What I Like About Poetry, V

Fellow Blockhead NC Tate made me aware of the poetry of Durs Grünbein, whose selected, Ashes for Breakfast, excellently translated by Michael Hofmann, I'm currently devouring.  (And do read Hofmann's superb preface to the collection.)

    Did we know what makes the world go round?
      That love tends to isolate
    Seemed clear enough.  Everyone kept it for himself,
      His personal thorn, until the blood
    Soaked through at the worst possible moment.
      It was rare for anyone to remain uninjured.
    More commonly, the pain transferred itself
      To the other party.  To be left
    Was the worst evil, to be insentient in spring,
      Stand like an amputee under the busted
    Ferris wheel . . . The way the wind carried us
      Into the treetops from which
    We were later to fall with blissful cries.

(From Falten Und Fallen [Folds and Traps], 1994)

How do you read poetry?

—David