Staircase in S. Giusto, Trieste
I have gone through the whole city.
Then I walked up a steep ascent,
densely populated here, desert over there,
shut in by a low wall:
a cosy nook where alone
I sit; and it seems to me that where it ends
the city ends, too.
Trieste has a sulky
gracefulness. When one likes it
she is like a harsh and ravenous rascal,
with blue eyes and hands too big
to give a flower;
like a love
From this uphill street every church, every alley of hers
I discover, whether it leads to the encumbered beach,
or to the hill where, on the stony
top, a house, the last one, clings to it.
every thing a strange
air circulates, a tormenting air,
the native air.
My city, which everywhere is alive,
has a nook made for me, for my life
pensive and averse.
(Trieste by Umberto Saba)