We’ve talked several times about the German poet Son -in -lawan excellent Alexandrian. What is left of yesterday to today is the dominant theme in his poems, amalgam of historical references, especially in the ancient world, a thoughtful predisposition to the ego and every so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so -so For today we chose two very recent poems, published last year in the newspaper’s cultural insert Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. Poetic hints of memory, but also the promise that can be a “memory of the future”.

Gifts

Because people like people

to give ephemeral things,

Flowers, houses, feelings?

When we were still young

And I was wearing cufflinks,

We were giving future memories.

It was time until they spoiled.

Sometimes they didn’t even verify.

The future has a very old heart.

Sartorius grew up in the world as his father was an UN employee and took his family with him to his alternative positions. And he himself became a diplomat, but his deep concern was literature. He translated and blooming foreign poetry, mainly American, he evolved into a poet himself. His term in the German Embassy of Nicosia led him to Alexandria, where he searched for the traces of Constantine Cavafy, “Alexandria” is the title of the collection that came from this trip in the late 80’s. Sartorius has been the Secretary General of the Goethe Institute for many years and then director of the Berlin Festival. But the years have passed and the Thocs have been diluted. Sartorius bought an apartment in Ortigia, ancient Ortigia in the center of ancient Syracuse. Walking between the remnants of Greater Greece and overlooking the sea he wrote a series of “Sicilian” we would say poems. But not only Sicilian.

Without trembling

Excavated Port Earth.

The few left -wing houses,

the ash on the walls, the blue roof,

leave many questions unanswered.

The inaccessible house, the house of the dead,

the paternal, the hidden windows,

Dark, heavy.

I pull a paddle over these black fringes.

The beauty of the stone, and the story of the place

Almighty.

Memories look like Caryatids.

Trembles they rely on something high,

A love that scatters dew, an old idol.