ERNST MOERMAN
LOUIS ARMSTRONG
suddenly in the midst of a game of lotto with his sisters
Armstrong let a roar out of him that he had the raw meat
red wet flesh for Louis
and he up and he sliced him two rumplips
since when his trumpet bubbles
their fust buss
poppies burn on the black earth
he weds the flood he lulls her
some of these days muffled in ooze
down down down down
pang of white in my hair
after you're gone
Narcissus lean and slippered
you're driving me crazy and the trumpet
is Ole Bull it chassés aghast
out of the throes of morning
down the giddy catgut
and confessing and my woe slavers
the black music it can't be easy
it threshes the old heart into a spin
into a blaze
Louis lil' ole fader Mississippi
his voice gushes into the lake
the rain spouts back into heaven
his arrows from afar they fizz through the wild horses
they fang you and me
then they fly home
flurry of lightning in the earth
sockets for his rootbound song
nights of Harlem scored with his nails
snow black slush when his heart rises
his she-notes they have more tentacles than the sea
they woo me they close my eyes
they suck me out of the world
Translated by Samuel Beckett
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