NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING Poem by Nachoem M. Wijnberg

If asked why your café is called the Austerlitz Café,
you say there was an Austerlitz Café in the town your wife comes from and you gave your café the same name.

And then they say, I saw a Marengo Café not far away and a Wagram Café across the road,
and you say, they are owned by good friends, I have never asked them why they gave their cafés those names.

Then they ask if Napoleon was ever here or did he have something else to do with this place,
and you say you don't know much about Napoleon, but he was from France, wasn't he, not from here, and he conquered half the world, but not here.

Finally they ask if you are from here yourself,
and you say, no, from a small town up the road, but that town is so small, it's on hardly any maps.

Then you ask in return: would you like to do Napoleon, we still have the props and costumes from the last time we did him, you're free to take them,
but maybe you'd rather start with the revolution.

Who will do Danton, who will do Robespierre, who once saw someone buy something and it seemed so difficult he couldn't bear to watch,
and who will do Napoleon who comes in later?

You, you're always the proudest, you do Louis the Last and every day you write nothing, nothing, nothing in your journal,
or: liberty, liberty, liberty, or: nothing, liberty, nothing.

Your wife comes in and asks, did you go hunting this morning and did you shoot liberty?
If you didn't blow it to bits I can prepare it for dinner.


envoi
In your mind they are all ladies,
Madame Liberty, Madame Revolution, Madame Enlightenment,

and even if they're a head smaller than you,
they walk down the street as if you
can still see them when they're miles away.

You can see me, can't you, why aren't you saying anything
to me?

And the way you walk down the street? With so many
coats on top of each other
your shadow fills the street
you are walking
through.