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My precious heart, my handsome soldier son,
I write this letter with my blood to you.
Since you’ve had to take the Kaiser’s shilling
our world has turned red of a fiery hue.
The big decisive battle…
This is what he must have looked like,
Christ in the autumn, like me with my
twenty-two summers: still beardless,
blond, and the girls couldn’t help it,
dreamed of him night after night!
Translated…
I have always backed off from the word.
In the Thirties Europe meant French. But was it only then? Not in earlier centuries? A bloody lesson learned that Europe was Balmazújváros as well as Notre…
I lived, but as for living I was shiftless in my life,
knew always I’d be buried here when all was done,
that year layers itself upon year, clod on clod, stone on stone,
that in the chill and wormy…
My red blood is dripping, slowly flowing,
My panting heart slowly calms down in peace,
I lie here peacefully on a narrow stretcher,
And my hazy eyes gaze into the distance.
My red blood is dripping…
Just walk on, condemned to die!
in woods where winds and catscreams wail,
sentence in darkened lines
shall fall upon the pines;
hunchbacked with fear the road turns pale.
Just shrivel up, you…
our lightless awful days are passing
splinters of memories prick our brains
daily our Creator beats us using both hands
we are his dry weeds husked to the core
for us fire is no fire for us it is…
You’re so brave, you camp-followers of Cain—
after Baudelaire, yet! Shit-shoveling first father,
your visa was validated
when that cretinous cudgel whammed the wandering
flock’s shepherd, that day…
(Genesis 4:8)
for D. G., my uncle
Abel, brother, yesterday the primal crime awoke me:
I had murdered your snow-white dreams and damned I was urging myself
endlessly on down the night-darkening…
The dreadful angel in me is invisible
today, his screeching almost still.
You startle at its whisper. Is it
someone come to pay a visit
or a grasshopper tapping at the sill?
It’s he. Oh, he is…