At the outset of WW1, a Slovak poet wrote 32 sonnets from desperation, to hope.
I am sitting in a hotel room today, feeling what this poet felt. Watching a war and what can I do?
I then remembered what Pavol Hviezdoslav did. He turned to poetry.
So I read The Bloody Sonnets.
Hopefully they help. You can read them too, for free if you wish, at wastedblood.com.
They are also available here on Substack in a draft form at bloodysonnets.ink.
