Radnoti Miklos Poems Poem by jackilton peachum

(1909- 1944)
-Postcard 1: POSTSCRIPT

Blown by like a wisp of smoke-a drifter-
something dilettantish-never able t'fix on anything,
always knowing, in the end, they'll bury me:

year into year, a body ages, the blind maggot waits,
in the cold darkness one wakes to a morsel of fear.
And, all the while, over there,

relentless time's rifling my poems, striking through my name,
I'm sinking deeper and deeper into the past—
self-evident -but tell me- "D'you think any of th' work survives? "