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Kenneth McRobbie

Summer 1981

Instead of a Flag

By Lajos Pintér, translated by Kenneth McRobbie

The one who says dear not only to girls—    but to woman-maned landscape, black-ribbon wreathed houses, homeland farms.      The one who can say my people, my people—         but within his memory […]

Summer 1981

Gratitude

By György Petri, translated by Kenneth McRobbie

The state holidays’ stillness that drives you crazy is no different from that on Catholic Sundays. In loitering crowds people are even harder to take than when harnessed towards some […]

Summer 1981

Onion Speaking

By György Petri, translated by Kenneth McRobbie

I’m simply skin all through, even when you slice crosswise, dice me cubewise. Make mincemeat of me! It’s still the nothing you’re cutting which I don’t contain, for there’s not […]