Quiet voice, In the midst of those blazing Howitzers in blossom. Their fire Is a vacancy. What do those stuttering machines Have to do With the solitude? Guns make no sound. Only the quiet voice Speaks from the body of the deer To the body of the woman. My own body swims in a silent pool, And I make silence. They both hear me. Hear me, Father of my sound, My poor son Wright's "Echo for the Promise of Georg Trakl's Life"