Poetry
Summer 2000
Anabasis
From the Hungarian. I’ve lost my confidence in books and one unmated black leather glove—whoever finds them can reach me at 3400 kolozsvár hátszeg street bldg G staircase A floor […]
Poetry
Summer 2000
Our Reserves
From the Hungarian. We rake over the old ash pile and bake apples on the remaining embers and a squash. We bury potatoes in the root cellar, in softly sniffling […]