Sorry, I just saw that yes, you are from HUngary. Most en is itthon vagyok, mivel apukam beteg.
Adel
Kedves Adél,
Köszönöm, hogy írtál. Bármikor, ha találsz egy szép fordítáat, felteheted ezekre az oldalakra. Én rám mostanában nagyon rám járt a rúd,így kicsit rossz idegi állapotban vagyok. Ma este Hegedüs D. Géza elöadásában hallottam egy Nemes Nagy Ágnes verset, Lázár című versét és erőt adott.
Itt a vers magyarul.
Nemes Nagy Ágnes
Lázár (Hungarian)
Amint lassan felült, balválla-tájt
egy teljes élet minden izma fájt.
Halála úgy letépve, mint a géz.
Mert feltámadni éppolyan nehéz.
1957-1969
Üdv: kati Sváby
Ágnes Nemes Nagy :Lazarus
As slowly he sat up the ache suffused
his whole left shoulder where his life lay bruised,
tearing his death away like gauze, section by section
since that is all there is to resurrection.
Szirtes, George translated
HELLO THIS IS A GERMAN TRANSLATION, THERE ISN’T ENGLISH ONE
Epilog (German)
Meinen Lebensweg, den langen,
bin ich meist zu Fuß gegangen,
ja, zu Fuß,
höchstens fuhr ich Pferdebus.
Oh, ich sah viel stolze Wagen,
Räder, Böcke, reich beschlagen,
doch - mein Eid! -
Nie empfand ich dabei Neid!
Wer darin saß, war mir gleich.
Stolz der Herr, die Dame reich,
rümpft die Nase
über mich dort auf der Straße.
Ritt vorbei ein Stutzer keck
und bespritzte mich mit Dreck,
nicht ein Wort
sagt ich, wischte stumm es fort.
Doch am Rande dort und hier
blühte manches Blümchen mir,
wenn ich’s pflückte,
merkt ich, daß mir vieles glückte.
Auf dem Weg, den ich gegangen,
konnt ich vieles nicht erlangen,
manchmal mehr,
als ich suchte. Meist war’s schwer.
Titel gab es ungebeten,
Ruhm, nicht immer zu vertreten.
's wär schon was,
hätt ich nur an Ehrung Spaß.
Die mich stolz und eitel hießen,
glaubten glücklich mich zu wissen.
Glück im Leben
wird’s nie ohne Neider geben.
Wenn der Zweifel mich verzehrt,
ob mein Lied des Strebens wert,
brennt der Lohn
wie ein Nessushemd mich schon.
Wieviel Arbeit lag vor mir,
und wie wenig schafft ich hier,
halb und kaum…
Wie oft narrte mich ein Traum!
Bin des Lebens Weg gegangen.
Was ich liebend gern umfangen,
bracht mir’s nimmer,
das verweigert es immer!
Ruh und Unabhängigkeit
und für meine Lieder Zeit
wollt ich bitten,
doch man hat es nicht gelitten.
Nur ein kühles Nest im Garten,
meine Muse zu erwarten,
mir verschrieben,
drinnen ich und meine Lieben.
Frohes Alter, rege Hände,
wie am Anfang, so am Ende:
's wär das Ganze,
daß ich wieder propfe, pflanze!
Käm es jetzt, es käm zu spät,
da es bald zur Ruhe geht.
Kannst du singen,
fliegen, selbst aus offnem Bauer,
Vogel mit gestutzten Schwingen?
Bostroem, Annemarie
József, Attila :
And So I’ve Found My Native Country…
And so I’ve found my native country,
that soil the gravedigger will frame,
where they who write the words above me
do not for once misspell my name.
This black collection-box receives me
(for no one needs me any more),
this Iron Six that was worth twenty,
this coin left over from the war.
None needs that iron ring inscripted
with sweet words, that the world is new:
rights, land. – Our laws are the leftovers;
now pretty gold rings all pursue.
For many years I had been lonely.
Then many people visited.
I’d have been happy if they’d stayed.
You are alone, was what they said.
And so I lived, useless and empty,
and now I see it all quite plain.
They let me play the fool until
by now even my death’s in vain.
All through my life I’ve tried to weather
the whirlwind that would always blow.
I was more sinned against than sinning,
and it’s a laugh that it was so.
Spring, summer, autumn, all are lovely;
but winter’s loveliest for one
who hopes for hearth and home and family
only for others, when all’s done.
(1937)George, Faludy: The United States
To live is to collect, and we’re well-armed with junk.
Meanwhile the jungle’s is spreading east from Central Park.
