When I asked Robert Wynne to join me as co-editor of a new poetry anthology, his immediate response was When do we start? Only
Translated by Adam J. Sorkin with the poet Without knowing the bounds, he lives beyond them. Great green oceans of leaves blanket the sky,
The last questions will be the first ones, undiminished, persistent. And when we conjure them again, the same cold wind will lift the elm
IX. Daddy called me tsiganka when I began to wander restlessly the world. Just like your grandmother, he’d say and touch my hair (the