Sándor Weöres: Self-portrait (Önarckép)

My friend, you want to tell me that you know me,
look at my room: you will not find ornaments
there that I had chosen myself; open my closet:
no characteristic items there.

My beloved and my dog, they both know my caresses
but don’t know me. My worthless musical instrument
is used to the hills and dales of my hand
but cannot tell about me either.

Yet, I am not hiding – I just don't really exist.
I act and suffer like everybody else,
but my deepest existence is nonexistence.

My friend, I do not have secrets.
I am transparent like glass – and for this reason
how can you imagine that you can see me?

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Sándor Weöres: The Lindens Are All in Bloom (A hársfa mind virágzik)

The lindens are all in bloom,
the siskins they all sing,
the leaves soak in the rays,
but your heart falls asleep.

The girls open up to you,
like jewelry boxes -
you don’t even turn to look,
spiders have webbed your mood.

Your only wish - to have faith,
serve the Lord in Heaven,
cast off all the vanities,
wear only a hair-shirt.

The lindens are all in bloom,
the siskins they all sing,
the leaves soak in the rays,
but your heart falls asleep.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Sándor Weöres: Homecoming (Hazatérés)

Avid concern fills my mother’s eyes.
Deformed charges in my father's -
yet, for my homecoming, he brought up
his old vintage bottle of wine.

Old and sick is our trusted dog,
skin and bones . . . a pitiful sight.
He will be buried quite soon, I know,
right on the alfalfa hillside.

At dinner, a few words - then silence.
And that silence is yelling loud.
As if a platter heaping of food
was crying after tasty salt.

Mother looks at me, then my father:
is he the one who used to be?
And up in the sky, like in olden times,
the moustached moon is waiting.

We used to play much with our dog
a lot like some wild impostors!
Now, when I am caressing his head
he responds with wriggles and growls.

Why are we not able to enjoy
when food and wine are delicious?
Why are all of us here on this Earth
eternal strangers together?

Why can I not weep, why can’t I cry
seeing my parents as they age
without gently caressing their face
as used to do in bygone days?

The ivy-crypt is going to hide
then three deceased unknown bodies.
And up in the sky, like in olden times,
the moustached moon is waiting.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Sándor Weöres: Eternal Moment (Örök pillanat)

What you don't trust to crumbling stone:
design in the atmosphere.
There are sometimes moments in life
that become distant from time,

what the stone does not want to guard,
protects it in treasured fists,
does not have a future or past,
itself is eternity.

Like some fish after it had brushed
the bather's thigh then slipped by -
so you may feel the presence of 
God within you at times:

half memory in the present,
later it is like a dream.
And already before your death
you taste the eternity.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Sándor Weöres: At An Early Age 1936 (Az élet elején 1936)

The bluish fog of my dawn is fraying.
Precocious loneliness of childhood,
sepulchral aimlessness in the void yawning,

          oh, where are you?

The path had lead through bushy thickets.
Now I see fresh regions when turning:
you, blooming crops in fertile valley,
          far away summits!

My knees carry my travel fever.
And I take the ancient child I was,
with me in a tiny coffin,
          like an amulet.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Sándor Weöres: Canzone

To My Wife

I don't know yet what you mean to me,
my heart about you keeps me muted,
covered in veil you are my dear,
and to you, I don't know what I mean,
bringing you good fortune, I still don't know,
or my mortal ornament in gold and diamond:
new and sweet infliction,
through its trails it is hard to find the right course.

I only know my heart expected nobody,
and suddenly you became his company,
taking away life and death,
returning it to new magnificence;
within me a forest: homeless beast of prey,
flocks of birds from lightning hurried away;
my shelter will fall apart,
in case you failed to find your home inside.

I only know that with your pliant curves
mine is familiar almost forever,
with my head nesting on your breast,
in front of you, no shame, I often wept,
I hide nothing from you and you proceed
intimately on my wild Tibetan field,
wavering compassion,
or star-seeking eyes hanging on the night-sky.

Shattered nerve, this bad owl finds the calm,
blue taper of your eyes; little lady,
cuddling against your knees the dog
of sensuality is falling asleep;
and the King of Light, the eternal soul is
still silent inside, may not know your lovely
name and is not judging,
thus, in red mantle, in love, he is waiting.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Sándor Weöres: Toccata

To my Friend Imre Bata

As I get older
I do find:
my life is clinging
to the past,

my roots are deep down
pulling me
while putting up with
history.

My childhood was:
imps and fairies;
not radio
or a TV,

horses and donkeys
had trotted,
automobiles were
rarity,

followed by fast
groups of children
in awe they chased,
and ran after.

The sky was empty,
a blue field,
no airplanes had put
streaks on it.

Railway cars or light:
the gleams of
far away little
train stations.

My fifty years
had plunged deeper:
from tales and fares,
I uncover,

from memories
I assemble
my grandfather,
great-grandfather,

I had long known
Klapka, Perczel,
my old brothers:
as I called them

because Rákóczi
or Drugeth
thought that I was an
old beggar.

