A wildly strange girl wrote to me that
She keeps seeing crocodiles
Each with a brick sideways in its mouth.
She wrote: Outsidem on the holy field
That is as high as heaven,
There are shadows of trees
And shadows of people.
Not without reason a raven crowed.
The earth produces corpces
And they lie there without fevers.
She sits ruminating by the window,
And thinks, she knows this land.
* * *
Through rain-wet bushes
Rains the rain, the face of the mountain
Rains in need.
In the mist the men climb the mountain
And yell loudly to each other.
Cold smoke blows around the houses.
The apples on the tree have frozen.
When the night sinks,
The face dies.
Rain never falls upward.
Werner Herzog, from Werner Herzog - A Guide for the Perplexued: Conversations with Paul Cronin, poems translated by Presley Parks, publisher: Faber & Faber