City

I was born in a city,
but i didn't know what that meant.
I grew up in a city,
and I didn't know that meant.
Onde day I left this city,
and I didn't know what that meant.
One day I returned to this city,
and then I knew what that meant.

City, you monstruosity of narrow streets and stone,
city, crowds and people pressing at one,
city, the rushing, shoving and chase,
city, full of sirens, cars and trains,
city, full of pale faces that continually suffer,
city, at night your streetlight flicker,
city, which has no space for the elements,
city, where a tree grasps wearily in the cement.

City, which I could never tolerate,
city, which I will always hate.

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006.