Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Umberto Fiori

Time of Day

When it’s the time for coming out of work
you can’t walk anywhere.
Against the background noise, the voices
can barely be made out.

Half an hour or an hour,
and the streets are emptying,
the bar is shutting, the people
have already vanished.

Then on the other hand the houses –
you see how nothing hides them,
how day and night
in front of everyone
they stand there naked.

SPITSUUR

Als het einde van de werkdag is gekomen
zijn de trottoirs overvol.
In het achtergrondrumoer versta je
de stemmen bijna niet.

Een half uur, een uur,
dan worden de straten leger,
het café gaat dicht, de mensen
zijn al verdwenen.

Dan zie je pas hoe de huizen
zich nergens achter kunnen verbergen,
maar dag en nacht
voor aller ogen
naakt en onbeschermd zijn.

ORARIO

Quando è ora di uscire dal lavoro
in giro non si cammina.
Nel rumore di fondo, le voci
si capiscono appena.

Mezz’ora un’ora
poi le vie si svuotano,
il bar chiude, la gente
è già sparita.

Allora invece le case
si vede come niente le nasconde,
giorno e notte,
davanti a tutti
come rimangono nude.
Close

Time of Day

When it’s the time for coming out of work
you can’t walk anywhere.
Against the background noise, the voices
can barely be made out.

Half an hour or an hour,
and the streets are emptying,
the bar is shutting, the people
have already vanished.

Then on the other hand the houses –
you see how nothing hides them,
how day and night
in front of everyone
they stand there naked.

Time of Day

When it’s the time for coming out of work
you can’t walk anywhere.
Against the background noise, the voices
can barely be made out.

Half an hour or an hour,
and the streets are emptying,
the bar is shutting, the people
have already vanished.

Then on the other hand the houses –
you see how nothing hides them,
how day and night
in front of everyone
they stand there naked.
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