Translation / Übersetzung by / von Walter A. Aue
(with friendly help on "Stufen" from Bertram Kottmann)



Hermann Hesse:

Stufen

Wie jede Blüte welkt und jede Jugend
Dem Alter weicht, blüht jede Lebensstufe,
Blüht jede Weisheit auch und jede Tugend
Zu ihrer Zeit und darf nicht ewig dauern.
Es muß das Herz bei jedem Lebensrufe
Bereit zum Abschied sein und Neubeginne,
Um sich in Tapferkeit und ohne Trauern
In andre, neue Bindungen zu geben.
Und jedem Anfang wohnt ein Zauber inne,
Der uns beschützt und der uns hilft, zu leben.

Wir sollen heiter Raum um Raum durchschreiten,
An keinem wie an einer Heimat hängen,
Der Weltgeist will nicht fesseln uns und engen,
Er will uns Stuf' um Stufe heben, weiten.
Kaum sind wir heimisch einem Lebenskreise
Und traulich eingewohnt, so droht Erschlaffen,
Nur wer bereit zu Aufbruch ist und Reise,
Mag lähmender Gewöhnung sich entraffen.

Es wird vielleicht auch noch die Todesstunde
Uns neuen Räumen jung entgegen senden,
Des Lebens Ruf an uns wird niemals enden...
Wohlan denn, Herz, nimm Abschied und gesunde!



Die Jakobsleiter (Mose/Genesis 28: 11-19):

William Blake hat im (oberen) Bild die Jakobsleiter sogar (und im metaphorischen Sinn korrekt) als Spirale gezeichnet. Aber er war ja auch ein Mystiker, so wie der Yeats (siehe rechte Links)...

Und das untere Bild? Ja, das ist alt-koptisch und zeigt die DNA: Engerln, Engerln samma alle!

Ich soll mit den blöden Witzen aufhören und lieber anständige Bilder zeigen? Naja, ich versteh' schon. Bitte sehr, bitte gleich, gnä' Frau!


Jacob's Ladder (Detail)
Raffaello Santi, 1483-1520


Jacob's Ladder (Detail)
Adam Elsheimer, 1578-1610


Jacob's Ladder (Detail)
Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, 1696-1770


For higher-quality reproductions of or more information on the last three paintings, please visit that most marvellous of websites, the Web Gallery.



Hermann Hesse:

Steps

Like ev'ry flower wilts, like youth is fading
and turns to age, so also one's achieving:
Each virtue and each wisdom needs parading
in one's own time, and must not last forever.
The heart must be, at each new call for leaving,
prepared to part and start without the tragic,
without the grief - with courage to endeavor
a novel bond, a disparate connection:
for each beginning bears a special magic
that nurtures living and bestows protection.

We'll walk from space to space in glad progression
and should not cling to one as homestead for us.
The cosmic spirit will not bind nor bore us;
it lifts and widens us in ev'ry session:
for hardly set in one of life's expanses
we make it home, and apathy commences.
But only he, who travels and takes chances,
can break the habits' paralyzing stances.

It might be, even, that the last of hours
will make us once again a youthful lover:
The call of life to us forever flowers...
Anon, my heart: Say farewell and recover!



Hesse's "steps" are similar to one or another of Yeats's "gyres" (educationally upwards spiralling metaphors), as well as to Jacob's Ladder (seen on the left) and many "Eastern" images of "Tao".

These mental landscapes are situated on the same side of the brain as Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain, or James Joyce's Dublin, or T.S. Eliot's Wasteland. Except that those two-plus Nobel prize winners describe their scenery more convolutedly learned and less romantically inclined.

Steps and spirals and ladders and steep mountains make great metaphors for the "Inner Path" - in theory. In practice they require bootstrap acrobatics. And there is a steep thermodynamic cost to them. Like life itself — which, in terms of pysical chemistry, is a high-energy, high-entropy process — to walk the "Path" requires a delicate balancing act. It means, as Somerset Maugham had it, to walk a "Razor's Edge".

[Note though: While "life" is an inherently unstable state, high in energy above the stable state of "equilibrium" — or a minimum in "free energy", as we chemists say: a condition characterized by the absence of any net reaction — that equilibrium state, translated into human terms, is commonly known as "death". More on that in any first-year chemistry text. Sorry, all ye do-gooders! And, sorry but not sorry, I was talking shop. Quickly back to Hesse, now!]

