What you cannot see through those windows
beyond the bare hill
is the hand resting on the table,
is the man lying still
on the bed, is the vague gesture
of the young woman in the hallway
as she remembers something that happened yesterday,
is the mouse hesitating under the draining board,
is the twelve year old boy putting on a record
of Wiener Blut that he once saw
his parents waltzing to.
All that you see is the all-but-naked child
on the all-but-naked hill against a naked sky,
as if what you could not see were the question
and she the reply.
Source: Poetry (February 2008).
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This poem originally appeared in the February 2008 issue of Poetry magazine
George Szirtes was born in Hungary and emigrated to England with his parents—survivors of concentration and labor camps—after the 1956 Budapest uprising.
Szirtes studied painting at Harrow School of Art and Leeds College of Art and Design. At Leeds he studied with Martin Bell, who encouraged Szirtes as he began to develop his poetic themes: an engaging mix of British individualism and European fluency in myth, fairy tale, and . . .
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