How terribly old
I am! Then
Platon may have known
me even,

but I was an odd
character,
and he saw a boy
prettier.

When there was not
even a man,
fern shrub bending
over my head,

the shrub had called me
an old man.
When was I born then?
Not ever.

I carried two good
fistful of
dust easily from
creation,

roving nobody
is my name,
Maitreya, Amor,
also Love,

I have been here since
ancient times,
but will die with a
butterfly.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Attila József: With All My Heart (Tiszta szívvel)

Without father or mother,
without god or any state,
I have no cradle or cover,
I have no kiss or lover.

Haven't eaten for three days,
neither much nor smaller shares.
Twenty years are my power,
I can sell my twenty years.

If nobody wants to buy them,
then the devil will take them.
I will steal with all my heart,
I will kill too if I must.

Will be caught and then be hanged,
be buried in blessed land
and death-bearing grass will grow
from my heart the glorious.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Attila József: You Know There Is No Pardon (Tudod, hogy nincs bocsánat)

You know there is no pardon,
useless is then your sorrow.
Be what you would be: a man.
Behind you, grass will still grow.

The crime will not be lighter,
no use shedding tears after.
That you are the truth for this,
be grateful for that at least.

Don't accuse and don't promise,
to yourself, should not be mean,
don't triumph and don't flatter,
don't follow that other crowd.

Remain to be redundant,
secrets should never be found.
Don’t despise this humanity,
after all, you are part of it.

Remember how you’ve raved
and have begged to no avail.
You became a false witness
at your very own inquest.

In ruin you called for Lord,
for man if there wasn't god.
And found instead wretched kids
in psychoanalysis.

You believed in carefree words,
believed paid supporters,
and look, never were you told
that you were good and not wronged.

Were loved by being cheated,
you can't love since you cheated.
You should squeeze the loaded gun
to your idle empty heart.

Or throw away your principles
and look forward to true love,
for you would trust only those
who trusted you like a dog.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Endre Ady: The Fate of Hungarian Trees (Magyar fa sorsa)

Leaves of Hungarian trees
drop and fall off in my heart:
in leaf and in full bloom, this
is the way I have to die.

I came from Sylvania,
from the home of the forests:
didn’t pray but foliated,
and entreated god rarely.

I poured flowers all over,
bloomed for worse and for better:
others were bearing their fruit,
I have blossomed forever.

I am old and a pagan
and still don’t say a prayer:
do keep falling to your death
Hungarian leaves and flowers.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Endre Ady : The Best Person (A legjobb ember)

I am entirely full of
Fear, full of weakness, full of love.
I’m a coward:
I am the best living person.

If I plan, time reveals my plan,
If I hate, my hate fades away,
If I get mad,
I will be mad until my death.

In cowardice and in madness,
Nobody glowed any better,
And when I love,
I am the greatest one in love.

If I have doubts, they will be gone,
Silence, if comes, is my cradle,
When I must go,
If asked to go, then I will go.

I can believe, await and cheat,
What I lack is to want something,
And without doubt,
I will die magnificently.
Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: Midnight Bath (Éjféli fürdés)

The lake is clear today, alive,
glaring like the light of a knife
breathing by waves, like a mirror
being broken by my arm strokes
in a slow fight. The profoundly
disturbed element is biting
back with anxious, savage teeth.
Defeated, lying idly
and eavesdropping. Only the stars
twinkle like fish in the water
of abandoned skies, locked in,
like swimming birds, meditating.

I am looking at them, their flight
in the merciless and deaf sky,
I, the orphaned monster, being
crushed by armor, by scarred apathy,
who asks for or expects nothing,
just stares endlessly and softly;
slippery, thick scales cover all
my heart, where deep inside nestle
good-sweet revulsion, resistant,
treacherous spears that the water,
the water and the slow deepness
have hammered in me unnoticed.

For the reedy meadow is waiving
down below, the clams are happy
underneath, thick, light-ripened
silence fills their heart with quiver.
And as if it heard a calling,
the night has begun falling,
seaweed carries me or the stars,
I don’t even know, where am I?
At an ancient celebration
where sky, water, and I are the
same and some timeless weeping is
being heard flooding everything!
Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: How Ambiguous (Milyen felemás)

How ambiguous emotions, what
diverse attractions we are living amidst,
yet, we are falling like stones do,
straight and without ambiguity.

In the net of how many forms of shame
and imaginary honour we flounder about,
yet, we are supposed to bring everything
that is meant to be concealed, in the open.

How
late we understand that the
obscurity of eyes may be brighter
than a lamplight, and how late
we notice the world eternally
falling on her knees.
Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: From Here to Eternity (Örökkön-örökké)

I wait if I have to, go when driven off,
my remaining modesty silenced me though,
the sound of my voice would not reach you anyway,
better to keep quiet about my complaints.

I suffer, tire out with obedience:
Isaac didn't ask his father, I don’t ask you either
why you keep tormenting me, while I silently do
what’s left for me, the obedient servant, to do.

By no means is there response to my resentment:
why did you feed me, not enough, nevertheless?
Why did you bedazzle me for many a daylight
if your radiance was not to become my sunshine?

