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Anna Szabó

Fog everywhere: anxiety was a tight cold sleepless night; that’s my life I thought and felt it glide swiftly away but I wasn’t part of the ride; my life went on without me inside. — Anna Szabó, from “This Day,” Wherever I Lie Is Your Bed, edited by Margaret Jull Costa, Marilyn Hacker (Two Lines… Continue reading Anna Szabó

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József Tornai

  I’ll write my arm out in stars, my legs in blood-boltered ash trees, so that words           may be transmogrified into all my organs                               one after another                               but then                       I’ll pull the pen from my hand,            and dip it into the river’s icy form, just as burning, molten meteors                         … Continue reading József Tornai

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