Excited to discover the work of Austrian poet Friederike Mayröcker:

by the second, itself, and have to
hurry GET MOVING before the sun rears up, REVOLTS etc.,
I stand by the window or crouch in a ball : a bundle in
the corner. Large butterfly geranium leaf
on the flagstones in the corridor : pressed flat / like
the past – (I’d like this sentence in the tiniest print!).
Here and there the innermost plantations, look, the orangerie!,
writes Marcel Beyer : smells of camel, or movable
baptismal angel. And thus Artaud’s face thought-body or -blood,
Artaud’s anemone hand.
THIS IS 1 LOVE-LETTER!, the points of the mountains, the sharp
eyes like needles pinned to my nature, alas! Nature, pi-
nned to my own body-skin, alas, woe is me! I scream
writhe finish myself off, the flooded eye the feathered
eye, this nature or what!, this chiffre full moonlight –
you come into the room, I’m waiting for your voice
I’m writing deluded letters which you’ll never receive,

such thin and vulnerable skin-intercourse, this is 1 merciful
weather, the whitethroat’s kiss in the gardens . . this
word in the wire in communion I’m dreaming of you, and
ecstasy itself, this magpie,
have just invented language raving language. (tr. Richard Dove)