we shouldn’t have moved from the Town
Dad was promoted and transferred to another prison
(she said)
who eighty three years ago
(thirty thousand days)
was born in a city
(on Kapitulska Street)
in the Town I wouldn’t have lost my memory
because we had family there
 (you talk to each other you give life to memories)
all of them now are under ground
(she’d have met with the family’s children and grand-children
whom she’ll never get to know and they‘re not aware she exists)
now I’ve remained here alone
( it’s seldom that I meet the children of friends)
this is the worst imprisonment
(she was thinking of loneliness I think of the loss of memory)
I tried
to remember
but those names kept 
changing vanishing changing
their crowds of people that incessantly
passed through and still pass through the city
with a perfect sense of the present  
they give the impression of permanent residents
(ability of the crowd
to create individuals
equal thanks to the single aim
of distinguishing themselves)
I don’t want to stop
naming in memory again
but again and again I lose the ability
to find my bearings in the days
that pass through the city
all appear as one
(according to statistics visitors to this city remain
on average one day)
every city
where I live
lasts one day
a single-use city
for the second day
I consume another
a city should be healthy
clean and recyclable
so that the least possible rubbish results
so that we have
a clean and recyclable
conscience when we decide  
to consume another
to throw the last one
days pass through the city
like images
I pass through the city
I assemble images 
I assemble the city
I record it on maps
I pass through the city like days
I record the days on maps
days as days
images as images
as I pass through from one street to the next
I decide
how I’ll speak what I’ll say what I‘ll do 
situations pass through the city like days
on the maps I record the situations too
action is
decision is
precedent is
images pass through the city like situations
they pass through the city according to the maps 
here I have left my memory
these are remnants
of the former city
the city a few days ago
it is covered with other cities as upper floors
memory that depends on chance
may be revealed only
in the building of a future city
its creators are reburied
on the next underground level
memory that depends on the memory of others
my memory will grasp nothing
the ivy tendrils remain powerless
a concrete wall is immune
to the organism of the urban plant
tones of grey surfaces are impressive from on high
two-dimensional transitions 
between vertical and horizontal
transposed by the mobile
my memory has nothing to grasp
maybe I forgot the essential
information which would
reveal in the disposition
of surfaces
the aim
maybe the information awaits me
around the corner
I would have found it
if I had managed
to go by the slippery vertical slope
but it is not certain if
it’s there
how I would afterwards
it’s never certain even if I am fully
it’s not certain how many floors are below me
I don’t remember which
the car is parked on
the lifts are full of people
passing through
the number of floors surprises me
someone stepped on my foot
I’m never the one
who presses the number
maybe that’s precisely what’s wrong
this way I won’t stumble
the information round the corner
if it were there
they’d trample it
the propagators
select buy and go
they know that nothing awaits them
they know which floor they’re parked on
they themselves await no one
accustomed to the dry urban storms 
they do not hear what
the thunders say
they do not distinguish
between exterior and interior
they do not await another day
they know it will arrive and they’ll be able
to choose for themselves
their nearest ones
to choose and buy
that right other
and new
day according to
their needs and thoughts
they need not seek
but avoid
learn get rid of
simple shapes and outer sides
of grey surfaces
Translated by John Minahane