Poetry
Spring 1980
19 April 1931 (Yesterday They Confiscated My New Book)
From the Hungarian. Yesterday they confiscated my new book; now I sit alone, my fingers round my ankles; today, superstitiously, I buried a red moth under the threshold, and […]
Poetry
Spring 1980
Rain Falls. It Dries….
From the Hungarian. Rain falls. It dries. Sun shines. A horse whinnies. Look on at the world’s minute flutters. In the depth of a workshop a lamp burning, cat […]
Poetry
Spring 1980
Sunday in Summertime
From the Hungarian. (Hymn to the Sun) Fiery wreath, you! incendiary of blonde heads of hair, brilliant, rain-drinking skyflower! Bush of brightness, you! Southern hissing of rivers, baby-animal-rearing radiant […]
Poetry
Spring 1980
Elegy on the Death of a Hobo
From the Hungarian. From air he caught voices for birdwhistling; he was cheerful, and boy did he sweat it on the dusty road with colorful verbs whenever the old […]