I wouldn’t love the past you,
but the past me definitely would
just as I fell in love with the present you now,
so even the present me loves the old you –
that how time is really entangled;
some theory says time is linear,
some says something totally different,
but I’m starting to see
that time’s been really just about you.
That you were as cold as ointments.
This was left over from that summer.
To cuddle in the shadow of your sentences,
as if under a tree.
Plus, the difference of pressure,
which turns the breath into sigh.
The problems like empty tin cans
were rattling in your chest.
I think I’m confusing you with your memory.
If I want to reach you,
I have to stretch through time
like through a mirror.
Back then you were the one
who I am looking for now.
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Péter Závada, “AKIT MOST KERESEK”.
Find someone to replace me.
Find me in someone else instead.
The role is playing me,
if there is applause, I do not bow my head.
I’m the one who doesn’t dwell
on the way, like a message,
no chance to say, I’ve felt here well.
If arriving, show me passage.
Not the first and not one of many,
not a question and not an answer.
The one who can wait any,
beyond the time where no men were.
Who is blinded lifeless
lives dreams in darkness.
Translated from the Hungarian Poem of Tamás Filip, “Sötétben éli”.
Will it worth it? was it worth it?
Curve that was in line.
Where is the strength and the luck?
What casts you off? Who leads you in?
From her, to her, in her, for her,
at her, to her, though not, why not,
to here, from there, there too, not here,
then if, so that, and so, though not,
always, once, impossible,
oh, go on, no, not that, no, no,
sometimes though, never again,
with her, to there, for ever after:
how many opened and lost roads,
how many traps, how many zigzags,
dying slowly, killing fast,
inside the heart, out in fate,
and to believe there’s a winner – loser,
we get to the line:
was it worth it? will it worth it?
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Lőrinc Szabó, “ÉLET”.
I’ve never considered myself living,
I’m the most dead without you
I’ve never considered myself happy,
I’m the saddest without you
I’ve never considered myself hopeful,
I’m the most hopeless without you
I’ve never considered myself normal,
I’m the normalest around you
I’ve never considered myself concerned,
I’m the most concerned about you.
If you leave me like the sun the horizon,
what else could I do but disappear like my sun,
whose heart could understand this pitiful me
if not even you feel, what you mean to me.
Translated from the Hungarian poem fragments of Attila Jozself, “Ha elhagysz“.
Standing on the edge of this forgotten galaxy,
we are guarding a life,
an innocent future
that we sent behind bars
to live on water and bread,
then we guard it with all powers
something that we didn’t let to live
that is already
in a place that has no escape,
but we are still guarding –
we don’t mind to look at it,
it would make us cry,
but we are the guards
who need to bear
of a life.
She will come so late if she she comes once,
So late and so privately
That even the evening wouldn’t dare to see the seance
Neither the road she crossed quietly…
She will come so late and privately.
I had already turned off the lights
And while darkness covers me sadly,
In the depths of my loneliness, I stifle my sighs
From the bitter heat of settling,
While darkness covers me sadly.
And when there is no more question in my eyes
And the light of all memories went out,
Maybe you are just thinking about me in silence,
Who is slowly being brought to me by the road …
When all memories went out.
Maybe she’ll knock on my door too,
She doesn’t say her name, enters wordlessly,
By then, sorrow will wear me off half dead though
And I’m not waiting anyone to come carelessly,
When she enters the door wordlessly.
She comes in the quiet moment of the evening,
As a belated, long-awaited illusion,
She will be lovely thinking
Magic words to listen to in amusement,
As a belated, long-awaited illusion.
Maybe she will wake me up in the dark
Her word, which will be softer than gloom,
And we would stay there quietly, speechless, stark,
Not even knowing who we were before that room
With silently around us the gloom …
Translated from the Hungarian translation of the Portugese poem of Cecilia Meireles, “ARRÓL, AKI EGYSZER ELJÖN”.
When the mirror becomes
a window of you
when the sky becomes
when I cannot feel
but what you do
No more good nights,
No more talks
About our future goals –
There’s no discussing,
Like a labored cussing –
Is it here, or we are cold,
Our blanket is unfold
Sewn from words untold –
There’s the blanket flying,
The frozen drops of crying –
No more close thoughts,
No more decent talks –
We are gone in distant holes.