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 peasant
wouldn’t give him a lift on his rattling cart.
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Rain Falls. It Dries….
By Miklós Radnóti, translated by Emery George
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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 slowly […]
Rain Falls. It Dries….
By Miklós Radnóti, translated by Emery George
From the Hungarian. Rain falls. It dries. Sun shines. A horse whinnies. Look on at the world’s minute flutters. Already have an account? Log in Join KR for even […]
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