Egon Schiele
LA PETITE PROMENADE DU POÈTE, Canti Orfici, 1914
I am rambling through the streets
narrow, dark and mysterious,
I can see behind the glasses
Gemmas and Rosas* peeping out.
Off the mysterious stairs
someone is groping down,
behind the lustre glasses
are the gossips talking idly.There is none in the alley,
not a soul; some stars
in the night over the roofs,
and the night seems so bright.
I am walking, a poor thing
in the fantastic night,
yet I can taste my spittle
in the mouth with disgust.
Away from that stinky smell,
walking wild through the streets
and the houses get scattered.
I find some grass, lie down there
and get dirty like a dog:
in the distance, a drunkard
sings his love to the shutters.
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