Half hands hold my fate.
Where will it sink...
My steps are tiny, like those of a woman.
One evening lay waste all dreams.
Sleep does not come to me—
Song of Kuno Kohn’s Longing
The folds of the sea crash like whips on my skin.
And the stars of the sea tear me apart.
The evening of the sea is one of screaming wounds for the lonely,
But lovers find the good death of their day dreams...
Be there soon, you with pain in your eye, the sea hurts.
Be there soon, you who suffer in love, the sea is killing me.
Your hands are cool saints. Cover me with them,
The sea is burning on me.
But why don’t you help me! But help!... Cover me. Save me.
Cure me, friend and woman.
But that was quick...
Hardly a trace of rising—
I have grown above the whole world.
I have become the complete God
And horribly awake.
And now I must cast away death.
My death is mute
And without images...
You don’t love me... I have never appealed
Was never your type...
And my hard eyes annoy you, my darling...
I’m too dark for you. And too coarse—
And my white teeth have such a brutal shine
And my bloody lips are so terribly like sickles.
Ah, what you say—
Yes you are really right. I set you... free.
... And early in the morning I am going to an ocean
That is blue and eternal...
And lie on the beach...
And play with a smile on my face, until a death grabs me,
With sand and sun and with a white
Your eyes are bright lands.
Your looks are little birds,
Handkerchiefs gently waving goodbye.
In your smile I rest as though in bobbing boats.
Your little stories are made of silk.
I must behold you always.
White, I lie
On the remains of an amusement park
Between jagged buildings—
Burning flower... shining sea...
Toes and hands
Reach out into emptiness.
Longing tears the weeping body to pieces.
The little moon glides above me.
Gently into the deep world,
I gladly left
The noisy death of the city,
With its thousands of leering faces,
The yellow night of the alleys.
I stride into the broad,
The pious limbs glide
Deep into gently being.
I am in the white brightness
Of cloud, meadow, wind.
Am tree, am town, am child...
How wet are my eyes!
Soon the green evening will stand
At its silver end...
I raise blessed hands—
I want to go to meet it—