The Heart Hid Still In The Dark,

The Heart Hid Still In The Dark, Hard As The Philosophers Stone.

Illegibility Of This World. All Things Twice Over. The Strong Clocks Justify The Splitting Hour, Hoarsely. You , Clamped Into Your Deepest Part, Climb Out Of Yourself For Ever.

There's Nothing In The World For Which A Poet Will Give Up Writing, Not Even He Is A Jew And The Language Of His Poems Is German.

Only One Thing Remained Reachable, Close And Secure Amid All Losses: Language. Yes, Language. In Spite Of Everything, It Remained Secure Against Loss.

The Language With Which I Make My Poems Has Nothing To Do With One Spoken Here, Or Anywhere.