It is not easy to be a poet; certainly not when you live away from the language in which you feel, see, and analyze everything around you. Emigration isn’t easy for poets, who live to seize the world in short verses. It is quite different with fiction; prose has its own rules, rights for reminiscences and description. Perhaps this is why Wioletta Greg decided to write prose even though for years she has been writing intriguing poetry, both serious and ironic, and deeply penetrating the laws of reality?
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