Site Meter

Sunday, July 22, 2012


In Bohumil Hrabal’s Too Loud a Solitude
a man holds a knife to the narrator’s neck
and launches into a poetry reading, then
apologises, explaining it’s the only way
he can make people listen to his work.

Listening to your work, by contrast, I feel
I’ve got the village flasher instead, who,
having opened a raincoat on his baby-bird-
on-a-nest of a little pink winky, proceeds
to wave it in my face for a good half an hour.


Anonymous said...

My Ukrainian translation of the three poems: :-) /L

puthwuth said...

Dyakuyu, many thanks for that!