Ingeborg Bachmann, "The game is over," Invocation Orsa Maggiore, SE edition, trans. L. Reitan
My dear brother, when
build a raft to get down the sky?
My dear brother, will soon be loading huge
and we drown.
My dear brother, we draw on the paper
many countries and tracks.
Be careful, those black lines
with mine you could jump.
My dear brother, then I want to scream
closely tied to the pole.
But you will ride from the valley of the dead
and flee together.
Desti in the gypsy camp and awake in a tent in the desert sand out of our hair flowing
,
yours, my age and the age of the earth
not measured in years
Do not be fooled cunning crows, from
a sticky spider's leg, from the pen in the bush,
in the land of plenty do not eat or drink, foam
apprenza from pans and glasses
Only those at the bridge of gold to the fairy ruby \u200b\u200b
yet know the word, won.
I must tell you that
with the last snow has melted in the garden.
Han wounds our feet for many, many stones.
One is healthy. With him jump,
until the king of the children with the key in his mouth the kingdom
not take us with them and we sing:
It 's a good season, when the date is in bloom! Those who fall
has wings.
Purpurea digital edges of the cloth the poor, and
your treasure on my seal as a leaf falls.
You go to sleep, dear, the game is over. In
tiptoe. Bulge white shirts,
Dad and Mom say there are ghosts
when we exchange the breath.
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