Occupation: Poet Birth: November 23, 1920 Death: April 20, 1970
The poem is lonely. It is lonely and en route. Its author stays with it. Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in th….
I went with my very being toward language..
Poetry is perhaps this: an Atemwende, a turning of our breath. Who knows, perhaps poetry goes its way—the way of art—for the sake of just such a turn….
We are told that when Hölderlin went 'mad,' he constantly repeated, 'Nothing is happening to me, nothing is happening to me.'.
Reachable, near and not lost, there remained in the midst of the losses this one thing: language. It, the language, remained, not lost, yes, in spite….
in the air, there your root remains, there, in the air.
Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss..
who is invisible enough to see you.
Death is a master from Germany..
The heart hid still in the dark, hard as the Philosophers Stone..
Spring: trees flying up to their birds.
He speaks truly who speaks the shade..
Count up the almonds, Count what was bitter and kept you waking, Count me in too: I sought your eye when you glanced up and no one would see you, I s….
Read! Read all the time, the understanding will come by itself..
A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering: the nothing--, the no one's rose..
Reality is not simply there, it does not simply exist: it must be sought out and won..
you're rowing by wordlight.
How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you're there, with a splinter of life..
With a changing key, you unlock the house where the snow of what’s silenced drifts. Just like the blood that bursts from Your eye or mouth or ear, so….
no one bears witness for the witness.
A poem, as a manifestation of language and thus essentially dialogue, can be a message in a bottle, sent out in the –not always greatly hopeful-belie….