Rose Ausländer
Not October Not November
Autumn you say
and mean the wind it sharpens
its knife on your brow
you mean rusty leaves they roll
before your feet
you mean the sharp frost it pierces
the air the tree the skin
Autumn bitter sound
brown taste
Friends at the front
become bitter and brown
not browned by the sun
The earth rusts and rolls
away from the moon
into the gorge where
history builds castles
debtors’ prisons trapdoors
Autumn you say
but I tell you
not October not November
you must invent a new calendar
another alphabet
a language of redefinition
for time is falling
falling into the unimaginable
and we are falling with it
Translated by Tony Frazer
Page(s) 60
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