Rush Of Pine Scent (once Upon A

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

Each Arrow You Shoot Off Carries Its Own Target Into The Decidedly Secret Tangle

Don't Sign Your Name Between Worlds, Surmount The Manifold Of Meanings, Trust The Tearstain, Learn To Live.

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

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.