Translator’s Note: Friederike Mayröcker’s lifework has been to live, to write, consistently daringly exploding the limitations of language. These ‘études’ (studies) figure as exercises of daily living, untitled poems that appear as distinct by date, sometimes epigraphs, motifs carrying over and grafted into the next poem, agglomerations of poetic voice gathering resilience / resplendence. I’ve attempted to represent Mayröcker’s sense for the impossibilities and possibilities of poetic speech faithfully, but because of the unbounded inventiveness of the poet’s linguistic register have had to make due with several vague approximations, like twiglets.

from études
In the street there’s Jesus lying the Jesusflower lying the anemones lying the cuckooflower lying is
near death in the street the Jesusflower wilted liverleaf wilted the white viola near death is
dedicated to death run there and from out of the dust in the hallways I gleaned you ++++++++++ in
a now the cello address
this dawn child like my pleading bills rosy my Stieglitz smuggle pinx.


on 1 voice : on 1 resedagreen this branchlet this blossom this second of tear in your eye this rain in
your voice blown away of spring this scent of white tears this scent of wiseness this white of spring
of voice this tiny white bell of April (= Fratres) this wiseness of tiny bell = Fratres this whiffing of
voice whiffing of wine garden (»April «) these twigs tiny bells of April blown away trembling
larkspur lungwort cress parable of the virgins chorals by Bach etc., tousled birdie April violin
booklet April naked this soul heavy with sleep (= »Fratres «) oh your voice ++++++++++ white of
spring of April the spring branches opened themselves and springing shoots walk where the


you my selffrenchwoman early spring’s hippie in the glass »evening feeling« dry branchlet in the
glass or 2nd springing shoots walk, saw this tiny spider ON THE RUN that scared me though it took
off disappeared I mean perhaps it hid itself without ++++++++++ I mean she surfaced in my
Goddess = Remembrance always anew namely heavy with sleep the Feathered and chirped almost
soundless in the early morning that my ear to the window, pressed one wanted, strange to think of
a fruit basket the deep Grotto or Goddess of the green crêpe paper in my teary brushwood : zoomed
over like heavy hand over breast the decomposed dreams at 5 in the morning and illuminated
(pinxit and throttle) the eyeing leaflets in the glass in the briny water sawed up Nocturne of
Gabriel Fauré’s etc. (Reseda, and cuckoo pieces that run through ashes)


wishing that someone would maybe white
crow the breakfast to bed I mean Rilke’s verses the naked
shoulder of the verses white and tripple with tray over to my bed
while the golden folds of the morning sun as in
Barcelona the friend my belov’ed Cupido’s ++++++++++
the withered twigs in the moon ruffled twiglets riverlets
of the beyond bitter taste of the Privet so the
Siskin flying around and chirping and builds his nest deep
grotto of the green slagheap like Siskin in floodplains and bushes and streams
dewdrops beauty sawed up leaflet namely muddled
and suddenly one has recognized the friend’s alphabet

(I) flee or fly 3 wild roses in deep
grotto I dive in purple plumage and shimmering tears
(I) flee or fly Fauré’s Etudes in deep
grotto green shimerring crêpe paper namely likeness
of rushing lowlands (I) flee or fly over-
grown twig in a vernal moon etc., (I) flee or fly
deep grotto of green shimmering sea (I) flee or fly
Fauré’s rose petals (études) (I) flee or fly its self
revealing rose petals which I kiss and fox in deep
Fauré or Genista while 1 flashing of sunbeam in the morning 1
beam of flashing from sky to earth that 1 deep I
mean the likeness of emeraldcolored flight namely in a now
(whimpering slave service) Maundy Thursday namely Fauré’s
13 nocturnes : Etudes in deep grotto in tears ++++++++++
in deep waters the plumed the paschal lamentations
(just as strands of hair in the face) or urbane etc.
am aghast 1 Stieglitz stammering

1 rosewhiff : classical verse :
and bedded on green stones the green twigs broken tenderly
we bedded on green branches on that very mayday on branches
it was in that very meadow woods the birds in
the woods sang you wore the scottish
(tie) it was 1 green day we bedded on green
twigs the birds in the treetops sang and bedded us at
antipodes and bedded us on green stone the green grotto in
the deep wood the first viola was our bed the white
viola our bed it was in a green wood the 1st viola our
bed the birds were singing in the branches
the wild years long since past now you rest under cold
stone the birds sing over your grave it is May 1 and
white violas the white violas blossom at your
feet you are 1 dead man the birds in the treetops
sing on my heart lies 1 stone the cold stone on
which I sleep the birds sing in the woods


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