@georgeszirtes.bsky.social
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georgeszirtes.bsky.social
AUTUMNAL

Now the rains have come
and days cool and shorten, time
curls around itself

like a soaked cat. But
now and then the sun will out
to ease the path down.

Autumn is our time.
All that late fruit - pears, apples -
and dead leaves piling

in rust-red gutters.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
A 25 minute film based on interviews with me in England and in Hungary on the occasion of being awarded the King's Gold Medal for Poetry. The film is in English with Hungarian subtitles

www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbNz...
Az irodalom hazatalál – Portréfilm George Szirtesről/ Literaure Comes Home: A Film on George Szirtes
YouTube video by literaTV
www.youtube.com
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
SOMEWHERE IN LANGUAGE

Somewhere in language
there is space for the world. See!
Stand there and watch it

appear then vanish.
In script, in the yawning gap
between parts of speech,

there is a house, night,
dogs, vicissitudes, murder,
delight, the absurd

or that’s what we say.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
Spring waits on summer

Spring waits on summer
like an enthusiastic
bride properly dressed

for the occasion.
Hawthorn, apple blossom, whites
bobbing in the wind

in mild excitement.
Weddings are in season now.
Surely something good

is in the offing.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
You turn off the light
and sense the room rearrange
itself around you

like a different space
where you yourself are different.
So simple to leave

a world. So simple
to stand still. Now you are here,
now gone. Turn it off

and walk, keep walking.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
THE DOOR

After a warm day
the coolness of evening shocks
the skin. It pleases

and revives something
that must have been felt after birth
when the world entered

through a sudden door
and announced itself. How cold
everything can be,

it says. How alive.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
THE LOST

When they arrive, they
listen to their own breathing
with rapt attention.

Long trees lean in. Light
hangs on the wall. Birds repeat
their usual calls. Life

attends on such things.
To be lost requires intense
concentration. Night

will wait on their dreams.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
Night in Budapest
in a quiet district past
midnight. The sleepless

turn in silent beds,
listening to their own thoughts,
neighbours in courtyards

locked on to their lives.
Where would night be without them?
Where are the bright moons

of their faint breathing?
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
Now it is quiet.
Friday night streets are silent
and the pubs have closed.

You would not believe
alternatives existed
except in nightmares

lurking round corners
of the imagination.
The windows are closed

against the frail wind.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
The night is frozen
in its long moment. The stars
are frozen to night.

Sooner or later
morning will come to melt stars
into pools of light

and clocks into time.
There will be voices speaking
of the loneliness

of clocks and cold stars.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
FIRST DAY OF SPRING

The first day of spring
spreads its palms to receive light
and buds and first growths.

How keen the world is
to expand into itself,
to full ripe blossom

and mild temperatures.
Demons of frozen nights have
nowhere to go but

there where it's coldest.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
There used to be a country called America.
Reposted
bloodaxebooks.bsky.social
Our February books are out today! New poetry books by Belgium's Charlotte Van den Broeck, Romania's Ana Blandiana, & Hungary's Krisztina Tóth (trs @georgeszirtes.bsky.social).

Our online launch event featured readings and discussion from the poets & their translators.
youtube.com/live/SiYFLYP...
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
After the rain

After the rain stopped
they stepped out into fresh air.
Air was what they breathed,

sharp as blades of grass,
multicoloured like the day.
Always there’s something

to hope for and this
was as good as it would get
as if the earth could

spin faster, spin free.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
Evenings, Midnights

Those empty evenings
when time sits on its bare hands
and closes its mouth.

Those evenings waiting
for a midnight that never
arrives. Those evenings

when world holds its breath
hoping history turns up
with gifts of kindness

so long overdue.
Reposted
thepaulconnolly.bsky.social
Across the two books, a wide range of forms are on show: sonnets, prose poems, abecedarian, villanelle, ekphrastic meditations. The #poets discuss how form and subject interplay. George Szirtes (@georgeszirtes.bsky.social) is particularly interesting on how a challenging form can unlock new meanings
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
VAMPIRE CHOIR

I’ve joined the Vampire Choir
We only meet at night
We constantly aspire
To make our music bright
We do have such fun making it
Till someone puts a stake in it.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
GHOST TOAST

I prefer Ghost Toast
It doesn’t make you fat
One calorie at most,
Transparent and quite flat
And when you come to chew it
There’s nothing to it.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
GHOUL IN A POOL

There’s a ghoul in the pool.
I know him from school.
He has work to prepare
So he shouldn’t be there
But he’s wild and unruly,
Naughty wee ghoulie.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
From the book published by The Paekakariki Press in 2018, 67pp, I'm posting this to see if it is legible. These tales were composed of series of Tweets.
georgeszirtes.bsky.social
Night Fields

A few late cars cruise
the Sunday street. A small town
dreams cars and a moon

that has to be dreamt
into being. It lies down
on its back, Venus

above it, waiting
for something like a taxi
to ferry it home

across the night fields.