By Nicolas Born
Translated by Marty Hiatt.

 

As it seems to me the harsh light

in which I, silent, slumped, continue to breathe

– cleared-out room, chairs on tables

I was never so haphazard

 

A newspaper blowing in the stairwell

I feel like I’m on a ship, flashes

of brass and neat handwriting in the bureau.

Pain is ground down until the world

finds out. The world doesn’t find out

 

The earth repeated itself, I think we’ve been

sidelined, you and I, progenitors of nothing.

Familiar ways gone by the wayside

intercepted at whatever destination

 

Intercepted intelligence, make-believe life

Data monsters wanted.

Good poverty, its want puts me in a flurry

everywhere silent money exacts toil

 

From the window I see crowds

entering halls, harried faces

in the gushing machine, vacant morning

no one any longer for themselves, everyone for no one

 

Your sodden shoes next to you

you’re so steadfast in your feelings for me, that

it’s too much for me,

the crop glows, science’s pomp

the world beheld, figured out what’s not behind

 

Sun there, the ground between you and me is sifted

you’re so beautiful driven from everything

we can’t meet up inside

nor in this well-tended park

 

Click here to listen to Nicolas Born reading this poem in German on Lyrikline.org.