Kaspar Is Dead

Kaspar Is Dead

Jean Hans Arp

(Translated by G P Skratz)



o god our kaspar is dead

& now there's no-one to steal away with the burning flag &

snap it every day in the dark cloud's braided hair.


no-one to crank the coffee-mill in the ancient cask.


no-one to conjure idyllic deer from the petrified grocery bag.


no-one to sniff ships umbrellas bee-keepers udders of wind

spindles of ozone no-one to filet the pyramids.


o god god god our good old kaspar is dead. lord lord

kaspar is dead.


heart-broken shark's teeth rattle with grief in the belfry

when we utter his given name. so i stick to his last,

sighing kaspar kaspar kaspar.


why have you deserted us. what form has your great soul

wandered into now. have you become a star or a chain of

water on a hot whirlwind or a plump breast of black light

or a transparent brick on the groaning drum of the rocks

of existence…


o now the crowns of our heads the soles of our feet wither

away & angels smolder on the funeral pyre.


the dark bowling alley thunders behind the sun & there's

no-one to wind the compasses & the wheels of wheelbarrows.


no-one to dine with the phosphorescent rat at the barefoot

table.


no-one to drive off the wind devil when he tries to seduce

the horses.


no-one to teach us monograms in the stars.


his bust will adorn all truly noble firesides but there is

no snuff & comfort for a dead head. 




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