{"id":5165,"date":"2021-10-07T06:57:00","date_gmt":"2021-10-07T07:57:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/?p=5165"},"modified":"2021-10-07T06:57:00","modified_gmt":"2021-10-07T07:57:00","slug":"699-in-the-summer-sarah-kirsch-germany","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/699-in-the-summer-sarah-kirsch-germany\/","title":{"rendered":"699 | In the summer – Sarah Kirsch, Germany"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

\"699<\/h2>\n

In the Summer<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\n

Sparsely populated, the land.
\nDespite huge fields and machines,
\nThe villages lie sleepy
\nIn boxwood gardens; rarely hit
\nA stone\u2019s thrown at the cats.<\/p>\n

In August, the stars fall.
\nIn September, the hunt is on.
\nStill the gray goose flies, the stork walks
\nThrough unpoisoned meadows. Oh, the clouds,
\nAs mountains they fly over the woods.<\/p>\n

If you don’t hold a newspaper here,
\nAll is right with the world:
\nIn plum jam pots,
\nYour face is beautifully reflected and,<\/p>\n

The fields glow fire-red.<\/p>\n

\n

Sarah Kirsch<\/strong>, <\/strong>Germany, 1935\u20132013<\/em><\/p>\n

Translation Germain Droogenbroodt \u2013 Stanley Barkan<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

from \u201cR\u00fcckenwind<\/em><\/strong>\u201d, S\u00e4mtliche Gedichte, DVA, M\u00fcnchen<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/p>\n

\nIm Sommer \/\/ D\u00fcnnbesiedelt das Land. \/Trotz riesiger Felder und Maschinen. \/Liegen die D\u00f6rfer schl\u00e4frig \/ In Buchsbaumg\u00e4rten; die Katzen \/ Trifft selten ein Steinwurf. \/\/ Im August fallen die Sterne \/ Im September bl\u00e4st man die Jagd an. \/ Noch fliegt die Graugans, spaziert der Storch \/ Durch unvergiftete Wiesen. Ach, die Wolken \/ Als Berge fliegen sie \u00fcber die W\u00e4lder. \/\/ Wenn man hier keine Zeitung h\u00e4lt \/ Ist die Welt in Ordnung: \/ In Pflaumenmuskesseln \/ Spiegelt sich sch\u00f6n das eigne Gesicht und \/ Feuerrot leuchten die Felder.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In the Summer Sparsely populated, the land. Despite huge fields and machines, The villages lie sleepy In boxwood gardens; rarely hit A stone\u2019s thrown at the cats. In August, the stars fall. In September, the hunt is on. Still the gray goose flies, the stork walks Through unpoisoned meadows. Oh, the clouds, As mountains they […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5163,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_wp_rev_ctl_limit":""},"categories":[33],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5165"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5165"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5165\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5166,"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5165\/revisions\/5166"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5163"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5165"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5165"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.point-editions.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5165"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}