Arany János - Győrei Zsolt (szerk.): The trill of the nightingale (Budapest, 2019)

II - „dead bark burning in a hole” - The World (Mark Baczoni)

The World

This world is just a battered car That wants to move, but can't get far;

Broken, creaking, by rot so struck It's bound in time to get all stuck.

The world's a faded overcoat By dust and moths to ruin brought Impossible to patch the wear As soon as stopped, it'll once more tear.

The world's an empty lake-side mill The lake, once sea, no waters fill Now dropless dry and cracked with drought, The mill not working as it ought.

The world is a fiddler, faded To try new songs, far too jaded Playing but half of every note,

Forgetting songs once learned by rote.

The world's a run-down country inn Poor shelter, whate'er season's in,

Winter you're wet, summer you sweat,

But still you'll spend the night there yet.

A common drunk, this world of ours Up the same old paths it powers Vaulting all obstacles around,

But stumbling on plain level ground.