Enzensberger

Short History of the Bourgeoisie (Kurze Geshichte der Bourgeoisie)


That was the moment when, without
noticing it, for five minutes
we were vastly rich, magnificent
and electric, air-conditioned in July,
or, in case it was November,
the flown-in Finnish wood blazed
in Tudor fireplaces.  Funny,
it was all there, just flew in
by itself, as it were.  Elegant
we were, no one could bear us.
We threw solo concerts around,
chips, orchids in cellophane.  Clouds
that said, I.  Unique!

Flights everywhere.  Even our sighs
went on credit cards.  Like sailors
we bandied curses.  Each one
had his own misfortune under the seat,
ready to grab at it.  A waste, really.
It was so practical.  Water
flowed out of taps just like that.
Remember?  Simply stunned
by our tiny emotions,
we ate little.  If only we'd guessed
that all this would pass
in five minutes, the roast beef Wellington
would have tasted different, quite different.



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