Three Young Hungarian Poets
Summer 1981
Gratitude
Translated from Hungarian. The state holidays’ stillness that drives you crazy is no different from that on Catholic Sundays. In loitering crowds people are even harder to take than […]
Three Young Hungarian Poets
Summer 1981
Onion Speaking
Translated from Hungarian. I’m simply skin all through, even when you slice crosswise, dice me cubewise. Make mincemeat of me! It’s still the nothing you’re cutting which I don’t […]