Hesse suffered severe bouts of depression throughout his tortured life: His "recuperation of the heart" shows up more in his poems (his hope) than in his life (his experience). But poems are not life as it is; poems are life as it could and perhaps even should be. Still, even way-out poems are ways out (in Hesse's case, out of a religiously stifling childhood and education)...

Though what counts - here as elsewhere - is the poem, not the poet. The proof of the pudding is in the eating, not in the chef. Even if a bit of theosophy has been mixed into the dough, even if one notices a dash of Victorian (rather than Swiss) spirits - all prettily iced over by congenial prosodial confectionary, of course.

But hand it to Hesse: His transfigured finger still rests on the pulse of time, just as it did in the Sixties. Are you still looking across our treacherous currents, Siddharta? Are you still roaming our impoverished steppes, Steppenwolf?




The "Steps" of Hermann Hesse - or "Stages", as Bertram Kottmann calls them, and with good reason - are as trying to translate as to translate. (Sorry about my punny tongue: To talk the talk you must have walked the walk. Did you?) Or, as expressed with an Eastern twist to keep it modern, you can only learn what you already know. So, go and walk a mile in my shoes, straight up the steps...

But what I really wanted to say is that Bertram helped me greatly by his comments, and also by contributing the essence of lines 7 to 10. Thanks, Bertram! You have truly safeguarded the estate of a great (and tragic) compatriot of yours!

And to Karla (Bertram's trusted and beloved wife) I want to say: Do not worry! Although it is as difficult for me as for anybody to accept, what counts in the end is the translation, not the translator. See, here is that famous pudding all over again. And Bertram's spice and spirit has raised it from common custard to culinary experience! (Or so we both like to think. Ah, these men...)



LATER (MARCH 2010)



According to wordlover on YouTube, this is the most popular poem of the Germans - imagine that! - and here is Hesse himself reciting it. In a pedantic manner, you say, much too learnedly and schoolmasterly? Well, no surprise there. When people encounter problems, they try to cope with them, thus they willy-nilly acquire experience how to (or not to) do it, and often wind up subjecting others to the DIY of their very own trials and tribulations. Even doing well by doing good, as Tom Lehrer might add. Blame the Cosmic Spirit (Hesse's Weltgeist) or blame the forever fighting sisters, Mother Nature and Stepmother Nurture. Or the other way around, it doesn't matter...

[I know the DIY that I am talking about, even if I hate to admit it: My highschool diploma shows "A"s (actually called "1"s: the more familiar A-to-F scale runs from 1 to 5 in Austria) in all subjects except chemistry. In chemistry I barely managed a "B" ("2"). Guess what I wound up studying and teaching! And I think it was, again,Tom Lehrer who quipped that psychoanalysts are people that teach people that happen to be much happier than they are, how to be happy... And just guess at the experimental source of all those drug councellors teaching our kids in highschool nowadays how NOT to do it...]

But I digress. Here are two more recitations of Hesse's presumedly top-of-the-chart German poem, first by Ulrich Mühe, then by Heinz Rühmann:



...
.


Hermann Hesse:

Glück

Solang du nach dem Glücke jagst,
Bist du nicht reif zum Glücklichsein,
Und wäre alles Liebste dein.

Solang du um Verlornes klagst,
Und Ziele hast und rastlos bist,
Weißt du noch nicht was Friede ist.

Erst wenn du jedem Wunsch entsagst,
Nicht Ziel mehr noch Begehren kennst,
Das Glück nicht mehr mit Namen nennst,

Dann reicht dir des Geschehens Flut
Nicht mehr ans Herz,
Und deine Seele ruht.




Das "Glücklichsein" steht ganz oben auf der Stufenpyramide Hesses, also beginnen wir auf ebener Erde und klettern wir seine "Stufen" hinauf wie die Stufen einer mesoamerikanischen Pyramide (die uns dann, aber erst ganz oben, mit Obsidian ans Herz geht).

Was uns der "Stufen" überraschende Popularität — nach wordlover das beliebteste Gedicht der Deutschen! — vor Augen führt, ist nicht die Größe Hesses (die bleibt und bleibe unangetastet!), sondern der Grund solch erstaunlicher Leserreaktion. Stammt sie, weltrundum, aus der psychopathologischen Flut der Postmoderne und dem sich selbst belügenden fin de millénaire?

