Julia

“Exil
Ein Toter bin ich der wandelt
gemeldet nirgends mehr
unbekannt im Reich des Präfekten
überzählig in den goldenen Städten
und im grünenden Land
abgetan lange schon
und mit nichts bedacht
nur mit Wind mit Zeit und mit Klang!
Der ich unter Menschen nicht leben kann!
Ich mit der deutschen Sprache
dieser Wolke um mich
die ich halte als Haus
treibe durch alle Sprachen
O wie sie sich verfinstert!
die dunklen die Regentöne
nur die wenigen fallen
In hellere Zonen trägt dann sie den Toten hinauf”
― Ingeborg Bachmann

“Tell me, love, what I can't explain:
Should I spend this short, horrid time
with thoughts only, and alone
know no love and give none?
Must one think? Won't he be missed?”
― Ingeborg Bachmann, In the Storm of Roses: Selected Poems by Ingeborg Bachmann

“My share, it should be lost.”
― Ingeborg Bachmann

“Never was there so much magic over things as when you spoke, and never were words so powerful. You could make speech flare up, become muddled or mighty. You did everything with words and sentences, came to an understanding with them or transmuted them, gave things a new name; and objects which understand neither the straight nor the crooked words, almost took their being from your words.

Oh, nobody was ever able to play so well, you monsters! You invented all games, number games and word games, dream games and love games.

Never did anyone speak of himself like that. Almost truthfully. Almost murderously truthfully. Bent over the water, almost abandoned. The world is already dark and I cannot put on the necklace of shells. There will be no clearing. You different from all the others. I am under water. Am under water.

And now someone is walking up above and hates water and hates green and does not understand, will never understand. As I have never understood.

Almost mute,
almost still
hearing
the call.

Come. Just once.
Come.”
― Ingeborg Bachmann, The Thirtieth Year: Stories