I can’t wait for life anymore.
I’m being the way that’s possible.
And if it’s not possible, then no way,
If there are many days, it will be a long delay.
The sun disappears from my two eyes.
Only the lamp’s lights rise.
If there’s a fire, it will burn away.
If blood is shed, it will run away.
Whoever offends me, I don’t defend.
Whoever is sorry for me, I’m not even.
The military can be happy.
Since I can’t even be hungry.
Something happened to my sense,
But neither death nor patience.
I was kicked here, and kicked there
And not even once I swear.
I saw the fog once
Behind the great brilliance.
And I heard it once,
Getting over the noises of my disturbance,
Whether below or else above,
Only silence belongs to the poor.
The fog, the silence never shines.
I’m already out of fog, out of silence.
What maunders in my within,
Falls at the void of a pit in.
It’s an awful, big – big revenge,
Waiting, waiting until the end.
And to know, there are many more alike,
Until someone shakes one’s psych,
Until someone shouts by swoon,
From fog, from silence to the moon,
Up to the plague itself!
Who is cursing with curse itself,
Cursing the dog-keeper, the dog
And first of all, me in the fog.
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “KÖDBŐL, CSÖNDBŐL” (1925).