Translation - Poem By Hilde Domin Bitte

Immersed into the waters, washed, and soaked down to the fibres of the heart by the Deluge. The wish to occupy the land this side of tear-filled borders is of no use. The wish to celebrate the bloom of Spring and to be spared is of no use. Of use is just the hope that she, de Dove will bring the olive branch. And that the fruit be colourful just as its blossoms. That still its leaves make up a shining crown upon the earth. And that we shall be freed, released from the Deluge and from the Lion's den. Be sent, as hurt and healed into the custody of self. In perpetuity.