and when they...

and when they
gnawed at your soul
and you gave them
every piece, willingly or forced

there was still a bit left
that was not yours to give,
with his imprint and breath
in so much as he exists

Why won't you write me

And one last poem for today, to celebrate a "treasure trove" of old poems I found on an old hard disk. Written seven years ago, addressed to (but not sent to) Kinga.

why won't you write me
why won't you grace me

with a few of your words
I'm not picky any words

will do, anything kind
I'll read and take in kind

anything warm I'll respond to
anything warm to respond to

I keep scraps of you as keep-sake
flakes in my memory to keep-sake

tiny hints of a smile to treasure
you don't know how much a treasure

you're to me, I don't know either
shall I forget or hate you

I can't choose either I don't know how much I
love you

but if I did I wouldn't miss you
and any reminders of you

like e-mail why is it why can't you
mail me sometime

you can't be so busy
that you don't have time in two weeks' busy

schedule to write just a couple of lines
have I scared you with my cowardly lines

with their affection are you scared that
I may love and care for you is that

the idea what is your idea
of me do you love me?

Don't be afraid

And a poem I wrote nearly seven years ago.

Don't be afraid little child,
I know what you feel
I know what you fear
That truth is false
Cold is hot, love is naught,
That any small lapse
Will bring the collapse
Of existence crashing down,
Into the cold void.

Don't be afraid little child,
I know what you feel
I know what you fear
But these nightmares
They are just that, no more
Horrors made up my man
Withdrawals from what really is.

Don't be afraid little child,
Face the world, face it
With your fist, with all your might
I'll be beside you, around you
Grasping you from danger
No, you're mine, I won't let you fall.

Yes, I've made you suffer,
I wept in space, in truth,
If there'd been another way,
I'd have chosen it.
The Great Experiment is on,
To make gods out of filthy clay,
Consider not the worldly cost,
You'll realise its worth one day.

So don't be afraid little child,
You won't be taken,
I will keep you whole and sane
I will envy for you
I won't let anyone touch you
I called you and you're mine!
So don't be afraid, little child.

Two years

This is a poem written by my grandfather Apja (pronounced up-yuh). Unfortunately I can't find the original. Two years refers to the time he spent as a political prisoner.

Those blasted kids were again seized
All running at me: Apja, what did you bring?
I just stood there at the door
Already, my neck carried three or four
They reached my pockets, trampled my shoes
My case was quickly emptied flat
Trousers torn, hand snapped at
And all in a chorus, were shouting:
“Apja, what did you bring?”

Give them the grim look? But the beasts,
They well know: I can't wait for the evening
To get home, flooded by their noise
Filling every corner of my soul
With their buzz and bluster,
A rot bathing in life-giving water
The crippled body touched, enlivened
Making me healthy, quick and fresh

But, wishing to heighten the scene,
I shout, cruelly: "I brought nothing!"
And a beat in their small chests is missed
But their fright suddenly lifts
As Kisdombi, like a bull stirred
Stops, lifting his four-year old head
And stubbornly cries: "Oh yes, you did!"

His look cuts through my heart
While with his voice he chides
There's even contempt, that their father
Would swindle his own son or daughter
And now all the younger kids
Join him in shouting: "Oh, yes you did!"
I reach into my pockets, and search until,
I give myself up, and shout: "I brought indeed!"

Yes, but sometimes it wasn't a ploy
I brought nothing to quench their thirst for joy
Lost in my troubles and strife
I badly injured their hearts

They stand. "Oh yes, you did", carrying on in solid belief
Each one, another blood-sucking monster
"You did bring!" and they almost slobber
At the thought of a sweet in my pocket
They watch, faces exhausted
Voices go mute, lips in a quiver
Yearnful faces growing ever longer
And Kisdombi cries out: "Bad Apja!"

It was all long ago.. and I must think
Will they still shout: "Apja, what did you bring?"
Can we continue life from the point
It was so ruthlessly stopped?

