The Verse of Alfred Lichtenstein Part 3

Seven men, otherwise very respectable, Forgot their children and art, Science and factory.

And they ran as though possessed After Lene Levi.

Lene Levi stopped On a bridge, catching her breath, And she lifted her blurred blue Drunken glances in the wide Sweet darkness above The street lamps and the houses.

Seven randy little men though Caught Lene's eye.

Seven randy little men tried To touch Lene Levi's heart.

Lene remained unapproachable.

Suddenly she jumped up on the railing, Turns up her nose at the world for the last time, Joyfully jumps into the river.

Seven pale little men ran, As quickly as they could, out of the place.

A Poor Man Sings

Those were fine times, when I still Walked in silk socks and wore underpants, Sometimes had ten marks to spare, in order To hire a woman, bored in the day Night after night I sat in the coffeehouse.

Often I was so sated that I Did not know what to order for myself.

Twilight

A fat young man plays with a pond.

The wind has caught itself in a tree.

The pale sky seems to be rumpled, As though it had run out of makeup.

On long crutches, bent nearly in half And chatting, two cripples creep across the field.

A blond poet perhaps goes mad.

A little horse stumbles over a lady.

A fat man is stuck to a window.

A boy wants to visit a soft woman.

A gray clown puts on his boots.

A baby carriage shrieks and dogs curse.

The Night

Sleepy policemen waddle under streetlights.

Broken beggars grumble when they sense people.

On some corners powerful streetcars stutter.

And plush cabs drop into the stars.

Among rough houses wh.o.r.es hobble back and forth, Sadly swinging their ripe behinds.

Much sky lies broken in these dried-out things...

Whiny cats painfully shriek bright songs.

The Cabaret in the Suburbs

The sweaty heads of waiters tower above the room Like lofty and powerful capitals.

Lice-ridden boys giggle nastily.

And s.h.i.+ning girls give painfully beautiful looks.

And distant women are so very excited...

They have hundreds of red, round hands, Still, large, without end Placed around their high, motley bellies.

Most people are drinking yellow beer.

Grocers, their cigarettes burning, gape.

A fine young woman sings vulgar songs.

A young Jew plays the piano with great pleasure.

The Trip to the Mental Hospital

Fat trains go down loud tracks Past houses, which are like coffins.

On the corners wheelbarrows with bananas squat.

Just a bit of s.h.i.+t makes a tough kid happy.

The human beasts glide along, completely lost As though on a street, miserably gray and shrill.

Workers stream from dilapidated gates.

A weary person moves quietly in a round tower.

A hea.r.s.e crawls along the street, two steeds out front, Soft as a worm and weak.

And over all lies an old rag-- The sky... pagan and meaningless.

Into the Evening

Out of crooked clouds priceless things grow.

Very tiny things suddenly become important.

The sky is green and opaque Down there where the blind hills glide.

Tattered trees stagger into the distance.

Drunken meadows spin in a circle, And all the surfaces become gray and wise...

Only villages crouch glowingly: red stars--

Interior

A large s.p.a.ce--half dark... deadly... completely confused...

Provocative!... delicate... dream-like... recesses, heavy doors And broad shadows, which lead to blue corners...

And somewhere a sound that clinks like a Champagne gla.s.s.

On a fragile rug lies a wide picture book, Distorted and exaggerated by a green ceiling light.

How--soft little cats--piously white girls make love!

In the background an old man and a silk handkerchief.