There is a bit of the curmudgeonly in this poem. I like it
just the same, as the saying goes. Stick with it till the end
and see what you think.
Those final two words — I’m going to emblazon them on my
heart.
Love, Bethie
When the visitor comes,
Prying, questioning you,
Confess that you collect no stamps,
Take no color photographs,
Raise no cacti.
That you own no house,
No television set,
No room-sized fig tree.
That you do not know
Why you sit down and write,
Grudgingly, since it gives you no pleasure.
That you still have not found the meaning
Of your life, although you are getting old.
That you have loved, but not enough,
That you have fought back, but timidly.
That you have lived in many places,
But can call none of them your home.
That you want to die and are afraid.
That you can set no example except this:
Still open.
Poem entitled: Interview
Selected Later Poems of Marie Luise Kaschnitz
Translated by Lisel Mueller
Still open.
Still open.
Still open.
