Immured mustard field. Found.

Last night, reading for the first time that classic of prison literature, Die Zelle, by a distant kinsman of mine, Horst Bienek, I stumbled upon a specimen of poésie trouvée no less poignant than any love poem composed by Neruda, yet this was a prose fragment (my line-breaks as original punctuation, page 54), and all the more powerful in its intensity for being written out of four years of confinement in a Siberian forced labour camp ... a vibrant memory for the prisoner that persists to shimmer in the dark.

The Field of Mustard

We lie down in a field of mustard,

the yellow blossoms sway before our eyes,

we look at each other,

we do not say anything,

I bend over her,

once I push my tongue between her teeth,

she draws back,

I write my wishes on her face with my breath,

she answers me with her breath,

for a long time we talk with one another

in a language no one speaks ;

next evening I wait for her,

she does not come.

Horst Bienek (1930-1990). Distinguished award-winning German novelist and poet. He was a student of Bertolt Brecht at the Berliner Ensemble. In 1951, he was arrested on political grounds by the NKVD and sentenced by a Soviet military tribunal to twenty-five years of forced labour in the notorious Vorkuta, a gulag. He was released due to an amnesty in 1955. His first novel, Die Zelle (The Cell, 1968, filmed under his own direction in 1972), focuses on a prisoner who, in the isolation of his cell, fights for mental and physical survival in the face of sickness, torture, and an uncertain fate. A first person narrative, it uses stream of consciousness to agonizing effect. The truly excellent English translation is by Ursula Mahlendorf.

For more found poems see: 

http://catherineeisnerfrance.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/poesie-trouvee-unsought-text.html

and
http://catherineeisnerfrance.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/way-of-seeing-ronald-searle.html