I was there. 1980 was the worst. Gray West Berlin.
Certainly I set to tones, great Herbert’s …. I did dare to, that incomporable Zbigniew Herbert poem, DER KIESELSTEIN / THE PEBBLE . We supped, we dined.
He had suffered. His few Polish vowels tittered, shivered. I drank to ” Cad a dheanfaimid feasta gan adhmad ? ”
I shivered.