Oder wuchs sie, als rote neben der blauen Blume, auf den Steppen der Psychohygiene Deutschlands (und Österreichs, leider)? Wuchs sie als nach außen getragenes, aufdringliches Sykophanten- und Gutmenschentum, als willentliches Abrücken und Unterdrücken von uralten Kulturwerten, als ein den vorauseilenden Gehorsam einforderndes "Schuld-und-Erlösung" Rezept? Das wie ein schäbiger aber doch wärmender Mantel mit der Zeit von außen nach innen gewendet wurde? Das halt, worüber sich (zumindestens die geschichtskundigen) englischen Zeitungen schon seit einem halben Jahrhundert lustig machen?

Etwas in der Massenpsychologie des gegenwartsdeutschen Lesers scheint sich hier wiederzuerkennen zu wollen in den verzweifelten Versuchen Hesse, seinen Jugendjahren und Depressionen — die er wahrscheinlich, un- aber psycho-logisch, als eigene "Schuld" empfand — durch das Spiel mit Glasperlen und dem aufopfernden Sprung ins Gletscherwasser zu entgehen. Nobel war solches, schon bevor es von den Sechzigerhippies dem Vergessen entrissen und den Deutschen rückerstattet wurde.

Und die Zukunft wird besser, das sagt solches ja auch. Der Weltgeist führt uns die "Stufen" hinauf: Oben wartet die Erlösung, wenn wir nur weitermachen; oben wartet, nein, nicht die "Aufklärung", sondern nur - und auch nur vielleicht - die Aufklärung dessen, was unser Leben geformt hat und was wir im Leben nicht oder nur zu spät erkannt hatten. Auf gut Deutsch: Oben wartet unser "Glück".

The kruden Amerikaner bezeichnen solches Denken als "wishful thinking", als einen "Pollyanna Glauben": Leicht belächel- und noch leichter finanziell nutzbar.

Solches Denken — weit verbreitet und oft gesellschaftlich erzwungen — hat faszinierende massenpsychologische Folgen. Nicht alle sind schlecht, nicht einmal vom Standpunkt der sprichwörtlich den eigenen Schlächter wählenden Kälber: Die Notlüge zum Moralzweck, d.h. die scheinheilige Umschreibung der Realität, hat sich noch immer und überall auf dieser weitumwanderten Erde als unumgängliches Erziehungsrequisit herausgestellt. Nicht nur aber doch auch, weil manch' Regent und Hohepriester sich dann in der eigenen Falle fängt und so den anderen seines Standes Mores lehrt...

Und für hoi polloi werden ja auch die besterdachten rosaroten Brillen ('manufactured in China'?) als Ersatz für, und Befreiung von, Wahrheit angeboten. Mit Plastikscheuklappen und Weichmachern ausgestatted: Bekennen vergibt, Yoga entspannt, Tao bestätigt, und Meditation erschließt die supralogischen Bewustseinsregionen. Östliche Placebos auf blutende westliche Wunden...

So, jetzt sind wir endlich da. Entschuldigen Sie bitte meine langgeschürzte keusche Einführung — ich wollte nur, wie es mein Brauch ist, um drei Ecken herum zu dem kommen, was ich eigentlich sagen wollte (und was andere schon früher und besser gesagt haben): Daß es sich in diesen zwei Gedichten Hesses um eine sehr östliche Denkweise, d.h. (in gröblichster Schlagwortvereinfachung) um buddhistisch-taoistische Verhaltensnormen handelt. Als Rezepte dem westlichen Patienten aufbereitet und verschrieben.

Das sei nichts so Schlimmes? Habe ich ja auch nicht behauptet. Und vieles stehe im Pali-Kanon, das sich im Neuen Testament wiederfindet? Stimmt ja.

Nur: Da gibts schon noch den einen oder anderen Unterschied. Und was Hesse's verletzter Psyche gutgetan hat (nehme ich an, weil er es ja selber sagt) muß der Europas und im Besonderen der Deutschlands und Österreichs nicht gleichgut tun.

Welche großen Unterschiede ich da sähe? Der größte liegt in dem, was Hesse uns als erstrebenswertes "Glücklichsein" vor's Gemüt stellt. Denn solches will bezahlt sein.

