"And there slid from the heavens/ to the tips of cypress trees/ and from their trunk to me/ God’s compassionate mercy:/ 'Too much have you tired/ in the endless croaking of frogs'."
Translated by Panagiotis Tourikis Trudging, I gathered sounds with my hands loading them onto my back: here a bundle of weeping, here an old woman thundering curses, here urns in a heaviness of soft lamentation and quiet pleading. Upon reaching the black trees high on the hill, I was already a hun...
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