cemetery at River Savannah
temető a Savannah folyónál

leaning to the oyster brick fence
as ants order ants to labor
you seem to perceive
whips in their forearms

you won’t talk about the place
you ’ve visited in your dream
to anyone

with prewritten answers
you ignore the questioners

you smooth your forehead
the peeling of your skin
is wind blown dust

under the moonless sky
your shadow walks the sun
to the other side

Gabor Gyukic’s poems are feeling-full collages of good will, irony, and historical wariness.  Those who know nothing of Hungarian poetry, will find in English familiar but unusually passionate univers, kin to other great East European surreal wisdom-wells, but different also because the totemic animal of the Magyars is the horse (Pegasus).

—Andrei Codrescu, Editor, Exquisite Corpse, and NPR Comentator