1. mystic foliage<\/strong><\/p>\n silence, no, not rain, a wind, stirs, the foliage swishes in the wind, entertainingly, 3. external foliage<\/strong><\/p>\n meseems, Sir, you have a problem with boundaries. 4. ill-timed foliage<\/strong><\/p>\n wrong, it grieves me so. wrong, it lingers still, 5. future foliage<\/strong><\/p>\n how to recognize trees in winter \u2013 by the buds to refrain from embracing<\/strong><\/p>\n you didn’t want to die yet another time, you heard everything. you wanted to burst. almost as if there was nothing but the deathly prospect like this love of a hairline, of a trace of fragrance that was the reason, there will never be any other. translated by nicholas grindell as if there was nothing but the deathly prospect By Monika Rinck<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":119,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[484,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21106","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-maintenant","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21106","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/119"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21106"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21106\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21106"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21106"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21106"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\npink noise<\/em>, if i didn’t know what it was
\ni’d think it the sound of appliances,
\nlike something that only occurs unawares
\nthere are many chummy clumps, cheerful
\nand up for most anything, in their stirring
\nthey stand and quake, as the trunk stands
\nand quakes, as they are moved, individuals
\nwag and nod, many, quaking, the countless
\nwhole as background, the foliage, lie beneath it
\nand breathe the height, sea of light swells
\nas if moved by waves, foliage in the fullness
\nof time. \u201cthe day is full when there is
\nnothing left of the day.” and has to pause
\nin a fixed stare, innes\u00c3\u00aen und anehaften<\/em>,
\nand no longing for a longing.
\n\u201cthis I like little, this I like littler”, says Meister
\nEckhart, \u201cnumber without number”, mercy flowing
\nas measureless \u201cas grain or grass or foliage”,
\nimagine foliage, how it looks, in a fixed stare
\nit is the eyes alone that shower down
\nand vanish in the foliage when no one sees them.<\/p>\n
\n2. paralyzed foliage<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nor rather: now it baulks and stores away
\nthe wrath of the wind. this is how foliage acts
\nor allows itself to be acted upon? cooperates,
\ntears itself open, flails back in a high arc
\nand \u2013 \u2018tis passing peculiar \u2013 now it stands still.
\nstands grimly in the wind. sottobosco<\/em>, lit up,
\nwith devilish intent. so inscrutable, the foliage \u2013
\nin the standstill of a great force. \u201cgive that back!”
\nthe very thought. onrush of horror.
\npale green, grey-green, hairy, blunt-tipped soft.
\nleaf-stem and veins are prickly. interest in grace
\nis not interest in overpowering. fluffy beneath
\nand fatter, smoother or glassier, a being of many,
\nyes so many discrete parts. from my hiding place
\ni can see how the treetops pulsate from within.
\nare they not calmed by the light? they are indeed.
\ncompletely stilled in the light they don’t stir.
\nthe foliage frozen into the light confides: \u201ci’m
\nparalyzed. now it’s time for you to hurry home.”<\/p>\n
\nyou draw everything inside you. and there you fight it!
\nthe outer world is no longer corrective, the inner world
\nis thus stretched to extremes. you shiver, Sir, as many parts
\nof the outer world are colder than you are. you can’t
\ncarry on like this! you see, Sir, take, for instance, foliage,
\nno, start again: the fact that people disappear, Sir,
\nshows you that they are external (like foliage)
\nand not internal (like organs). rumour has it
\nthat all people understand of your rattling fury
\nis a leafless rustle. you need to get outside, Sir.
\nand in the park, Sir, you’ll find your lungs anemophilously tickled
\nby the frost-dried foliage of a budapest hornbeam.<\/p>\n
\nthough stricken. how it crackles, ill-timedly \u2013 perhaps
\nwith regard to itself. constriction at the edges
\nmakes the centre warp. there’s no time. but it’s in
\nthe offing. when so much happens with no time to record,
\nthen it shouldn’t fall. who says so? whatever. as long as
\nit’s falling its wagging continues. please, be beseeched, adhere.