Der menschliche Verstand kann die Gefühle nur beherrschen, wenn Windesstille im Gefühlsmeer herrscht. "Reason is the slave of the passions", sagt David Hume über die jeweiligen Kräfteverhältnisse (und, interessanterweise, auch über ihre Erstrebenswertheit).

Glück, im westlichen Sinn, ist der Emotionswellenberg (der dann mit dem unausbleiblich folgenden Wellental bezahlt werden muß). Glück, im östlichen Sinne, ist das Erlöschen der Welle (das mit der Emotion selbst bezahlt wird).

Nicht, daß ich das gut ausgedrückt hätte. Aber auch die Gegenüberstellung der beiden Pakte, die Faust in Goethes Lehrstück und Alberich in Wagners Gruselring mit, nun sagen wir, mit dem Schicksal geschlossen hatten — Faust mit einer Bereicherung, Alberich mit einer Verarmung der Gefühlswelt — würden uns hier nicht viel weiterhelfen.

Aber daß der "human drive" [die "menschliche Triebkraft" zu schreiben wäre, wiewohl korrekt, eindeutig zu zweideutig] in den meisten westlichen Gedankenwelten verstärkt und in den meisten östlichen geschwächt werden soll, steht wohl außer Zweifel. Primitiv könnte man die Strategien der beiden Denkwelten und ihre Motivation des Menschen als
"Vermehrung der Freuden"
im Westen und
"Verringerung der Leiden"
im Osten
beschreiben. Und das scheint mir auch des Pudels Kern zu sein, in mehr als einer Gestalt (des unterirdischen Pudels). "Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet" sagt Rudyard Kipling.

Und dabei wollen wir's im Augenblick auch belassen...



SPÄTER
"Glück" bei Hesse und Lenau
Ein nicht ganz ernst zu nehmender Vergleich von Gedichtsstrukturen und Gedankenwelten, aber alles leider nur auf der rechten Seite --->


Aber wenn Sie den Unterschied zwischen Hesses "östlichem Glück" und einem der vielen anderen "westlichen Glücke" in Gedichtform erfühlen wollen, probieren Sie es doch mit Lenau:

O Menschenherz, was ist dein Glück?
Ein rätselhaft geborner,
Und, kaum gegrüßt, verlorner,
Unwiederholter Augenblick!

Ja, ja, ich weiß schon. Beides probiert, nicht zu vergleichen. Eines lang, das andere kurz. Eines halbleer, das andere übervoll von Gefühl. Eines, in dem der Inhalt mehr zählt als die Schönheit der Worte — und eines, in dem das umgekehrt ist. Eines, in dem Glück etwas anderes bedeutet als im anderen. Aber beide sehr groß, beide sehr menschlich, beide sehr schön — und beide wie Aphrodite aus dem Wellenschaum der Depression geboren...



Hermann Hesse:

Happiness

If luck you chase, you have not grown
enough for happiness to stay,
not even if you get your way.

If, what you lost, you still bemoan,
and grasp at tasks, and dash and dart,
you have not known true peace of heart.

But if no wishes are your own,
and you don't try to win the game,
and Lady Luck is just a name,

then tides of life won't reach your breast—
and all your strife
and all your soul will rest.




On this site, most of the time I am not able to grant the wishes of readers for translations of their favorite poems. I appreciate and honor their intentions — but too frequent are the requests, too restrictive is my "Autumn" theme, too short is my time, too limited is my ability. Yet occasionally a request comes along that happens to be on the Way —like here on the Tao up Hesse's Stufen — and then I am happy to comply. Herr Lukas Wymann from Beckenried in Switzerland has asked for Hesse's Glück (the poem, that is) in English. I hope he likes the result and it makes him glücklicher than Hesse...




Incidental - but most important to mention - the German word Glück has many meanings (of which Hesse makes good use in the first stanza, where he uses it in two disparate senses). For all intents and purposes, the vocable Glück is untranslatable. Hence, to translate it, one has to refuse to listen to its echoes from the German soul and make do with sundry English boombox beats: Luck, happiness, (good) fortune, (lucky) chance, success, prosperity, bliss, felicity, joy, wellbeing, contentment, fulfillment, pleasure, euphoria. Now that sounds like a Disney mission statement...




