“Song of a Small Town” by Guenter Kunert, Berlin 1950
From the poetry collection: Wegschilder Und Mauerinschriften(Translated by Dr. Manfred Keune)
There is a town called:Donora.A town in the midst of avalley in Pennsylvania withsmoking mills,railroad yards,steel foundries andthe big zinc works.Inhabitants: thirteen thousand.There is a town,where grass is not green,where on surrounding hillsfarmers are few,trying to livelike their sheep,blackened by soot.And when it is time to sleep,when thirteen thousandturn out their lightsthey can see,before they close their eyes,swirling smoke under the ceilingsof their rooms,always.There is a town,where they all sleepwhere there is no wakingthought of the daythat will be comingfrom October to Novembernineteen-hundred-forty-eight,called Friday, in the town,named Donora.And all will be sleeping,while the fog descends andmixes withthe steam of zinc,smoke of the mills,the rail yards,the foundries-on the Friday, that will be coming,on time, like death.And for none of the nineteen,who, at noon on Friday,suffocated already,will restlessness dye their dreamsthe color of blood.Not a breath over their sleep.Or in that of thefour hundred others,on whose lungsthis Friday will feast.A Friday like arabid, plague-strickendog-in a town,where grass is not green,which is named Donora.Inhabitants: only thirteen thousand,unknown.