Zoltán Nadányi: You are Nowhere Anymore (Te már sehol se vagy)

No more do you give me your hand,
you don’t give me your lips,
no more do you leave your sweet scent
nowhere on my clothing.

Even in dreams, you are cold,
always you are ice cold.
Already left me in my dream
you're nowhere anymore.

Not even a tomb-stone or an urn
has been left behind.
You are nowhere anymore,
not on earth or down below.

I am just looking and guessing
where my dearest has gone.
For her just looking and looking,
awaken or in dream.

Because she is around, I know,
just fell behind, where, how?
I’ll be looking for as long as
I'm nowhere anymore.

Walking somewhere together on
the winding, scenic roads,
perhaps of an old summer, we
the old, the old couple.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Ferenc Juhász : Silver Poplars Tremble (Reszket az ezüstnyárfasor)

The silver poplars are trembling,
they would like to fly, glide
with wild geese around the moon
their feathers flickering.

The poplars are weeping and weeping,
their weak shoulders are shaking.
Spinsters with hair of forged silver
grieve thus their fate for lacking marriage.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Miklós Radnóti: Changing Landscape (Változó táj)

In the puddle steps the wind
whistles and runs outside,

suddenly turns around
and slams the gate behind.

The puddle flatly winks
and then the lazy trees
open up suddenly

their bird like tiny lips.

All around muddled noise,
even the leaves mumble,
small towers of dust are
being built in dust bowls.

The squirrel-brown monk stops
his walking on the road,
above a brown squirrel
jumps the branches across.

Then with great watchfulness
what moved before: stiffens,
the landscape carrying
the sky as a big hat.

When it moves again,
almost all is quiet,
the wind hid in the shrub
getting ready for rest.

Smiling is the meadow,
round and ready to laugh,
softly swaying from where
my lady comes along.

Seeing me, starts to run
towards me in the grass
in her hair floating by
golden rays the sun bites.

Getting clearer around
and becoming tranquil
the chased off light returns
embracing everything

and what used to carry
the sky as a big hat:
waving with the clouds is
the landscape, the hatless.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Gábor Devecsery: Exchange of Roles (Szerepcsere)

Honey-scent of linden
pouring through the window;
idyllic memories of
past breakfasts riddle
the presence of summer.
Enough’s left for winter:
honey on the table,
turn around the picture:
above - happy phantom -
linden-scent of honey
scents the present summer.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Mihály Babits: Fugitive Love (A szökevény szerelem)

Many years, many years:
our love is still that burns?

I think, this is not love,
the love we had is long gone.
Love set me on fire,
on fire then retired,
left me here,
left me here.

Like two beautiful trees
burning on deserted fields
their burning flames collide,
the two become one:
they are red,
they are red.

Two oil wells, not two trees,
collide with their burning tongues -
they are deep, they don’t burn out.
Love already has gone far,
is laughing,
is laughing.

Who needs love here anymore
my dearest of all?
I can only love you the way
as I am loving myself,
blazing and scorching, cruelly

and the fugitive love behind,
as I feel it, is laughing.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Antal Hidas: Loving You - I Am Alive (Míg szeretlek - élek)

As long as you love me

I will live, I won't die.

Guide me as Polaris,

my fear is not to die.

No time, no distance

can break or destroy.

Your ever growing love

dissolves all this horror.

Storms can drag me around,

winds can whirl me about:

and wanting it boldly

this dread I do carry.

I do love you more than

I ever loved before.

Listen to the growing

grass singing a swishing song:

spring will come, spring is here . . .

Life is marching along,

it’s burning in the spring . . .

Loving you - I am alive!

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Gábor Garai: I Am With You (Veled vagyok)

Do you feel when you’re worried or sad, 

I am with you, I talk to you;

as I also hear your sad sigh waft 

to me when I have my trouble!

I cannot ever live without you;

you see, if you are far or near 

- although your sweet charm is all around - 

your bitter joy embraces me. 

We who became one in pain, in the

forbidden zone (and in sin - would

the saints say!), will we find one fine day

our word of mutual grace?

Will we find it? We would search for it,

hungrily until judgement day!

