| |
| | Estonian Literature Information Centre |
 | | I raise my light yellow Panama (four francs at the market in Brussels, the year before last), and the lady nods and smiles, and her spouse, behind her, returns my greeting by raising his own light-grey velour (fifty francs at Putor’s in Paris, two months ago). |
 | | Where, on a narrow old-town street (for Heaven’s sake, am I simply making all this up?), in an old, proud, mildly pretentious building belonging to a lawyer (no, I am not making this up, so help me God), I was born, eighty-nine years before my own birth. |
 | | In 1756
I was born, I existed, I grew up to be a man: I, Friedrich Martens. |
| www.estlit.ee /index.php?id=955 (4883 words) |
|