A Meal with Parents for Simon Krauss Poem by Hans Raimund

I try once more:
I talk about myself
But they hear badly
They do not listen
They talk talk
about both world wars
about illnesses diets
about the few surviving relatives
who want to have nothing to do with them
about holiday resorts
in which they can no longer drive
about the sudden death of a much younger acquaintance
about credit check books savings accounts
about politics
about the unbelievable corruption these days
about the approaching elections
to which they will surely not go
about weather

..............................................................

The cold makes them struggle hard the cold
that they still feel
and the obstinate demand for everything
the doctor has forbidden them:
fatty meat rich vegetables
fried potatoes beer wine:
all of which they swallow swill down
hardly chewing without hunger without thirst
almost without intention
just out of habit
And each of them alone

..............................................................

I know it does not suit them
the way I live now
They say they have nothing to say about it
they would hesitate to intervene in my life
But then they blurt out more questions
for years in unchanged tone and wording:
When will you finally go to the barber again?
How long will you remain abroad?
Can you really live from writing?
Have you ever thought about your pension?
But without waiting for an answer
she says to him with her mouth full:
Why do you ask?
You know he only lies to us

..............................................................

As they leave she slips me a banknote
folded small so he does not notice
On the street we say goodbye
The wind drives tears into our eyes
We shake each other's hands
We kiss each other on the cheek — quickly:
at twelve thirty there is news on the radio and the
weather report

I see them going
stiff legged on the icy pavement
They place one foot before the other
seeking hold on house walls and parked cars
with small frightened movements
almost without intention
just out of habit
And each of them alone

Translated by David Chorlton
From: Hardly the Blink of an Eye. Edited by David Chorlton