Péter Farkas has made a significant step towards something that we lack. He has found a perspective from which decomposition, decay or even fatigued desires can be described without giving the impression of voyeurism.
No one had officially told the schoolchildren in Cluj what they were
going to portray. All they knew was that they were preparing for a
celebration. Then it suddenly dawned on her: the mass of schoolkids were
going to portray the Great Leader, Ceaușescu himself, and she is going
to be his mouth.
Written poetry is aristocratic by nature, yet it is customary (it behooves us) to call the world we live in democratic. On what authority do I call myself an Odysseus, a king, a priest, a leader, and—well, yes—a poet?