FOUR TRANSLATIONS FROM THE HUNGARIAN
 

WHITE

by Sándor Kányádi

Jasmine loam.

Decomposing peals of bells.

Businesslike funeral parlor staff,

horses clattering with indifference.

Why black?

Squeaky, sparkling white

might break the edge of spade

or pickax.

White, let’s have white

in a drunken feast!

Amen.