Postcard 3: Death Of The Violinist, Miklós Lorsi, Poem by jackilton peachum
Postcard 3: Death Of The Violinist, Miklós Lorsi,
(Oct.,31,1944, near Abda, Hungary)
Shot in the back of the neck-the body rolling over,
already taut as violin string just when it snaps-
I, falling down beside him.
Patience and dread flowering into death.
"This is how it ends-
just be quiet now ".
Dark thick blood clotting in my ear smothering sound.
And somewhere above me,
"This one's still twitching! "
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/19/2024 1:27:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
