Ernst Jandl, or Dogs versus Angels

The Austrian poet Ernst Jandl (1925-2000) is almost unknown in the English-speaking world. This is largely because Jandl's experimental poetry has a great deal to do with sound and is deeply rooted in the German language. Consider his war poem schtzngrmm (from the German word 'Schützengraben' - trench - with the vowels omitted, so literally trnch), a video of which you can find at the bottom of this post.

Some, however, are a little more straightforward. His plays on words often turn his poems into a sort of 'immigrant German', thus making a political as well as a linguistic point. And some deal with sadness, inanimate objects and - well, dogs. What the angel was for Rilke, said one critic, the dog is for Jandl.

This is also reminiscent of the Russian poet Andrei Voznesensky, who saw himself as 'a stray Moscow mutt barking his love to fellow dogs'. And maybe this is why I could never get that excited about Rilke. Leave the poets of the angels for someone else - give me the poets of the dogs anyday.

In order that a few people who might otherwise never read Jandl can get a basic introduction to his work, I'm starting to translate some of the poems which also lend themselves to the English language, and will hopefully put a few up on this blog from time to time. Here are three to lead us off; any barks of constructive criticism from fellow mutts are extremely welcome.

record

i ask for a record.

can one eat this record like an English person?

i ask with a cannibalistic facial expression.

certainly not, says the amazed saleswoman.

can one mount this record as a wheel on a motorcycle?

i ask with a somewhat sporty accent.

that’s impossible, the saleswoman answers harshly.

can one perhaps use this record as

a target a millwheel ice rink monocle

cylinder sea urchin or wedding ring?

i ask, the individual words pouring out rapidly.

no, snaps the saleswoman and bites me on the finger.

then please wrap it up for me, I say

exhausted and relieved.

kiosk

1000 wild sow

in a tragedy

are considered more noble than

1000 wild sow

in a kiosk

a conversation with rilke

someone asks a question

rilke answers

rilke asks a question

someone answers

neither is particularly happy about it

neither is particularly sad about it