The poetic self of Júlia Kustos sometimes stutters like Démosthenés, but it is enough to speak once, and already lightning flashes, stubble burns, and the meadow is on fire. In such cases, he shrugs and says: "Good day, I was the mouth." Words become touch as Pygmalion tries to make his statue speak. Immediacy and myth. Tenderness and pyromania. Forests and seas. He traversed with unsearchable movements, barely perceptible horizons. A trumpet flower put on as a nightgown, the pain of deer. It may even turn out that not only do we have to learn about trees, but we can also explain this and that to them. For example, we can whisper to the bark: "We hoped it would be nice." It's so easy to get disappointed, and so easy to get where we've always been. - Imre Bartók"We recognize distant command words too late: dissolved in smoke and noise, unable to find our way. Now we point in vain to the one in whose pocket, according to many, a matchbox rattled even yesterday."

Currently Publishing
Poem
52 pages
Binding: softboard glued
ISBN: 9789635181681
Author: Júlia Kustos
Release year: 2022