No snacking

"No snacking in between meals," she said,
And as my condescending smile faded
-- rules and patterns so out this season --
I realised: she is smarter and more self-restrained
Than 1.5 billion adults, give or take.

(Including me, whose eating excesses
-- unjustly --
have so far had a limited effect on my shape.)

Ember: küzdj és bízva bízzál!

This is (part of) the famous last line in Madách's Tragedy of Man. I hereby declare a competition for the best translation of this line. Below is my modest translation of a finishing segment of the play. Do help out with suggestions, especially the bits in square brackets where I was confused.

 

ADAM
My Lord! terrible visions do trouble me,
And I know not which of it is real.
Do tell, do tell, what fate awaits me:
Is this tight-bound existence all there is,
Whose strife filters my soul,
Like wine, which, on clearing
You pour on dusty ground?
Or have you ordained this noble spirit for something higher?
Will my race move forward,
Ennobled, approaching your throne,
Or, while running the mill, will it tire to death,
Unable to break the circle it treads?
Is there reward for the noble heart
Whose martyrdom the petty masses do mock?
Enlighten me, and I will bear any fate;
I can but win, since this uncertainty
Is hell itself.

THE LORD
Ask no more
Of the secret that, with good intentions
Providence has covered from your keen eyes.
If you could see that your soul's stay
Is but temporary, beyond which waits eternity:
Suffering would no longer be a virtue.
If you could see, your soul would be drunk up by dust:
What would spur you, by great ideals,
To leave the delights of passing hours?
While now, with the mist of your future sparkling through
If you are struck down by the weight of temporary existence
The feeling of eternity will lift you up
And if its pride would take hold of you
The span of your being will hold you back
And greatness, virtue, will be restored.

LUCIFER (laughing)
Truly, wherever you step, your path will be glorious,
And greatness and virtue will be your guide,
These two words, which can only take form,
If superstition, prejudice and
Ignorance are standing guard.
Why did I ever have high hopes for Man
Who from mud and sunshine formed
Is small on knowledge, but big on blindness.

ADAM
Don't mock me Lucifer, you of all people:
I saw the clear creation of your knowledge
It was very cold for this heart of mine.
But oh! my Lord. Who will uphold me,
And keep me on the right path?
You took away your guiding hand
When I tasted the fruit of knowledge.

THE LORD
Your arms are strong, and your heart is exalted
The space, which calls you to work, is infinite.
If you pay attention, a chorus sings to you
Without pause, to warn and elevate you,
Just follow it. And if your busy life
Should mute the heavenly chorus
Then this fragile woman's cleaner soul,
Standing further from the dirt of interests,
Will hear it, and through her veins
Will become song and poetry.
By these two means, ever by your side
In times of plenty and in times of want,
She will be to you [?] a reassuring, smiling genius.
And, you, Lucifer, you too, a ring in my
Universe – keep working:
Your cold knowledge and futile rejection
Will enliven and bring to the source [or to the boil?]
And hold Man back, if only for a minute.
But let your eternal punishment be to see continuously:
That what you wish to pervert
Will always have a pure, new seed.

CHOIR OF ANGELS
To choose freely between sin and virtue
What a great ideal
And to know all the while
That above us stands as shield
God's great mercy.
Act boldly, then, and grieve not
If the masses are ungrateful,
Since self-esteem is not the only goal
Of those who do great things,
The shame of doing otherwise
Debases the coward
But exalts the few.
But, on the majesty of your road
Do not be blinded by the idea
That what you do to glorify God
Is really your doing,
As if He were dependent on you,
The tool of his execution.
No, you win His ornaments, if
He lets you act in His place.

EVE
Oh, I understand this song, thanks be to my God!

ADAM
I can also fathom something, and will follow it.
But that end! If only I could forget!

THE LORD
I told you, Man: fight and trust with trust!

A quick note...

If you like this blog, do recommend it to friends!

Roses

Apologies for the late post. It is hard to find time to translate something properly. I hope this translation has been able to preserve the delicate tone of the original, by Sándor Weöres. Song.

Roses, roses, in the midst
Ladies, birds and cloudy mist
Ladies, birds and cloudy mist
Flash of tear-drop, vapour-kissed

Flaming heaven, lightning dawn
Wounded lips in fiery storm
Wounded lips in fiery storm
Each kiss, a fresh new thorn

Every gush and quake gives way
Looks at you, then floats away
Looks at you, then floats away
God only sees their way

Though your hair's blown far away
Your laughter is here to stay
Your laughter is here to stay
Like your scarf on the chair

Roses, roses, in the midst
Ladies, birds and cloudy mist
Ladies, birds and cloudy mist
Flash of tear-drop, vapour-kissed

Under attack

In 1848 Hungary was fighting for her independence with cannons, guns, and swords. 163 years on (not too long, if you think about it), the weapons have changed. But anyone with a pure heart can only wish the same: a life in dignity and liberty.

When in 1849, Hungarian prime minister Lajos Batthyány was about to be executed for his part in the struggle, he wrote to his wife: "bless the children and kiss them for me, let them not be ashamed, for they should not be ashamed of their father, the shame of my death will -- sooner or later -- fall back on those who have killed me in injustice and ingratitude". Thus it will be with the character assassins of the current Hungarian prime minister (or indeed of any decent person).

The title of this poem is Life or Death. It was written in 1848 by Sándor Petőfi, one of the greatest Hungarian poets of all time. This is an excerpt (first two verses). Original.

From the Carpathians to the Danube
An angry cry, a violent storm
With straggling hair, and bloody forehead
Stands the Magyar, all alone.
Had I not been born Hungarian
I'd still treat it as my place of birth
Because it's forsaken, the most forsaken
Out of all the nations from the earth.

Poor, poor people, my orphan nation,
Why have you been left to die?
Why do god, the devil, and all their henchmen
Seek to destroy your tree of life?
And why with angry hands do they tear
At the green leaves in angry glee,
Those, who for centuries had rested
In the shade of this great tree.

Leaf

How long 

Have I been pining for

That leaf, that tasty leaf

But the

Leaf curls away

Since I am a slug, an ugly slug

And with

Every move, the leaf shrieks:

For what it sees, is a ball of pus

I will be old...

Lighting by Gyuri Baglyas, of Beyond Budapest.
Taken after a long walk with him in the Budakeszi forest.

Finale, by Lajos Áprily. Original.

Unfortunately I couldn't find video link to Kaláka playing it to music.

i will be old, older than the winter sun
my mood dark and my hair white
and like a stream quietened at its mouth
the blood will slow down in my weary heart


when night befalls with dew-cool, i will tremble
the strife that whizzed past fails to warm
and if I attack, I miss the jump
like wolf Akela, of the jungle born


i wait only for silence, and a glum envoy
and fall back into the hazy cave
while a band of young wolves runs to a hot clash
and in their honour, the forest resonates