Hans Magnus Enzensberger - German Poetry

The Blank Sheet - Das leere Blatt


What you're holding now in your hand is almost white,
but not quite; there is no such thing as a pure white thing;
it is smooth, hard, tough, thin and usually
it rustles, flows, crackles, tears, almost odourless;
and does not remain what it is; it covers itself
with lies, absorbs all the horrors, contradictions,
dreams, anxieties, skills, tears, desires;
until they desiccate, yellowing, spotted, grey;
until it grows sodden, in rain, disintegrates, as rubbish,
becomes less and less; only the best perhaps--
of which that, perhaps, which no one has written
is best of all: a fish, a salt cellar, star,
a unicorn, an elephant or an ox head,
the emblem of St. Luke; that which appears
when you hold it against the light--lasts
a thousand years, perhaps, or another minute.


trns. by the author and Michael Hamburger
catalog