Magyar Thoughts

Dear Readers,

I appreciate all the views to this blog so far.
As you will have noticed, I haven't been so active lately.
My original plan had been to primarily translate Hungarian poems, but over the years the balance has tilted towards my own poems. And now I have a couple of thoughts that are not necessarily best expressed in poetic form.

So my plan is this: hopefully I will still publish poems here, and hopefully many of these will be translations. But for my short thoughts, I will use a new blog: magyarthoughts.blogspot.com. So that for those of you who are more interested in poems, I do not "spam" you with my not-necessarily-poetic thoughts.

Best,
mc losh

Clarity

What's more sobering
peaceful
adventurous
joyful
challenging
dreadful
yearning
hopeful
a clear day
to twisting night
than life itself?

26th

the bare tree

trembling in winter morning

fingers pointing upwards

answered the sparrow

perching its gaze on it

awhile

how do you love again?

the sparrow tweeted

how do you love again?

remember me

swayed the bare tree

remember me

created in 

unsightly form

to feel what others feel

now you too know 

how it feels

and now you too can belong

the sparrow trembled

why it has to be so

that whoever moved the tree

moved him also

alone

"do you think you're better off alone?"
the words sing, in throwaway europop
and were you not weak for the synthetic riffs
that somehow connect with your being
you needn't write a word more

but for whatever reason there is only
so much class and reason you can conjure
and the rest is up for grabs, synthetic crass
is what holds your emotions and memories
of bygone years of disco doors slightly ajar

with music blasting for that second while
someone leaves, and in a drunken stupor
heads for the nearest meat van for a
pretend conversation with Ali, the man
somehow, beside the obligatory "legend"

there was that other legend you pursued,
the same that moved you in those riffs
or so you thought; you arrange your coat
and the cold drizzle on gray stone sets vapours
off, and you'd better be off, alone

but somehow the word
no longer seems cold, its sweetness
tells you you're not alone
you know the mist the rain the cold the pain
the wish the sigh the moon the cry

the half-mumbled prayer
like scribbles on a paper
like steps with a crutch
that word you forgot
but remembered to convey

lent you that thread
that led you to feel
you're not alone
after all

Postpone death for one more day

Similarly, a suggested poem I have now managed to try and translate. Original (Imre Horváth, Halaszd holnapra a halált).

Postpone death for one more day.
Don't think of dying tonight.
Chestnut trees stand by the moon.
Their grace will hold you back.

Epitaph

By Jenő Dsida. A poem previously suggested, which I have now tried to translate. Original.

I did everything I could
Paid everything I should
All is settled and done

My face, forget the mortal one

Reaction

Oh, Lord!
You say, in an elongated tone,
Laughing and clasping your hands together

Oh, Lord!
I say, if only,
With your patience and kindness