Inventory

This is my cap,

this is my greatcoat,

and here's my shaving kit

in its linen bag.

A can of meat:

my plate, my mug,

into its tin

I've scratched my name.

Scratched it with this

invaluable nail,

which I keep hidden

from covetous eyes.

My bread bag holds

two woollen socks

and a couple of things

I show to no one,

like that it serves me

as a pillow at night.

Between me and the earth

I lay this cardboard.

This pencil lead

is what I  love most:

by day it writes verses

I thought up in the night.

This is my notebook,

this is my groundsheet,

this is my towel,

this is my thread.

Trans. Michael Hamburger