There is great challenge as well as joy and play in translating the anagrams of Unica Zürn (1916, Berlin – 1970, Paris). Unveiling the rich language and dense imagery in her debut poetry, though the desire to match the unique formal scaffolding is challenging. Drawn from her “hexentexte,” these anagram poems do literally conjure words and read like surrealist spells. The witchy nature of the poems I would wrestle in my own witch’s den to erect something similar simply for the joy of it. Peeking into these translations makes me so aware of the mirror of time and what sort of things we have the potential to lose as we hurtle through it.
— Sade LaNay
Wir lieben den Tod
Rot winde den Leib,
Brot wende in Leid,
ende Not, Beil wird
Leben. Wir, dein Tod,
weben dein Lot dir
in Erde. Wildboten,
wir lieben den Tod.
Berlin 1953-54
We harbor the demise
Red wreathes the womb,
bread turns to bale,
living hatchets hacking
at need. We, your tomb,
weave your lot into
the dirt. Feral heralds,
we harbor the demise.
South Bend 2018
Ich streue das weisse Nichts
Ich streue das weisse Nichts;
ach, Weiss ist nichts. Reue des
weissen Rauchs sticht Seide
der Nachsicht. Suesse ist wie
das Weisse. Schreie: Tu’s nicht!
Sie ist ich! Werd’ suesse Nacht!
Berlin 1953-54
I broadcast white noise
I broadcast white noise;
alas, white is not a thing. Regret
whitewashes hindsight.
Smoke stings silk. Sweetness is like
whiteness. Screams: Don’t do it!
It is I! Be sweet dark dear!
South Bend 2018–19
Das Spielen der Kinder ist streng untersagt
Satt irrt der Spassgeist in den Dunkelregen,
satt des Kreisens in Plunder. Geigend starrt
er in den Garten der Spass litt den Tigerkuss
Kinder, rettet den Sprung! Sagt leis: Reis, Sand
Spart die Genien des Sterns! Irrstunde klagt:
Das Spielen der Kinder ist streng untersagt.
Berlin 1953-54
the play of children is strictly prohibited
Smug straying spree spirit in the darksome rain,
ringing round the rubbish. Fiddles fix
him in the garden of jest starved of tiger kiss
children, retrieve the spring! Says softly: sprig, sleep
spare the geniuses of the stars! Cuckoo clock wails:
the play of children is strictly prohibited.
South Bend 2018
Es liegt in deiner Hand
Gleite, Seidenrind, nah
an die Lende. Hirngeist
der eiligen Steinhand
singt drei Heilende an:
Enge, hier ist dein Land,
Rindengast, heile Neid,
es liegt in deiner Hand.
Berlin 1953-54
It lies in your hand
Glide, silken steer, nigh
on the haunch. Brain haint
of hasty lithic hand
chants about three healing ends:
straits, here is your state,
cortical sojourner, mend envy,
it lies in your hand.
South Bend 2018–19