The translation is far from perfect, but that's why I need YOU, dear reader, to provide feedback!
Your house stood here -- it flew away!
That you see and gather. What you fail to get
is the way your home met its end --
but it's a wonder it hadn't done so earlier!
Cos it wasn't enough for home
that your dinner's digestion
wished for the wine of these hills
and the bread of these plains.
And it wasn't enough for home
that you smiled and even looked
that way, when the maid
spoke in flavoursome Hungarian
And it wasn't enough for home
when at night, you put down your book,
swallowed a tear for Bottyán,
and said: "now he was something, that man!"
And it wasn't enough for home
that you looked out your train
and thought of the reapers:
"these people deserve more!"
And it wasn't enough for home
the three colours that you insisted
were once a symbol: liberty,
equality, fraternity for all!
And it wasn't enough for home
that you let your nerves
be traversed by the heady verse
of Ady, József and Tóth
And it wasn't enough for home
the rockets on Gellért Hill
the bouquet at Városliget
and the speech that cut through the bone
Or that dinner by grapehill
that chant, when from your glass
the moonlight in the wine
with tiger-eye, gave a quick glint
Or when you held your fingertip
to the sky, like every magyar
when the music comes on, since millenia,
our struggles told by Gracza, our arrival by Feszty
Or if, enjoying the danger
and lust of saying: "I told you so",
you listened to secret transmissions
/and to cool off, some gypsy music/
And the tall sky of Hortobágy
the long shadow of a seesaw well
and the crown of the first king
to give your coins meaning
And even if you called her your other half
and, though you judged him,
called your father dear,
and on the wall you placed a painted tile:
It wasn't enough for home,
wasn't enough for it not to fall
know that the miracle was this:
that it hadn't collapsed years before.
Because cajoling and lying
sticking the name of a king or leader
to some hilltop
did not make her yours
It wasn't enough, it wasn't enough,
neither the fidelity nor the tenacity
the stuff that brings a country together
and makes a nation out of a generation
And bravery wasn't enough either
Though they did leave their fates
To martyrdom, each on their own
There was still no escape.
For no strength, no wisdom
can be enough, to protect
that house, whose dweller
can't make it his home.
That you see and gather. What you fail to get
is the way your home met its end --
but it's a wonder it hadn't done so earlier!
Cos it wasn't enough for home
that your dinner's digestion
wished for the wine of these hills
and the bread of these plains.
And it wasn't enough for home
that you smiled and even looked
that way, when the maid
spoke in flavoursome Hungarian
And it wasn't enough for home
when at night, you put down your book,
swallowed a tear for Bottyán,
and said: "now he was something, that man!"
And it wasn't enough for home
that you looked out your train
and thought of the reapers:
"these people deserve more!"
And it wasn't enough for home
the three colours that you insisted
were once a symbol: liberty,
equality, fraternity for all!
And it wasn't enough for home
that you let your nerves
be traversed by the heady verse
of Ady, József and Tóth
And it wasn't enough for home
the rockets on Gellért Hill
the bouquet at Városliget
and the speech that cut through the bone
Or that dinner by grapehill
that chant, when from your glass
the moonlight in the wine
with tiger-eye, gave a quick glint
Or when you held your fingertip
to the sky, like every magyar
when the music comes on, since millenia,
our struggles told by Gracza, our arrival by Feszty
Or if, enjoying the danger
and lust of saying: "I told you so",
you listened to secret transmissions
/and to cool off, some gypsy music/
And the tall sky of Hortobágy
the long shadow of a seesaw well
and the crown of the first king
to give your coins meaning
And even if you called her your other half
and, though you judged him,
called your father dear,
and on the wall you placed a painted tile:
It wasn't enough for home,
wasn't enough for it not to fall
know that the miracle was this:
that it hadn't collapsed years before.
Because cajoling and lying
sticking the name of a king or leader
to some hilltop
did not make her yours
It wasn't enough, it wasn't enough,
neither the fidelity nor the tenacity
the stuff that brings a country together
and makes a nation out of a generation
And bravery wasn't enough either
Though they did leave their fates
To martyrdom, each on their own
There was still no escape.
For no strength, no wisdom
can be enough, to protect
that house, whose dweller
can't make it his home.
