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This Is Not It
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Didn’t someone say these people and those people “are used to being tortured”...
Hilde Domin
Orienteering
My heart, this
sunflower
searching
for the light.
Which
of the long gone
shimmerings
will you raise your head to
in the dark days?
This Is Not It
This is not it
that we are turned
from evening to morning
to evening
on a sphere which we now know
is blue
which we see turning itself
this is not it
we are hanging head first into emptiness
we are used to it
this is not it the conveyor belt which we are glued to
from our manufacture in the womb
from our packaging in
boxes of all sizes and kinds
together with others
and at last in the smallest
darkest
alone
in the smallest single cell
as tight as the womb as windowless
we are used to it
Didn’t someone say
these people and those people
“are used to being tortured”
This is not it
we signed for all that a long time ago
every night it gets signed
for the children of every night
the deal is made on the bed sheets
sheets for birthing
shrouds for the dead
You get turned on a blue sphere
head first from light into darkness
without noticing
like the conveyor belt
from loneliness to loneliness
your handful of ashes
this is not it
although this is it
you forget it in nice weather
the smallest conveyor belt is it
this is not visible
this isn’t signed
this happens daily
On the great crater
from which we all have to descend
only you are lower down
I am still higher up on the rim
said an overseer in the concentration camp
to those people still alive
people who shovelled their own pit
before their execution
said he the executioner
You are nearer the rim
No one knows how near we are to the rim
that it turns
it turns itself
he was above and shoved them down
with this consolation.
Translated into English by Elke Heckel and Meg Taylor
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