By Uljana Wolf

Translated by Greg Nissan

from Issue 24
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ach had i only stayed in the recovery room
lost in dream tied to a drip feed under white

sheets near people who also never found them
selves a herd of sheep close to sleep so close

to god and solace and the giant furry nurses:
our shepherds who bent velvety over us—

to one another we seemed a number puzzle
man: on a scale from one to ten tell me

how big is your pain?—and if there were
no border in sight that might unlock us

from the depth from the postnarcotic
sniffle—we would remain so close to this

me hard to tell apart from other sheep grazing
here beside themselves in the recovery room


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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