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This poem is taken from PN Review 277, Volume 50 Number 5, May - June 2024.

Set 4: Mondo de Melankolio John Gallas
Older and    Hjálmar Jónsson (1796–1875)/Iceland

Age forbids me now to trick
the land with flowers of summer rhyme.
The stiff and hel-cold hand is sick
And eighty-odd is too much time.

Apple    Manuel Bandeira (1886–1968)/Brazil

From here you look like a puckered breast
from there a buttoned belly
where still the birth-cord stalks

Red as love divine

Inside you tiny seeds
tick with infinite
and monstrous life

And you sit so simply
by my knife, fork and spoon
in this shabby hotel room.

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