In Memory of Radnóti*
God is like that, he’d never answer.
November - as if it was so forever:
blood is smoke, bone-marrow shuddering.
The beautiful beast would never skulk:
if I let it go, it would dash off.
The finger stirs and shoots in the pit.
* Miklós Radnóti (1909 - November 1944) Hungarian poet, who died in the Holocasut. Eighteen months after his death, the mass grave was exhumed and in the front pocket of Radnóti's overcoat his small notebook of final poems was found, with instructions in several languages to deliver it to the Budapest University lecturer Gyula Ortutay.