This poem is taken from PN Review 100, Volume 21 Number 2, November - December 1994.
Five PoemsClara Westhoff to Ralner Maria Rilke
No road leads
to this old house we chose.
Its roof of straw scattered
by the loud wind wheezing
its North Sea sounds.
No road leads
to this old house we chose.
I live downstairs
with my clay and stones.
You upstairs
with ink and paper.
What do we do but play with truth,
a doll whose face
I must rework again and again
until it is human.
...
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