«A half-holiday for the burial. Of course, they punish / the provincial copper bells for hours; / terribly the nose tilts up like a tallow candle / from the coffin. Does it wish to draw breath / from its torso in a mourning.suit? The last snow / fell sombrely — white, then the roads were ...»
«I am not among those who left our land / to be torn to pieces by our enemies. / I don't listen to their vulgar flattery, / I will not give them my poems. But the exile is for ever pitiful to me, / like a prisoner, like a sick man. / Your road is dark, wanderer; / alien corn smells of wo...»
«The dull sounds of gas flares / Above the dead brightness of heads, / The tedium’s black contagion / From deserted tables, And there, among the sallow-faced, / Harbouring the anguish of the habit, / Trying to solve on the discoloured pages / The odious puzzle of being.»
«Either meadows, pray tell, or clouds, or water / Bewitched by the yellow moon: / A silvery expanse, a silvery distance / Above me, before me, behind me… Not regretting anything… wishing nothing… / Only that the sorceress’ mask would gleam / And that its tale would unravel / Into...»