The curtain goes up on the reading world
from A to Zoo, emblematic.
Here come the animals, tame and wild:
Already it’s problematic.

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Apes smile at what they see
When standing before mirrors.
People smile or laugh, may be,
looking on their lives in letters.

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Is reading hard, or is it fun?
Is it grasshopper or ant?
Well, if you must know, son,
Grab your specs and pipe a chant!

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From blackbird to starling, the birds have gone their way.
Ice and snow everywhere. Only a sparrow, what’s he up to?
Sends you this Haiku/ on New Year’s Day,
online./ The wind dies down anew.

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Climbing onto a branch (he had vision,
this bird, you could call it foresight),
the Archeopteryx made a decision:
Tomorrow begins the age of flight.

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Dive with your book to the oysterbank.
You can find precious pearls there.
They are the poet’s tears. Thank
him for his grief and care.

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A thriller in bed by lamplight
is like Ursa Major or Orion.
It’s not an animal and can’t bite,
so you can bear it in any season.

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Breakfast standing up. Green tea. Toast. No bit
of egg or even marmalade.
And no honey from busy bees with it.
No time for the paper. Too bad.

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Reading history: heraldically
the eagle has two heads in all.
Think instead of the leech to see
how the big can bleed the small.

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Beware the book of love,
for boas and vipers nest there.
On Noah’s ark they’re not unheard of,
so rabbits and readers—take care!

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If animals can read, who’s
their pet author? Brehm, I think,
is the one they’d choose
to put their lives in ink.

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Fluid mechanics is the beaver’s occupation;
in his burrow the badger studies statics.
And what, may I ask, is your vocation?
Another, older science: emblematics.

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An adventure book is a dolphin,
on its back it carries you.
Through the waves take a spin!
That on land you’ll never do.

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Frankfurt Book Fair: an elephant I greet.
What trick will he do this time?
Will he prance on his hind feet?
Or float aloft again, sublime?

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Unicorns cannot in nature be espied
or captured prancing thereabout.
They’re in old manuscripts descried
As we are reading or spelling out.

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In the Escorial, at the reading room door,
a magpie reads he mustn’t steal,
else like all sinful souls, forevermore
he’ll roast on Satan’s wheel.

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The illustrateds keep you up to date on sex
among celebrities, not ordinary rabble.
You see life through rose-colored specs
And the geese gabble gabble gabble.

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The owl of reading lives in Athens.
The Acropolis provides its rooms.
In Aristotle it gives lessons.
That alone speaks volumes.

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There are animals who do not read.
The echoing ass is one of these.
As a politician he will not succeed
except in Washington DCs.

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How does the gazelle read so fast
As if it were a cinch?
Always first, never last?
She doesn’t budge an inch.

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In the Caucasus, a vulture forever eats
at Prometheus’s limitless liver.
In reading, it’s the heart that beats
as our benefactor and giver.

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If you read only lofty lines
You’re a reading giraffe
And likely drink wines
From a crystal carafe.

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After dark (trust me, Anna-Marie!)
A female gnu doesn’t roam the Savannah.
She reads, dances, has friends to tea.
Learning comes before loving (thinks Marie-Anna!)

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Lie on the sofa reading, petting a
dog with wooly white hair.
Have another cookie, forgetting a
while: Mother Hulda’s out there.

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It wouldn’t be fun to swim the Atlantic;
A shark would bite you. However,
Moby-Dick on the beach would be romantic,
and the shark will know that . . . never.

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To read hares have no time,
run an endless race instead.
The hedgehogs read a rhyme
And win the race in bed.

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May the paper be your hound
and faithful friend canine.
On the doorstep he is found,
And never in the headline.

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The desert is a book; the camel reads
and dreams of an oasis. The caravan
Moves on. The camel heeds
and clears his nose of sand.

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You mighty centaurs, combinations
half and half of man and horse,
doubly honored by ancient nations,
For me you’re only half the worse.

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A crow circles over house and sty:
Reviewer in the purlieu!
I trust he won’t peck out my eye?
Remember: I’m a crow too.

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Cancer, Leo, Virgo help us
mark our page at night.
A bookshelf to illumine us
Until they yield to light.

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Edifying reading, harmless lamb.
You can praise it as allegory,
Warmly embrace it, and then, by damn,
Have it for dinner—end of story.

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Newsstand novels: they’re lice
on the literary body, a real pain.
Some itch, others find ’em nice,
Critics pick the nits in vain.

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City mouse and country mouse,
an enmity never to cease.
Now both gnaw in my house
on Kant’s Eternal Peace.

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The mole, whose passages are hewn
below the earth where he belongs,
learns all about the sun and moon
listening to Orphic songs.

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When going to China, don’t take your pup,
take a thick book, that’s my advice.
Someone will catch and cook him up.
No one fries a book with rice.

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Neglect not the nightingale renowned,
read or write a love-letter!
She fills your heart with joyful sound;
If you’re ill, you’ll soon feel better.

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If you’re a “rational animal,” then
give the orangutan a book!
He has a soul and mind like men,
and wants to look in every nook.

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In Germany, a parrot can do anything
with his beak; his gifts are lavish.
Read and write with understanding,
but not speak Schwäbisch.

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When humans finally have to go,
will you other apes someday
read Darwin? Just so you know—
the fittest don’t survive this way.

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In Eden, whose deed
started this literary rush?
The serpent hissing: Read!
So now we read and blush.

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Children’s books, oh butterfly,
aloft ‘twixt heaven and earth!
You could still, before you die,
to a bookworm give birth.

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Ostrich, don’t stick your head in the sand
when the bookworld seems to be sinking.
Head up! Harry Potter’s alive, and
Now stop that negative thinking!

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The Biblical Noah loved wine,
and sadly was often drunk.
But he saved the brutes and kine,
for his ark was never sunk.

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If you like animals and tales,
German folk or French urbane,
There are three names, all L‘s:
Luther, Lessing, La Fontaine.

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There’s no wolf in the wood,
Grandmother, read on in peace!
Little Red Riding Hood
has a new book in her pelisse.

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The great gate of the Eden zoo
stands open to reader and beast.
We can hear the mixed chorus, too.
Let’s hope we’re let in at least.