Poem – Kosovo 

(for Jan Tuzinsky) 


paper Goethe


in Serb

for four hundred dead children

In Schiller’s stone eye

gleams a tear of mercury

There’s a Gypsy weeping

for a little Romany fairy

at the bottom of the Adriatic


has an irresistible color

of the bluish dusk of the sky

from which falls

light and glitterings

like a gust of May rain

to fertilize the wounded earth.

Poem – Into The Blue

From morning we tirelessly squander ourselves into the blue,

which falls short of the border between water and sky.

Into the blue in which the swimming routes of fish cross

with the flight lines of birds.

Into the blue in which the slow movement of ships

cross the glittering fuselages of aeroplanes.

Into the blue

which though the power of its will

casts us back on to a sandy beach

together with other things over and above,

together with the dead bodies of fish, crabs and medusas,

together with fragments of seaweed,

tiny pebbles,

tops of Coca-Cola bottles,

together with scraps of paper

closed in bottles of sweet drinks.

We always read from the beginning

and on each side

these letters without lettering

completely whitened by the life-giving sun,

which knows very well whom to give a chance to and whom to not.

We read letters without lettering

and understand them frozenly.

We read letters without lettering

wept over by foaming waves

from which life comes,

sound, color and the divine.

The descendants of goddesses today dwell

in the endless rivieras of the whole world.

they declare nakedness

and godlike motor boats, cars, beaches, apartments,

music, films

and above all godlike men. 

At an ice-cream kiosk

I fell head over heels with one for the hundredth time.

It’s of no account

but it was her

with whom I shared a few experiences, memories,


I fell in love with her completely

without reservation.

From the ice-cream stands

naked poster girls smiled at us

and the portrait of a statesman

wearing a admiral’s white uniform

in the blue background,

which could represent water as well as sky

and in which could move

atomic submarines as well as jet planes

and neon fish as well as rainbow birds.

Poem – I am With You

It’s completely me –

height 180 centimetres,

measurements 108 by 83 by 107,

weight 73 kilos,

five military qualifications

and even more civilian,

brown hair, green eyes,

born on the occasion

of the Hungarian Uprising,

bashful and christened,

married with three children.

I don’t beat out a rhythm in English,

but I’m of the world.

Send me fan mail,

postcards and gifts,

books and pictures,

busts and bacon,

booze and flowers.

Support your poet

who, instead of you, behaves

like an idiot.

Write to my European address –


Call me, 

all of you, who love me,

who can’t live without me,

or least die.

Call the number 314 212,

my automatic telephone

will pick up 24 hours a day.

Don’t be ashamed of your feelings.

God is watching you –

at last do something stupid.

Send some dosh to my account

SSS 3478228.

Remit to my pristine account

your dirty money,

I’ll launder it day and night.

You can rely on me 

to spend it all on myself

as opposed to other

charitable institutions,

christmas clubs and other swindles.

I’m waiting for your letters,

spiritual outpourings

and filthy lucre.

I know

that all

the better sort of people are shocked

that the worse have not improved.

They can go

and get stuffed.

Poem – Family Study 

Always when I think of you

Dawn breaks above Buenos Aires

and the Atlantic has the inexplicable color of your eyes.

Exotic birds

nest on out TV aerial

until the announcer

has a pearly hairdo

and complete blonde smile.

She claims that eternity has already lasted a whole year.

The weather forecast

announces in her place

a rainbow parrot.

For our wedding route

it wishes us little cloudiness

and success at least as large as the discovery of America

or the record flight of the ostrich from Australia

to the zoological gardens of Europe.

Always when I think of you

dawn breaks above Buenos Aires

and the wind whirls the pamphlets

of all the airlines in the world.

The Atlantic does not admit any other continent.

It’s clear as a stone of precious clarity.

Despite its twinkling depth it resembles a question

which posed passionately by your body.

Children search tirelessly for an answer

till now unwritten in books

and cut out colorful pictures from it.

It happens at home

behind whose windows fireworks blaze every evening.

Always when I think of you

dawn breaks above Buenos Aires.

And today, too, the Atlantic is completely upset.

It’s completely bashful

as its accustomed only to invisible phenomena.