Germany in November

Figures like Lowry’s
Stooped in grey
Shrouded in the mist
And dullness 
Of a day
Without a beginning
Cross Alexanderplatz
On their way
To work
To shop
Dwarfed 
By concrete monstrosities
Bent by Siberian winds

            As we roll 
            Southwards
            On plastic-cushioned seats
            Lit by lamps
            Shaped like tears

Wind generators
Poplar trees
Embroider 
Flat landscapes
Blobs of red
Yellow, green leaves
In between
Ghost-factories
Chimneys long dead
Competing
With wind-swept
Trunks
Of spindly fir-trees

            As we speed 
            Southwards
            On plastic-cushioned seats
            Consuming
            Bread rolls and tea

Scars of mined wounds
Pockmark
The flatness
Gape
Into the greyness
Of a day
Broken
By mounds
Flattened on top
Made-over
To conceal
Gorged-out caverns
Beneath

            As we race 
            Southwards
            On plastic-cushioned seats
            With a view
            Shaped like tears

Brigades
Of wind generators
Swing their arms
In time
To currents of air
Neat strips of trees
Line 
Green-carpeted heaps 
While small farmsteads
And dull-yellow houses
Huddle round
Rare churches
Almost unseen

            As we rush 
            Through the East
            On plastic-cushioned seats
            With our light
            Shaped like tears

Forty shades of amber
Thrust
Out of Undulating
Thuringian
Scarps of pink
Black chequered houses
Nestle in slopes
Laced 
By willow-swept streams
Interlocked
By greyish-white
Outcrops
And bunched-up pines

            As we weave 
            Southwards
            On plastic-cushioned seats
            Warmed by lamps
            Shaped like tears

Snakelike contours
Reed-threaded brooks
Glimpses of sunlight 
Now in between
On a mill-pond
Six geese swim:
White geese 
Beneath
A Bavarian blue sky
As fields of goats 
And churches increase
Unscathed
By bloody battles
And harsh industry

            As we race 
            Southwards
            Then westwards
            Without light
            Shaped like tears

Squeaky clean cars
No Trabi in sight
Freshly washed
Windows
Refracting 
Sunlight
Colours and forms
Encampments of hens
Lining tracks
Caravans and tents
Crowding
Lakes well-kempt:
Even the gravel pits reflect
A clearly groomed style

            As we rush 
            To nowhere
            On plastic-cushioned seats
            With light
            Made of tears



                                     Berlin, November 2003