9 2 D O C U M E N T 8 9 P O E M F O R G R Ü N B E R G 89. Poem for Josef Grünberg[1] [Berlin, 17 November 1927][2] Feelings are very mixed when You, boldly escaping the city’s Hustle and bustle, sneak away In the morning to this house.[3] After ringing, ding, ding, ding, At first it goes pretty well. The Valkyrie kindly opens the door And leads you to the battlefield. Always cheery and carefree Bolschi[4] says good morning to you While now one wonders What he’s got in mind. Heroic is the feeling If you then sit on that chair Motor hums, drill bores in From then on you’re an object. With a sweet smile, she nimbly Hands him the instrument. What follows then everyone feels My pen’s reluctant to go on.— If you come here in the evening It looks completely different Profound bachelor peace Such as only a few enjoy Bolschi’s radiant and as if bewitched You enter into wonderland. Soon all worries are forgotten Merry conversation, good food
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