Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown..

Poetry is a sort of homecoming..

Illegibility of this world. All things twice over. The strong clocks justify the splitting hour, hoarsely. You , clamped into your deepest part, clim….

They've healed me to pieces..

There's nothing in the world for which a poet will give up writing, not even he is a Jew and the language of his poems is German..

There was earth inside them, and they dug..

A poem, being an instance of language, hence essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to the sea with the-surely not always stron….

Each arrow you shoot off carries its own target into the decidedly secret tangle.

Tall poplars--human beings of this earth!.

Only truthful hands write true poems. I cannot see any basic difference between a handshake and a poem..

Don't sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live..

German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry.... Its language has become more sober, more factual. It distrusts "beauty." ….

The language with which I make my poems has nothing to do with one spoken here, or anywhere..

The two heart-grey puddles: two mouthsfull of silence..

rush of pine scent (once upon a time), the unlicensed conviction there ought to be another way of saying this..

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….

you're rowing by wordlight.

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….

I went with my very being toward language..

How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you're there, with a splinter of life..

no one bears witness for the witness.