Nathan Fields 

Translator

I would like to commune with hops

overgrown in the woods like my fur

in the strained fascia of a clerk

I will measure out my desire for you with steps

torture for the advanced

and I know there’s still time because

the ancient gods are still online

I am the one who asks the devils

I listen to their belching maliciously

I stop in speech just like that

so that breath doesn’t recognize the pause I love

hell like bread and butter

I tear intellect in the inward direction

As a child I didn’t understand why

I’m not a man better than a man

is already only a witch

I’m a foreigner in my own life

an observer of my body

a slave to my hunger

I’m waiting for a decision:

I have a choice of lipstick

but I’m not free

When he had come

he wiped his dick on a cloth

And I laughed

what a homemaker I am!

My lover fucks until it hurts

my lover likes blood

champagne and little white dresses

My lover is catholic

You love progress

You love neatness

I’m a different generation

I like retro

I like dirt

I don’t know Pedro chewing gum

I didn’t experience communism

I’m a different generation

I can only limit myself from consumerism

You are another generation

But you fuck great

After winter she still had

toughened meat

when they grafted her into wood

by hand

No wounds

that would be worth speaking about

and whispering through a palm

through a crack

Great-grandmother stands at the window

and awaits a lover

Great-grandmother awaits a lover

and carries water for the fire

Great-grandmother awaits a lover

and her husband is sleeping

Everything is fine on the farm

I’m embroidering the moon

and swallowing green trees

the stove’s not burning

the rain is deepening

I push my hair aside

and watch the path

as it flows into the darkening field

In a moment I’ll meet crows

and they’ll take something from me

What to do

I return to the stove

with a wet match

and again plant

immature trees

Flies down among spiderwebs of dew

in a hand of things of the dead

Sleeps among trees

and walks upon the surface

Licks prints of tracks

Determines direction

and looks for death

Bathes in it

in a pond a hundred years ago

In March, it’s good to stick to small things:
watches and hyacinths but round ones and metal ones are best
not to undertake great endeavours don’t buy a flat or a desert
not to expect much or express much

so that you don’t start to float from mere ease
beside the first mosquitoes and glass flies
formulate sentences that fit into speech bubbles
simple not yet complex

It’s good to bake bundt cake from wind water and sugar
nothing else grows in our continental garden beds yet
to sleep as much as you can and read as little
comics are best

It’s essential to learn soap bubble science
softly blowing puff into puff
you’ll learn it from the best translator of comics
who’s apparently taken holiday

who’s apparently not translating anymore
who’s apparently not living anymore
who is apparently you

Stories that never happened bear down like airship
but only if their burden matters to you
Is this maturity? Is this a trick? No
it is helium, a noble gas

Now remember the airship sailing away
in a small town in the center of Europe
only an airship for a couple
that leaves no shadow in the grass it is so light

When god died he left no messages
no restrictions and no burden
just a lot of coffee
so that you could properly decide
when to fall and when to rise

In the morning the coffee machine spouts steam like a little dragon
only from a chair can you reach an empty cup
almost like in my bedded childhood
when climbing up onto the wardrobe was the highest aim
and the greatest heroine a woman on a scooter
who doesn’t hesitate to leave her son at home
to become a bar dancer
to be able to live by the sea all summer

Drops of water form a blue lagoon
don’t drink it yet wait
we all left I remember
the lake in the middle of the city full of light
and perhaps cut-off hands and feet as well
we children said and the transparent sentence
I’d do anything for you

So stay here with me a little longer
without you even that childhood was nothing
she’s dancing to this day but just the tango
she should be old now but isn’t
when you leave even time starts flowing differently
doesn’t flow condenses makes circles does miracles
does incredible things just like caffeine

I would like to have a woman’s empathy.
What do they think about when they’re shaving?
It’s stopped raining. I’m looking out into the yard,
above which a bird is fitfully circling.
I looked in the encyclopedia.
I have never seen a sparrowhawk;
It suddenly struck me that I would die
without ever having seen a sparrowhawk,
or worse still –
I’d die while chewing something –
or otherwise ridiculously –
with one foot in a pant leg –

They’re having a picnic, but it looks as
if they were taking the tools out of the car in an emergency,
or they are taking the tools out of the car,
but it looks as if they were going out on a picnic.
A body does not thrust itself against the floor of an elevator,
but the elevator against the body.
Dusk does not fall upon the city,
the city slides creeping in beneath the dusk.
A hawk does not propel itself towards a mouse,
the mouse catapults itself against the predator.
At the opposite bank a barge rolls the river under itself.
We are not approaching our end,
but from ultimate emptiness
the end is hurtling towards us.