For many years, the plough has famously been a key metaphor to articulate the perspective of Klaus Huber’s compositional work. ‘As the plough breaks open the soil, so too poetry (art!) must break open the present time to bring its deeper layers to light and let them become fertile. This work is the meaning of art and the constant task of the artist’—thus writes Klaus Huber in the programme note for his string trio Des Dichters Pflug [The Poet’s Plough] (1989). Breaking up the present time can mean various things, such as what is expressed in the elaboration of the quoted passage: ‘As the ploughshare only becomes shiny through the act of ploughing, poetry only comes about through the constant, patient work of making poetry.’ Huber repeatedly spoke of the congeniality between his own artistic work and Mandelstam’s understanding of the art of poetry; most of all, however, this congeniality was documented in many works, ultimately even in those written before Huber had this decisive encounter with the writer of the Voronezh Notebooks.