Friedrich Ani for Herbert Achternbusch: The beast next door – culture

A miserable long time ago at the inn

right at the town hall

an artist sat in front of the wall, drank

and listened to the drinks as they

whispered that he might be lenient

be and not just full, he heard

gone, three, four strokes long, then

he berated the fifth glass that

sixth spat back and he snapped

it gone, this sluggish, dreary beer, and

there was no more within the next

twenty nine minutes. With misery

a long time in the inn right next to

City Hall dunked his artist

Silence in the eternity of one

moments when the waiter smiles,

and said nothing at all, growled

and grumbled in the presence of the absent one

beer in this clumsy glass, what

between the fingers of the waitress none

Significantly more graceful, how stupid a glass can be

can, thought the poet, movies and

painting maker and snapped

all the voices in your head and around

his head out of the in one go

world, got up and left,

and his walking


was exemplary every meter in the valley until

in front of the house in Burgstraße, in which,

like him, in a room without a name,

luck was there, and today


at last,

merciless and


he would it from his sleep

ring, this


feigning deaf and blind,

overbearing with splayed

Fingers sipping fate


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