You don't care about mission statements, you want to know why the German on the left is dragging on for so long? Well, German sentences are longer than English ones. (A real drag on the interpreter of poem who is supposed to stick to the meter. German to English he is cruelly extended, English to German mercilessly compressed. Like a good, old squeeze box. But, sorry, I am whining.)

You only wanted to know what I said on the left? It really was quite simple:

I started by providing infotainment on the psychopathology of postmodernism, about the psychofrauds of the fin de millénaire, about its excessive use of the f-word, that is, forever forgetting facts and forging fictions. F(orget) it!

Then I said that the public's acceptance of and affection for a poem has often more to do with the public's subjective and likely subconscious feelings than with its "objective quality" — as if there ever could be such a thing. (The same is, of course, true of other arts as well: The long-time public neglect of many of Johann Sebastian Bach's grandest works in German lands — until Mendelssohn 'resurrected' the St. Matthew Passion — may serve as a poignant reminder.)

Hence, what poems a people like can tell you (better than any historian or psychologist can) what a people they are and, more to the point, what a people they feel they are. An egregious fondness, if not to say worship, of such whistling-in-the-dark poems as Stufen and Glück betrays, above all, a longing for redemption. Or so I think.

I said further that the two poems - not surprising from the man who wrote "Siddharta" and "The Glass Bead Game" ("Magister Ludi") - touched on many philosophies Eastern, and particularly on Buddhism. The different steps of mind development (levels of brain modification); the demand to distance oneself from impermanent matters (often but falsely called "illusions"); the disparagement of "grasping", of building "ego", of "attachment", of acquiring "bad karma"; the derision of "emotions" (with the, for us, curious exceptions of - again a poor Western wordchoice - "compassion" and "love"); the awareness of the mind (the mind watching the mind, as it were, as if that were possible: Are there two minds or is the - indivisible if sane - single mind but an artifact of our Cartesian thinking and semantics?); the desirable mindfulness of each moment; the goal of attaining "nirwana", where all bonds to non-permanence (one's "Ego" and one's "World") fall away: all that resounds in Hesse and is offered by him, pedantically but eloquently, as a code of behavior for the reader to adopt.

Further I said — and everything I said here has been said a dozens of times before and better than I ever could! — that "Eastern" thinking carried a heavy price for its "calming" effect on stress and strife: the loss of the motivational power of acquisition, both good and bad.

Because, or so I thought with oversimplification galore, "Eastern" meant to minimize pain, "Western" to maximize gain. "Eastern" models were designed to calm the mind to let go of the world, "Western" ones to rouse it to conquer that very same world. "Eastern" was meant to end endless reincarnation,"Western" to continue human domination endlessly. (Both, incidentally, have some support structures for worldly authority built right in, together with also requisit fire-and-brimstone reminders.)

Well, and that's the world in a nutshell. Or so I think, being properly mindful of the moment. Because, you see, I (the nut) am trying to grasp truth — and personal truth is, well, impermanent. And never We twain shall meet in Me...



LATER
(A not quite serious comparison of the Glück of Hesse with that of Lenau, followed by some postdramatic stress distortions)


But YOU couldn't care less about my state of mind? You just wanted a translation of the Lenau poem further down on the left side? My apologies, dear Reader. You see, I have tried on this website to offer you
"Words between Worlds".
But sometimes words are so much of one of these worlds that they must fail on the other. Sometimes there just is no bridge over troubled waters.



Besides, readers in English often value content over form in poems, whereas German readers feel vice versa. (Isn't a "vice versa" someone who writes dirty poetry?) Well, as it happens, meaning is much easier to convey than beauty. And, while the Glück of Hesse is long-time contentment, the Glück of Lenau is short-time bliss. Both of them born of depression. Of course.




By the way, let me just stress it once more, I am a bloody amateur in matters of literature and religion. So, unless I am talking natural science, don't believe me! Nevertheless, please grant me that I have tried to make my Ego-stroking commentary entertaining and perhaps even thought-provoking. If so, I am richly rewarded.

And here, just for some soothing information after slogging your way through this page, here is a pretty wide-screen BBC video about the Life of the Buddha.



STILL LATER, STILL LENAU


I knew I would be in trouble. A cyber-friend of mine still wants a translation of the Lenau poem on the left. Badly.