Till this unlikely light shines on us 

the diamond-moon of our faith.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Jenő Dsida: Every Day Ends in the Evening (Minden nap esttel végződik)

Every day ends in the evening.
All the noise, all ends in silence.
Everything ends with something that's nothing
and suffering becomes a dead letter.

They close the windows here, there, everywhere,
dark shutter-eyes without any reason
embrace my face, pull it to their own.
Every day ends in the evening.

I'm looking for a gate with no angel,
looking for those still open eyes
that tell me: I understand you.
Yet, all the noise, all ends in silence.

They also lock the churches at this time of night,
God wraps himself into his spiraled,
heavy and dense many-pleated coat -
everything ends with something that's nothing.

Nobody may talk as late as that time of night,
the beggars huddle together under caved bushes,
the crickets are chirping. It's evening.
And suffering becomes a wordless poem.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Mihály Váci: At the End (Végül)

Nothing matters at the end, nothing at all but

to be loved!

Ah! To want someone as much as to even endure 

not to be loved!

Oh, those escapes, then to hang on! The only desire       

is to be loved!

Afraid to be alone. An embrace! And you will endure

not to be loved.

Mellowed from loneliness, and the only wish at the end is 

not to be scorned.

To experience illness, disasters and silvery Christmas Eve

without anyone, alone?

To realize the passing time, what is now, what is 

still going to be, alone?!

Ah, no! Nothing matters at the end, nothing at all

- not even to be loved.

Oh, at the end, he only cries, wants to still love someone,

wants to still love someone.

To have someone who would let you: - think about you 

One or two nights. 

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Anna Follinus: Myself (Magam)

Someone else shares the bed.

This year it’s me: myself.

The faceless can undress

only to leave a mask.

Message from Á. at night.

A sharp and waking tone.

The rhythm of the heart-

bell had been broken off.

Usually talkative,

now behaves like a fish…

Waiting for some feelings

to reach you but then slips

away from you withdrawn

for cannot be united with

the one who had met and

took on eternity.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Anna Follinus: Between Two Silences (Két csend között)

You conceal a name only,

the other hides all that's behind it.

You question who it can be –

asks you back: who you want it to be.

Teach me to be yourself please –

you implore between two silences.

Only the grey eyelashes,

not what has been broken, are falling.

But at night when you’re asleep,

nestling against you, in your dream

makes birds fly and chases deer,

frightened of itself, into your sleep.

Getting up at dawn, in silence

sneaks out of your room leaving behind

just a blanket on your bed,

like frightened ants their crumbs behind.

Then, still snuggles up to you,

pokes around you looking for spring.

You will see – when touching you –

the fingers are swinging with the reed.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Anna Follinus: Between Transience and Eternity (Mulandóság és öröklét között)

In loneliness I am also alone.
I’m learning to talk without vocal cords.
There is no relief, no support at all.
After one word I stop, I do not talk.

It is cold, I wrap my coat around me.
I only listen to the sound of movements.
Without silence there is no destiny,
neither is there any peace left for me.

When I point at myself I look at you.
I search for the person I could be in you.
Every day I write a letter to you,
yet every evening slips by without you.

Then desires mount above me in bed,
and at times they also come and lift me.
However, now I am defenseless when
you embrace and yet do not embrace me.

That the kiss is: just a flower head hanging.
That your chest is: between earth and fruit tree.
I would tie your far away world to me –
tying transience to eternity.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Anna Follinus: From Word to Word (Szótól szóig)

To the 50th anniversary of Attila Gérecz’s death

To survive someone else’s death
is as impossible as to survive
your own. The one who hopes for more
is going then point behind himself.

Where did we leave those still alive? -
my mirror finds only unknown faces.
Would there be just one among them
offering himself to be touched by me?

Whom this fate invoked a poem,
would he discover where that sickle moon
had cut away from his own soul
what he did have way back in his childhood?

Klauzal Square is bare tonight.
From word to word the silence is spreading.
Don’t look here for the sot of glare,
bright light, behind the Sun you shall see it!

What, don’t you see it? … Featherless,
who’s going to redeem you but yourself?
How far do you – broken ridge-arched,
lonely hill range move from the poem?

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

István Vas: In Golden Net (Arany hálóban)

The pheasant is pacing in the golden net,

           his crest is blue and dark.