I dream: I enter and the wild gang
Jumps on my neck, amidst laughs and cries
Kismagdus too, who was still in nappies
When I left her, not to see her for two years;
And now she dances round me, inquisitive,
Seeking to find who this hairy, big-nose is
And the rest can't but laugh:
"Who else, silly, but Apja!"

Will it be so? If only but!
For painful reasons, they will just
Stand there and cry
It dawns on them, the life
Full of joy, being no more
Only now will they guess what they've lost
Their bodies shaking with disgust
And in their eyes, two years of trouble and anger
As they squeal out the truth: "Bad, bad Apja!"

Where home lies

"Happiness, come home", by Zsuzsa Cserháti (she may have had a songwriter write the song for her -- if so, anyone know who it was?). Thanks to my wife Kinga for her extensive help, which has greatly improved the rhythm of the translation. Any remaining issues are my fault.. Original lyrics. Song. Kinga prefers this version (click on Letöltés, Film zenéje (mp3))

Between two rooms the silence, a distance greater than the sea
And once we called these two rooms, our home for all eternity
I don't blame you but you should know, every night I waited so,
And I'm not crying it's just, the cig'rette smoke and dust, that's what's bothering me.

Happiness, come home
It's getting late, come home
From where you come, I don't care
But this loneliness I can't bear.

The way you looked at some girls, often gave me quite a fright
 But I forgot it all, when you held me through the night
And there's no one happier than me, when you're around it's ecstasy
And I'm not crying don't fear, it's just the lights my dear, that's what makes me weep.

Happiness...

Outside the mist is clearing, the street noise gently dying down
I look at our son sleeping, all quiet with a tender frown 
 I hate dreams and I hate conceits, but I'll bear them if we'd only meet
And I don't really know why, since I'm about to cry, but still my eyes won't weep.

Happiness...

Last week

Unfortunately not all ambulances in Hungary are equipped with defibrillators. There's info on how to donate money for equipment to the ambulance service, unfortunately only in Hungarian.

I saw a man last week
   lying on the floor
Some medics pumped his chest
   then pumped him some more
Some men had gathered round
   soaked in alcohol
What was our man thinking
   just the night before?
No matter by next day
   he'd left his earthly hole.

Where the tree lies

Tamás Cseh. Lyrics. Song.

Anna

Three days in the northern wind,
Trembling and battles wearing me thin
Your smell on my pullover
Where is this leading?
Well.. what is this?

What a sickening, cancerous life
I look here, and you look there
For the place where our fir
Bends to the wind
And where flies its leaf.

That's how I'll fly away soon
and that's how you'll bend towards
that train
that I'm on
on the way home, alone.

Then I cheat on you for a year with my wife
And you'll cheat on me with your lover
That'll be autumn and winter
Full of twisted excuses
Twisted lies.

But this time next year homeward bound
by the window the wind comes round
and on my pullover your smell...
That's right, it's the only way?
This way? It's the only way?

Thus I fly, you bend and I watch you.
I say again, this sickening life
that's how it will bend again to the wind
that fir, that only one
that stupid tree, that only one
you stupid tree.

Just a dance

I regret that I've been so quiet lately.. I need to be more inspired and not let things weigh me down.
A pleasant song by a charming but troubled singer called Pál Szécsi. Original lyrics. Video.

Twas only a dance, that I asked
Then everything went as smooth as glass
We went home together on the road
And the rest I don't know.

Twas only a kiss, that I stole
A happy moment, in front of your door
You kept saying, "I need to go"
And the rest I don't know.

The door creaked, then opened further
Who should it be, but your stern mother
Growled at you, "come on in,"
"they'll be no more dates with him".

Twas only a dance, that I asked
But now I need more, come and be mine!
Marry me, first thing tomorrow
And the rest I don't know.

The door creaked, then opened further
Who should it be, but your stern mother
Growled at you, "come on in,"
"they'll be no more dates with him".

Twas only a dance, that I asked
But now I need more, come and be mine!
Marry me, first thing tomorrow
And the rest I don't know.
And the rest, I don't know.