Frankfurt, butterfly of glass, concrete, stone.
Neon of course and Shell’s great scallop shell.
Beer halls as they were back in the old days,
Car headlamps with their galactic oval.
I do not know what I have come here for,
remembering or perhaps forgetting,
what guilt or punishment I’m to atone for.
I feel myself condemned upon this earth
hopelessly in love with a new lost cause.
Algol’s gleaming through its gossamer veil
of oil, sulphur dioxide and petrol.
While the urban guerrilla fights and dies
the metropolis sinks like a ruby,
down to night and fury’s sarcophagus.
This is one of the poems from 'Winterreise'. To see the translation of the whole collection, go to here