the city

In response to a friend's mention of Augustana's "Boston" on her blog (also: note to self):

The City
C. P. Cavafy

You said: "I'll go to another country, go to another show,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart - like something dead - lies buried.
How long can i let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I've spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally."

You won't find a new country, won't find another shore.
This city will always pursue you.
You'll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighbourhoods, turn grey in these same houses.
You'll always end up in this city. Don't hope for things elsewhere:
there's no ship for you, there's no road.
Now that you've wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you've destroyed it everywhere in the world.

Rather sobering, isn't it? I'm not entirely in accord with it, of course, but there are definitely bits which strike a painful nerve.