søndag 27. april 2008

The Real City

that is here
and there
laced by maple trees
& shrouded in the
sun's reflexions upon the sea
-- frugal and almost
town of apparent nothingness

It is not that bundle of buildings
out there that is reaching for me --
it is me who is reaching for those
containers of human soul-business
that from time to time
look like visitors
from another planet
upright petrified trapped betwixt
so-called thinkable realities
beyond the reach of touch --
for I am unable
to place myself
in the face of such a relentless
phenomenon: the real city

My ancestors, perhaps,
might have lifted it up high
before my eyes & shown it to me
the real city
just after one
and before another
futile human duty

Perhaps they might have unmasked it --
look, there she is, the city of reality --
and then told me forebodingly
(while my gaze was glued
to the façades of houses
breathing in the autumnal dark):
and there you are --

It would have been too late, of course,
I would have reset the scenery
to my own short-circuits
wary assumptions
& fleeted moods
bent towards what I am tempted to call
His Majesty Myself
at the very epicentre
of human insignificance
at the edge of a shadow
lengthening across
the vacant lot

Translated by Nail Chiodo

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