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Writing
in any foreign language
I feel like I write with some gloves on,
Awkward and unused-to it is; but easier
at the same time: for I don’t fear perfection.
There I can paint some blotted strong lines,
Page-wide sketches of childlike proportion,
not the filigree, my own super-subtle and
Lost in unmeaning. Oh, I know my
deutsche Gründlichkeit: German thoroughness:
no wonder there’s “roughness” in that:
The menace of doing
Too well, to turn each word around like hard candy
in the mouth to get it even, polished, even, even -
even better, but instead
they melt and become smaller & smaller
The longer I ponder…
And I’m alone again with a faint
taste in my mouth and an empty page.
But there you have it, a pointy poem
In sweet English! Language - impossible
To pronounce - but that’s none of my business.
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