Here's a great poem from the New Yorker, "Old Marx," by Adam Zagajewski, translated by Clare Cavanagh. My favorite lines:
He couldn’t concentrate, rewrote old work,
reread young Marx for days on end,
and secretly admired that ambitious author.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
To me the final lines are the clinchers. (As I go off to beddy bye, I'll see if I see scarlet under my lids -- I suspect that may have to do with one's political persuasions, however.
Post a Comment