\nthen: the stumbling beat of compact conkers. tock. tock.
\nand tock. captivating, of course. but it all affects
\nan indistinct sameness that’s sensitive to the same
\ndegree all over. that’s not good. i beg you, give
\nit time. abide. permit it not before the end
\nand hold, hold it all, all this ill-timed foliage.<\/p>\n
\non their leafless twigs. do they have scales, half cupped,
\nor no scales, protected by matted hair? \u201cWe can
\nnot name what barely we’ve begun to know.”
\nas in winter we’ve nothing but what’s to come
\nto recognize it by. how very fast it all went,
\nlast yellow fronds on spears, all long fallen, having
\nbeen ravished by flaring colours, say: the most beautiful
\nravished you. left you a shell, or left you behind
\nas a shell in chill, so shape something, sharpish, but when?
\nlisten: if there’s so little time, there’s little choice
\nbut to relocate memory to the future, postpone
\nthe naming of what barely we’ve begun to know, and not
\nlet a single stirring of a leaf \u2013 which today has vanished
\n(where to?) and which tomorrow will return \u2013 go unseen.<\/p>\n
\nto collide past each other was your only chance.
\nfor this you had the city, the country, your name,
\nunder which you vanished, to which you felt called.
\nit was a blanket, spread over you, your eyes
\nshut, you knew blindly that’s what it had to be.<\/p>\n
\ndied for the fourth time then. everything stayed
\nwhere it lay. thus you entered a world extinguished.
\nyou had to camp there for years. the bed without soil.
\nthe ghastly trough. the stitchless knit. the thing
\nwithout style. indoors, the coat. at the seaside, no sea.
\nthe thump of the breakers. their eternally dry beat.<\/p>\n
\nof having to actually live with this absence of answers.
\nlove calls us to the things of this world<\/em>, but what calls us
\naway from them? the horizon’s meaning was lost on you
\nand you stayed in the distance, soon therein to dwell.<\/p>\n
\nat the neck, all that’s gone, didn’t stay, became distant.
\nfor this dwelling, too, there was a time. and in this time
\nthere was no other dwelling than this expanding distance.
\nthat was the reason, there had never been any other.<\/p>\n
\nand then you lost it, and you lost it again.
\nexcept that by then the reason had changed. you did stay,
\nto lose again, that’s why you stayed. to you it was
\nno help, but some help it was, it helped reformed mankind.<\/p>\n
\nfrom helle verwirrung<\/em>, kookbooks 2009<\/p>\n![\"monika-rinck2\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/03\/monika-rinck2.jpg\")
\nABOUT THE AUTHOR<\/strong>
\nMonika Rinck<\/strong> was born in Zweibr\u00c3\u00bccken in 1969. She studied religious studies, history and comparative linguistics at the University of Bochum, Berlin’s Free University, and Yale University. She is a poet and essayist, a member of the action group \u2018Das Lemma’, and an actress in the fictional docu-soap Le Pingpong d’Amour<\/em>. She is also the author of begriffsstudio<\/a>, a work-in-progress on the Internet (a first selection of texts was published in book form in 2001) that \u201carchives and probes the linguistic lapses, intellectual epiphanies, strange and notable word constructions that emerge in the everyday life of the media,” as the literary critic Michael Braun put it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![\"monika-rinck3\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/03\/monika-rinck3-150x150.jpg\")
You heard everything. you wanted to burst. almost
\ndied for the fourth time then. everything stayed
\nwhere it lay. thus you entered a world extinguished.
\nyou had to camp there for years. the bed without soil.
\nthe ghastly trough. the stitchless knit. the thing
\nwithout style. indoors, the coat. at the seaside, no sea.
\nthe thump of the breakers. their eternally dry beat.<\/p>\n
\nof having to actually live with this absence of answers.
\nlove calls us to the things of this world, but what calls us
\naway from them? the horizon’s meaning was lost on you
\nand you stayed in the distance, soon therein to dwell.<\/p>\n