Image and video hosting by TinyPic Hear Mary-Jane read this poem


Und als ich aufsah, war sie nimmer da.

(Bertold Brecht — Erinnerung an Marie A.)


I looked up and saw a great white bird of prey

bulky, yet handsome, travelling low and langorous

in a marbled sky studded with shapes my mind could not

assemble. There was no denying it, it was a bird


with a wing prolonged and fibrous, a sharp head and

a pale, curved beak perched on a body high and

bulging. But as I looked, still occupied with the

perception of its gestalt, there, under my very eyes, it began


to crumble, to disintegrate here, develop there,

shift and twist and calibrate; began to divide its wing

in four, erect a quadruplet of legs, askew and disparate,

began to fuse the beak and head to one great muzzle.


Then, for a moment, the monstrosity paused. But before long,

one side of its body thinned into a neck, knitted and strong,

and its back morphed into that of a horse. But there it

did not stop. Leaking wisps of white into the sky — parts


of its head, neck, and mane — it began to abandon its

legs. I felt a sense of quiet panic and strained in the

adjustment of my vision. But before I knew it, I could

no longer bear the terror. I cast my glance to trees nearby.


Recorded at DoubleDouble Creative & Productions, Hong Kong