deep into the night
when he asked
Sind Sie Deutsche?
I knew not how he
discerned or
distinguished
my accent or
my dress
it was in Stockholm that I was addressed
late, too late
Sind Sie Deutsche?
after all the misplaced smiles
after all the misplaced good will
it was late into the night,
when I had already left
the Heide, die Autobahn
that I was so addressed
under the northern lights of Gamla Stan.
2 comments:
Nagihun!
"Northern Lights" is a wonderful mystery for me in the great tradition of your "William Worthing" poems - wonderful! (Who is "D"? And who is D? And did what did it really matter if you were Deutsche? And did something else - unsaid - matter more?) I love the the echoes of "dress," "addressed," and "Fluss"... and I imagine from "distinuished" and "discerned" that "distressed" might be there, too, somewhere.
"I no longer knew my trashcan from my bio" is also sort of delightful, and for some reason, I imagine those lines, and the final two spoken with Muldoon's cadences, which are like the rest of ours', but, you know, better.
Good poetry, on the web? How long can this go on!?
Oh dear. My second question is "Who is he?"
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