alas our good kaspar is dead. <br /> who will bury a burning flag in the wings of the clouds who will pull <br />black wool over our eyes day by day. <br /> who will turn the coffee mills in the primal barrel. <br /> who will lure the idyllic roe from his petrified paperbag. <br /> who will sneeze oceanliners unbrellas windudders beekeepers spindles <br />of ozone who will pick clean the pyramids' bones. <br /> alas alas alas our good kaspar is dead. holy saint bong kaspar is dead. <br /> the clappers raise heart-rending echoes of sorrow in the barns of the bells <br />when we murmur his name. therefore i will only sigh out his surname <br />kaspar kaspar kaspar. <br /> why hast thou forsaken us. in what shape has thy lovely great soul taken <br />flight. hast thou changed to a star or a chain made of water in a tropical <br />whirlwind or a teat of black light or a transparent brick in a drum that <br />howls for its craggy existence. <br /> now the soles of our feet and the crowns of our heads have dried up and <br />the fairies are lying half-charred on the funeral piles. <br /> now the black bowling alleys thunder in back of the sun and no one is <br />setting a compass or spinning the wheelbarrow's wheels. <br /> who will eat with the phosphorized rat on the lonely barefooted table. <br /> who will chase the siroccoco devil that's trying to lead off our horses. <br /> who will decipher the monograms scratched on the stars. <br /> his bust shall adorn the mantels of people ennobled by truth through it <br />leaves but small comfort or snuff for his death's head. <br /> <br /> <br />Translation from the German by Jerome Rothenberg<br /><br />Hans Arp<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/kaspar-is-dead-2/
