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You Were Still the Sun's There, and: Summer, Haloed, and: Sunday Before Christmas, and: E.K.'s Will

You Were Still the Sun's There, and: Summer, Haloed, and: Sunday Before Christmas, and: E.K.'s Will YOU WERE STILL THE SUN'S THERE / Sándor Csoöri translated from the Hungarian by Jascha Kessler with Maria Körösy I go north, up to the mountains, to look at Matra's russet woods again: the blu°, yellow, flame-red butterflies' campground near the spring. You were still intact there: a glowing masterpiece beneath the leaves. Death's thunderous sting fell into the abyss and not on you. I go to look at that abyss, the shadow of black flowers that rims it. And I go on to that slow stream of stones by Bearbone Rock. You were still the sun's there: it shone through your skirt, through you, through the haze of your pleasure and flesh; I go higher, to the trees, to the mulberry's myriad eyes, because I want to look at what looked at you, and what of you is not buried yet. 294 · The Missouri Review SUMMER, HALOED / Sándor Csoöri translated from the Hungarian by Jascha Kessler with Maria Körösy A hornet flies into my room, June's angel, the curtain's yellowed by it; the room's four walls, forests, and wheatfields pass before the sky's windowglass; summer strolls in front of my mirror, naked to the waist. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

You Were Still the Sun's There, and: Summer, Haloed, and: Sunday Before Christmas, and: E.K.'s Will

The Missouri Review , Volume 9 (1) – Oct 5, 1985

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

YOU WERE STILL THE SUN'S THERE / Sándor Csoöri translated from the Hungarian by Jascha Kessler with Maria Körösy I go north, up to the mountains, to look at Matra's russet woods again: the blu°, yellow, flame-red butterflies' campground near the spring. You were still intact there: a glowing masterpiece beneath the leaves. Death's thunderous sting fell into the abyss and not on you. I go to look at that abyss, the shadow of black flowers that rims it. And I go on to that slow stream of stones by Bearbone Rock. You were still the sun's there: it shone through your skirt, through you, through the haze of your pleasure and flesh; I go higher, to the trees, to the mulberry's myriad eyes, because I want to look at what looked at you, and what of you is not buried yet. 294 · The Missouri Review SUMMER, HALOED / Sándor Csoöri translated from the Hungarian by Jascha Kessler with Maria Körösy A hornet flies into my room, June's angel, the curtain's yellowed by it; the room's four walls, forests, and wheatfields pass before the sky's windowglass; summer strolls in front of my mirror, naked to the waist.

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 5, 1985

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