"I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in ...
I had no more alphabetthan the journeying of the swallows,the pure and tiny waterof the small, fiery birdthat dances rising from the pollen.
Photo by Ákos Szabó
Photo by Ian Turnell
I had no more alphabetthan the journeying of the swallows,the pure and tiny waterof the small, fiery...
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