After my death, while resting on your heart,
everything you've done to me, I will complain about,
I will have, at long last, a good cry in your arms,
aloud, with no consolation, I will only cry!

You have never loved me, not for one moment,
you may have given me food but never yourself,
I will cry forever for all the anxiety
I’ve had for you, myself, from here to eternity!

I am crying with you forever and ever,
as your hold is becoming more and more violent,
as my embrace is becoming tighter and tighter,
becoming happier as well as unhappier.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: When You Arrive (Mire megjössz)

I will be alone when you arrive,
the only one who’s left alive,
only down feathers fill the empty pen,
only stars are left instead of the sky.

Being in unburied orphanage,
like in a wintry garbage dump,
plucking amongst the heap of rubbish,
I am rummaging through my life.

That will be our absolute peace.
Even my heartbeat is silent,
ecstatic barricades of silence
surround us from everywhere.

The timeless and mere eternity.
It is yours, and no one’s but yours,
and it has been meant for you only
this marvelous simplicity.

Like a basket man without his limbs,
time has been resting wordlessly,
desire has lost its arms and legs,
a gasping trunk is all that's left.

When you arrive, all will be lost,
my house, soft bed both will be gone,
then we’re going to be able to
lounge around freely in complete joy.

Just don't steal from me! Don't desert me!
If you are weak, I will be finished.
Waking up in bed among pillows
to street-noise would be despicable.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: To Myself (Magamhoz)

Endure bravely your solitude,
I’m keeping records of you,
don’t let the stars direct your fate,
destiny shall grow within you.

When it strikes between corners of
wakeful shoulders with a hiss,
you are better than us, I know,
within you grief is blazing.

Be then like animals, crudely
beautiful and guiltless,
listen courageously, as they
do to their brutal secrets.

And one night, you won’t even know,
just like celestial strains,
bygone days will return to you,
the always immortal years:

nobody will find you at night,
belatedly and crying,
in vain they cross your yard at night:
only I see you. Or not even I.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: On a Forbidden Star (Tilos csillagon)

I was born on a forbidden star,
now jogging along on the shore,
the surf of heavenly void picks me up,
plays with me then throws me off.

Why doing penance, don’t even know.
Everything’s a hissing riddle,
don’t run away finding me on shore,
on this sunken muddy shore.

Don’t be afraid either, or run from
me, instead of calming my suffering,
hold me tight with closed eyes, hold me as
bravely as you would hold a knife.

Dare to claim me to be yours, as below
the dead have the night as their own,
your shoulder to hold my weak shoulder,
I can’t carry on any longer!

I didn’t wish to come to this world,
the void had me and was my nurse,
love me darkly and brutally, as
one left behind loves his departed.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: Fall Sketch (Őszi vázlat)

From the eavesdropping garden
trees are whiffing into space,
fragile and vast is the silence,
the meadow is looking for space.

Your heart is sinking with alarm,
the road furtively hurries by,
the rose bush is snooping likewise
at itself with a nervous smile:

far away in doubtful regions
grief is setting out to be born.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: Epilogue (Utószó)

For Pierre Emmanuel

Do you remember? On the cheeks.
Do you remember? The empty ditch.
Do you remember? Flowing below.
Do you remember? In the sun standing.

You are reading the Paris Journal.
Since then it’s winter, winter night.
You are setting the table nearby,
making the bed by the moonlight.

In the night of the bare house
you are undressing without a breath.
You drop your shirt, you drop your clothes.
Naked tombstone is your bare back.

It is an unhappy picture.
Is anyone here?
A wakeful dream:
without an answer I cross rooms
in the depth of mirrors as they’re lying.

Is this then my face, this face here?
The light, the silence, the judgment is rattling,
as my face, this stone is flying
from the snow-white mirror at me!

And the horsemen! And the horsemen!
Bothering darkness and hurting light.
Thin spray of water trickles down
on to the motionless porcelain.

I am knocking on closed off doors.
Your room is as dark as a deep shaft.
Coldness is blazing on the walls.
I’m smearing my weeping on the wall.

You snow-covered house roofs, help me please!
It is night now. Let all that is orphan gleam
before the day of nothingness
arrives. Let all of you gleam for nothing!

I put my head against the wall.
A dead city is offering me,
to the dead a handful of snow,
the snow of mercy from everywhere.

I loved you! An outcry, a sigh,
a fugitive cloud on the run.
And the horsemen at stormy, dense
trot arrive at the time of muddy dawn.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

János Pilinszky: Celebration of Nadir (A mélypont ünnepélye)

Who dares to read
in the blood heated sties?
And who dares
on the rough-hewn field
at the time of tidal sky,
and of the earth ebbing away
to wander anywhere?

Who dares
to stop, eyes closed
on the nadir,
there, where
you always find one last waving,
a roof,
a beautiful face, or even
a single hand, a nod, a gesture?

Who can
calmly snuggle up to dreams
overcoming childhood grief,
lifting the sea like a handful
of water to his cheeks?

Translated by: Maria Bencsath