Death is a master from Germany.
Don't sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live.
in the air, there your root remains, there, in the air
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.
German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry.... Its language has become more sober, more factual. It distrusts "beauty." It tries to be truthful.
you're rowing by wordlight