But, believe me, Eric, there is no way. The poem is just too perfect - and the twain tongues are just too different. As an old German folksong has it, the two lovers cannot get together: the water between them is just too deep (and the swim-or-sink approach, which is sometimes known as the Hero-and-Leander story, comes to a crashing end)...

So what to do? A literal translation, you say? You wouldn't want something like

Oh heart of man, what is your happiness?
A mysteriously born
and, hardly greeted, already lost,
never-to-be-repeated moment!

, would you? WOULD you?

Listen, that hurts! I fancy myself Erato's lover, not lacerator! Yes, the translation is accurate enough to demonstrate that Hesse and Lenau, in their poems, saw "Glück" with very different eyes (actually, they saw two disparate facets of the same word). One poet saw a whole life, the other a fleeting moment. The extremes of human calculus: integral vs. infinitesimal. No wonder both had problems. But the biggest problem here is that of Yours Truly.

Look, I won't ever be able to get close to the perfect harmony of these few of Lenau's words that circumscribe a world. His world. How could I?

But for a friend, I'll try a musical transcription, sort of like what Arnold Schönberg did —for pedagogic purposes, mind you — with the immortal music of Franz Schubert and Johann Strauss. So that you can see my point. Here it is: all clumsy, all unresolved question:

Oh human heart, is this thy bliss?
An enigmatically born
and, hardly born, to pieces torn,
never repeated instant's kiss?

Sorry, sorry, sorry...



EVEN LATER STILL


Good gracious, what did I start here? On a Hesse webpage to boot! I can almost see Hermann's worried face rise through the morning mists of Montagnola. But Hesse, the man, was extremely kind to many far below his level — a sterling quality of his to which I can personally attest — and that gives me the courage to add still a few more comments to his page — about Lenau!

Besides, Eric Miller thought that something in the Lenau "had a Haikuish sensibility to it" and took one more "unauthorized step":

Heart of mankind,
O what is happiness —
Merely an enigma born.
O, forlorn, never-to-be-again
Moment!
(© Eric Miller, 2010)

I am glad he did. A great poem is a many-splendored thing, so dependent in its appearance on the light of the moment...

And I am glad he didn't shorten it and add a kigo, à la

Human bliss —
a cherry blossom falls...

The Lenau poem is a question and its answer, balancing the two sides on an exquisite verbal arabesque. That, at least, is my gut feeling. But if you want to use just question and answer — and if you are inclined to such surgical brutality — you might want to excise the middle and sew together the two key words:

Menschenglück?
Augenblick!

But, you see, that would sound a bit Prussian (sorry, yes, Martin, I know better, but I couldn't let that one go)! By the way, the German word "Augenblick", on which the whole poem rests, does mean a fleeting moment, an instant. But its image is that of a (fleeting) glance of the eyes. A German might thus feel that happiness is a deep, however temporary look into a pair of beautiful eyes... Or he might take it as a warning: "Just a moment! Hold your horses!"... Or both...

Oh, sorry. I got carried away. What those two German words mean, in context? Well, maybe

Human happiness?
A fleeting moment...

And that's where we'll leave it, for badder or for worse...


...
.


Hermann Hesse:

Wir leben hin...

Wir leben hin in Form und Schein
Und ahnen nur in Leidestagen
Das ewig wandellose Sein,
Von dem uns dunkle Träume sagen.
Wir freuen uns an Trug und Schaum,
Wir gleichen führerlosen Blinden,
Wir suchen bang in Zeit und Raum,
Was nur im Ewigen zu finden.
Erlösung hoffen wir und Heil
In wesenlosen Traumesgaben -
Da wir doch Götter sind und teil
Am Urbeginn der Schöpfung haben.




Hermann Hesse:

We live as form...

We live as form, from truth estranged -
surmising (when the pains assail us)
eternal realm that never changed,
of which dark dreams at night do tell us.
We like illusion's false embrace,
we're blind and leaderless and lonely -
and search in fear through time and place
for what's of the eternal only.
Salvation we expect and grace
from dreams that cannot go the distance -
We, who are Gods, and in whose space
creation first became existence.


...


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First posted: June 2007
Last updated: November 2011

N.B.: The frame around the poems shows
the escalator to the Albertina Museum
in Vienna, Austria.

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