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.