Today they close ten years since the author’s death Guinter (1927-2015), one of the most characteristic writers of post-war Germany. In 1999 he was honored with Nobel mainly for his prose work and primarily for his leading novel, the “Tennendine Tampouro”, which was published in 1959. It was the maiden appearance of an unusual talent with a distinct rhythm and peculiar imagination. In his ocean work, the reader meets every so many islands of a weird fantasy and peculiar explosion. As paradoxical as it may seem at first, the talent of the Grass prose writer is very poetic, and therefore it is better to emerge in his younger pedestrians and early poems, three collections all that impressed the fifty and sixties, but they did not find it. Grass later published only poems on topical occasions, such as Europe’s stance on Greece of the crisis. Unlike the Kalliopia and stochastic discretion of post -war German poetry, the young Grass was shouting, gesturing, mocking with his lyrics. On the occasion of today’s anniversary the poem “In the Egg”, a satire in essence for the petty illusions of security, organization and order in life, freedom of the so -called mature citizen.

In the egg

We live in the egg.

In the middle of the tsofili

we carved obscene sketches

and the baptisms of our enemies.

They are incubating us.

Whichever you fuck us,

Kylaki together and our pencil.

The first thing we will do,

Once we get out of our egg,

It is the portrait of our incubator.

We assume they are incubating us.

We imagine a good poultry poultry

and we write school reports

For color and breed

of our closs.

When will we burst nose from our shell?

The prophets in the egg

they are for three and sixty

on the duration of the incubation.

Assume a day X.

Due to boredom but also objective need

We invented incubators.

We care a lot about our offspring in the egg.

We would be happy to give the patent

To the one that vigilant over our heads.

We have at least where the head is shaking.

Faded chicks,

embryos with linguistic knowledge

They are chatting all day long

And they even discuss their dreams.

But what will happen if they do not incubate us?

If this shell never pierces it?

If the horizon is the horizon

of our sketches now and forever?

We hope they are incubating us.

Even if we no longer have any other issue than incubation,

nevertheless exists the risk

someone to hung out of our shell,

To throw us in the pan and throw us salt.

And then what do we do, oh brothers?