On heavy silver gown of golden embers:
          the twilight-sky.

The calyx of the purple peony-shrub
           pouring powerful scents,
with its golden foliage happily smiles
           the young elm branch.

How you belonged to be among these flowers,
           your flower-petal hair.
A dancing leaflet on the old twig, you are
           so far away!

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Lőrinc Szabó: What Can be Saved (Ami menthető)

I am tired of sadness, it has
tortured me long enough, and now,
I am looking at it with anger
as if it was some kind of grime,

I look at it like an enemy,
as I must, with hostility:
it is too easy to be sad and
I have no more time for it.

Indeed I don’t, since from morning till
night I’m working for my children,
I have less money than last year and
my heart has gotten even worse,

and this will continue through my life,
it can only become worse, thus
I do try to endure it all, and
if ruined, I don’t mind at all:

this is how I am trying to save
whatever I can from my life,
and once in a while I may perhaps
be even happy for a short time.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

György Somlyó: A Tale of the Hornbeam (Mese a gyertyánról)

Standing in entire yellow amongst winter-stripped trees alone

As if it was still bringing forth but yellow foliage
And why indeed must the foliage be green

Why does the sunshine not reveal yellow or purple from the lamina of chromatophores
Dresses up in the death of summer – that is also part of its life
Standing under it
With thousand candle lights around you
The silence is waving in yellow

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Sándor Rákos: Picture of a Tree in the Reflection of the Creek (Fa képe a patak tükrében)

I know, I discovered rather early,
that what I see is reflection only,
deceptive illusion, not a real tree,
although has a crown as well as big leaves,
yet no drunken bird wants to sing on it,
the bird only alights on the real tree -
alights on the real tree? But what looks real
is it not a reflection of something
even more genuine that stands somewhere -
and the most ancient bird sings on that tree?

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Margit Kaffka: I Have No Faith (Nem hiszek)

A tired butterfly had swung while dying
From ravaged twigs under a brownish leaf.
The subdued shadow of pallid foliage
Quaveringly chased the autumnal beams.

This life has been a very sad fairy tale.
Hundreds of birds were ready on the tree.
And they all chattered as a farewell to me
About my summer never to return.

The night has fallen after my bitter sigh,
And the sky became flooded with tearful stars.
Dreams came to pay me a visit on that night,
With as bright light as never seen in years.

My little room was very small and narrow,
Yet, able to hold a whole fairyland.
– And I dreamt about happiness, great and bold,
About great, happy fairy tale I dreamt.

I had often dreamt of heavenly beauty
And with aching heart I always awoke.
Enough! I do not want to dream anymore,
Or, to weep over perished hopes, no more.

I know: the sober, grey morning comes next day,
A blanket of fog and cold. It'll be sad.
Even if happiness came along today,
I still would not trust it. I have no faith.


1901

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

Margit Kaffka: A Wanderer’s Song (Wherever I go fields of flowers show) (Vándor ének (Amerre járok, nő virág))

Wherever I go fields of flowers show: –
As I pluck at them – it's you I think of.
The prettiest rose I would send you now,
You are far away, there is no way how, -
It would fade away if arrived at all!

I have a pigeon, – with wings that are white, –
I would send it to you for a reply,
I know it is fast when it is in flight, – but -
It has a nest at the edge of the forest,
Never reaching you, – it would stay behind.

And deep inside my heart – my dearest man,
Even my melody becomes pointless.
Would the current of showers carry it, ---
See, will get lost in far away valleys,
I don't trust it with the song my heart has.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath

György Petri: I Would Like to Know (Szeretném tudni)

I would like to know why I am still around,
when no one here has any use of me.
I am rolling about like a worm in dust
without any future, homeland or spring.
I miss intensely the universalism,
if existed, I could be back on my feet.
I am guilty, I have worked very hard
on completely ruining my own paradise,
for I was too conceited, being a fool,
anything, I thought, I'd be able to do.
(Or rather, I thought, would I explode like a bomb?)
I don't know, I don't know... Pure reason?
Eats away at reality just like mould:
this much has it amounted to - pure reason.
And disgusted, had enough of ourselves:
our body is finished, above it floats the spirit.

Translated by: Maria Bencsath