By Uljana Wolf

Translated by Greg Nissan

from Issue 24



strictly speaking you november thrust
me onto your white fog-packed breast

or did i say chest a ramschackle box
a cage with garden and misty kitsch

in which an old bird on the pole sits
half winter half lace-shaped valance

how did you take me how in this valley
how do you shoo me between oaks

your wheezing breath in allees braids
damper nets in branches wrapping labyrinths

half-blind i’m left in your rib-light
and giddy beloved as if you had

woven the fogfence forever around
the bird your floating particle heart

Uljana Wolf is a poet and translator whose oeuvre, multilingual and sonically acrobatic, finds its spark in the transgression of borders, linguistic, national, or otherwise. Her most recent work, SONNE FROM ORT (2014), is a collaborative erasure with Christian Hawkey.

Greg Nissan graduated from Brown University last May with degrees in comparative literature and German studies. He is currently on a Fulbright scholarship in Berlin, where he is working on a documentary poetry project centered on the development of language in multicultural environments.

Original text: Uljana Wolf, “kreisau, nebelvoliere”, “aufwachraum I,” “aufwachraum II”, “auf einen alten tournister” from kochanie ich habe brot gekauft. Idstein: kookbooks, 2005.

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