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Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Post 51.

How was..

Another one of my favorites of the Hungarian poet Gyula Juhász, in my own translation.

How blond she was, I don’t know anymore,
But I know that blond are the fields,
When the golden summer comes, wealthy in grain
In this gold I can feel her again.

How blue her eyes were, I don’t know anymore,
But if the autumn skies brighten,
At the weary september goodbye
I recall the colour of her eye.

How soft her voice was, I don’t know anymore,
But in springtime, when the meadow sighs,
I hear the warm words of Anna, it seems,
Sounding from a spring faraway, like celestial heights.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

Post 50.

I guard your eyes

Another one of my favorite poems, also by the Hungarian poet Endre Ady, in my own translation:

With my aging hands
I hold your hand,
With my aging eyes
I guard your eyes.

Amidst the decay of the world,
Ancient savage, haunted by fear,
I landed with you
And I rest with you scared.

With my aging hands
I hold your hand,
With my aging eyes
I guard your eyes.

I don’t know why, how long,
I’ll stay with you,
But I hold your hand
And I guard your eyes.

Post 49.

I’d love to be loved 

Here is one of my favorite poems of the Hungarian poet, Endre Adyin my own translation: 

I am neither successor, nor happy ancestor, 
Neither a relative, nor an acquaintance
I'm for nobody, 
I'm for nobody

Like all humans I am: greatness, 
Northern rock, secret, strangeness,
Delusive, distant light, 
Delusive, distant light

But, oh, I cannot stay this way, 
I want to show myself
To be noted and seen, 
To be noted and seen

Therefore all: lament and singing: 
I would love to be loved,
I would be of someone, 
I would be of someone

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

Post 48.

Age again.
Little things become more important with the loss of prospect. Recognizing the worth of detail has become the way to progress. The time of big gestures has given space to small thoughts.

A taste of the world around.