I just thought I’d translate a nice poem I’ve found by Rolf Dieter Brinkmann. The original is German and is somewhere on the internet – here is my translation:


Hearing one of those classic

black tangos in Cologne, the end

of August, where the summer is already


pretty dusty, just after the shop

closes, out the open door of a


dark pub, owned by a

Greek – hearing is almost


a wonder: for a moment a

shock, for a moment


exhale, breathe, for a moment

a pause in this street,


which no one loves and no one

breathes as they go on through. I


wrote that down quickly, before

the moment in the cursed,


hazy deadness of Cologne was

extinguished again


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