City Centre

Something comes to mind. Does not hurry or turn corners like the carriages wanting to go from Stephansplatz into a side lane, but turns the corner like the street itself, contains button shops and coffee houses, opens and conceals much, shows the shop windows and everything on display in front, and leaves the store rooms in the dark.

I know about the chocolate cake, about the wedding of Joachim and Anna, which they have forgotten, about Jew’s Lane where the wind blows. Thus heaven helps us.

Let the sun become dimmer! There are wool and shoes for sale in the side lanes. And a narrow flight of steps, overgrown with grass, leads down.

The places we saw look at us.

Jew’s Lane

Cobble stones. The skulls of sacrificial animals no longer adorn our streets. Our pride has vanished.

Behind our walks the clocks tick into the grey light. Young men smile and ask for our wishes. No Red Sea roars there. Only our laundry still dries in the east wind. It happened because we didn’t wait until nightfall. When the sun set we started out after it.

And here is the place where we grew tired, here we built houses. Here the sun went down, here we bent our backs without bowing.

Since then grass grows between the cobbles.

By the Canal

The sectarian lives on the bank. The ice-grey water runs past there. Whoever visits him receives gifts of food and woolen clothing. The sectarian one day recognized God, he didn’t need a moment. You are in his embrace.

The poultry farm is also not far. The pigeons trip about there: the crested pigeons, with white spurs on their feet. They fly up and plunge back into the yard and stay on the ground till evening comes. Their helmets nod. Where the roof ends the pheasants give shade with their brown wings. The strange roosters stand on one leg.

Who looks forward to snow and ice, who saw the wolves on the other side? It was the children who played on the barge. They have gone home. Heaven watches over all destined to be sacrificed.

In the Werd

The high sea from the ghetto, spring tide from the hospital gate, water from the stone. Here they embrace each other, here they flare up high when everything is clear, here the dust is mute. The feast is here. Your grandchildren are long gone.

Come on out now, the midday light will rebuild the pier for you so you can land, green flies welcome you in the name of the coast. The freight offices are closed today, sun spots open the foreign land. Your grandchildren will not return.

Three lanes further, the path to the resurrection leads down to the river. Hardly anyone walks there, but the old women have put lavender under their linens and violet cloths inside their wardrobes. Angels keep watch.

Josephsstadt

Afternoon school, house for the blind, lost coin on the quiet square. I am invited here: today at four. If I came just a little later there would be nothing here anymore except for the walls of the hospitals, the prisons in the distance, ravens in the grey skies.

But where would lower railings be, milder smoke and I myself, where would I be? He who picked up the coin, did he pick us up, too?

(All translations from the German by Eva Bourke)