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This poem is taken from PN Review 165, Volume 32 Number 1, September - October 2005.

Seven Poems (translated by Sujata Bhatt and Michael Augustin) Günter Kunert
Translated by Sujata Bhatt and Michael Augustin


THE OLD MAN
weeps: I eat the bread
of the unborn. Bitter bread.
But hunger hurts. And age
makes one complain. Alas, you, yet to come,
wrath will make your voice
hoarse, as soon as you
remember the likes of us. And yet,
I eat your bread
with a good appetite. Everyone is
charitable to his own stomach. Therefore
remember me with indulgence
as I remember you
without it.
                                                                                        29.10.03


THE OLD MAN
must go down and downwards
to Hades. To hell
...


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