We’re using too much electricity,
And that, no doubt, is why it’s growing dark.
New York, 1957
I want to be loved (English)
I am no heir, no proud ancestor,
I have no friend, no brother, sister,
I have never belonged,
I have never belonged.
I am, like every human: Highness,
Iceberg, enigma, strange and timeless,
Distant will-o’-the-wisp,
Distant will-o’-the-wisp.
But, oh, I can’t remain unspoken,
I have to bare myself wide open,
Behold me, everyone,
Behold me, everyone.
In all self-torture, in every song,
I want to be loved, to belong.
Belong to somebody,
Belong to somebody.
Zollman, Peter
The magyar fallow
I walk on meadows run to weed,
on fields of burdock and of mallow.
I know this rank and ancient ground -
this is the Magyar fallow.
I bow down to the sacred soil;
this virgin ground is gnawed, I fear.
Hey, skyward groping seedy weeds,
are there no flowers here?
While I look at the slumbering earth,
the twisting vines encircle me,
and scents of long dead flowers steep
my senses amorously.
Silence. I am dragged down and roofed
and lulled in burdock and in mallow.
A mocking wind flies whisking by
above the mighty fallow.
Translated by :Nyerges, Anton N.
ALONE BY THE SEA
Seashore at twilight. Hotel room. Evening.
She’s gone from me. I shall never see her.
She’s gone from me, I shall never see her.
But on the old bed, she’s left a flower.
Crying, I stroke the spot where I found it, crying I stroke the spot where I found it.
Still, the room treasures her body’s fragrance.
Joyful, beneath me the waves are breaking, joyful, beneath me the waves are breaking.
Somewhere a beacon flares through the distance - come to me, love, for the sea is singing, come to me, love, for the sea is singing.
I listen to the fiercely singing sea and lie upon the aging bed and dream, and lie upon the aging bed and dream.
She loved me here and gave me all she had - Never again, sing the sea and the past, never again, sing the sea and the past.
I’D LIKE TO HOLD
I’m no-one’s friend or quaint acquaintance
and no-one’s cousin, son or maker,
and no-one’s, no-one’s, no -
and no-one’s, no-one’s, no.
I am, like everyone, a noble
and snowcapped peak beyond approaching,
a glow of distant ice,
a glow of distant ice -
but cannot go on isolated.
I want to show my untouched whiteness
and to be known and felt,
and to be known and felt.
Hence all self-torment, song and weltering:
I’d like to hold someone’s affection,
I should like to belong,
I should like to belong.
I CANNOT COME TO YOU
Is summer nigh?
Each fool has his summer over here,
and I shall die.
Do you protest?
You are my great love, sacred madness,
and I shall die.
Oh songs, oh songs -
Others will go on with will and pleasure
and I shall die.
Caressing arms, perhaps you yearn for me no longer, and I shall die.
My path, my fate - All my life has grown sad and awkward. And I shall die.
BECKONING
Time for rest. Oh my bed,
oh my bed, recently,
recently you were a
different world: dream castle,
dream castle, well of strength,
well of strength, cave of love,
cave of love, peak of joy,
peak of joy. What have you
turned into? My coffin,
my coffin. Every night,
every night you hold me
still tighter. Thus I rest,
thus I rest held in fear,
held in fear now I rise,
now I rise held in fear,
held in fear do I rise.
Now I rise, look about,
look about, feel my world,
feel my world, meditate,
meditate, comprehend,
comprehend, take cover,
take cover, peer out and,
peer out and rise up and
rise up with iron will,
iron will, saddened soul,
saddened soul, dogged mind,
dogged mind, sagging will,
sagging will, shameful self,
shameful self. Oh my bed,
oh my bed, my coffin, my coffin beckoning,
beckoning. Time for rest.
AUTUMN PRAYER
Autumn midday, autumn midday –
Oh, how hard to
laugh and lightly mock the maidens.
Autumn midnight, autumn midnight –
Oh, how hard to
raise one’s sight and soul to heaven.
Autumn midnight, autumn midday –
Oh how good to
cry and cry and kneel in prayer.
I Should Love to Be Loved, By Endre Ady
Translation by Eli Siegel
(From a French Translation of Endre Ady’s Hungarian lyric in Les Cinq Continents, ed. Goll. Translators: Sandor Eckhardt and Zoltan Baranyi. This is a poem exemplifying Aesthetic Realism.)
I am neither infant nor happy grandfather
Nor parent, nor lover
Of anyone, of anyone.
I am, as every man is, Majesty,
The North Pole, the Secret, the Stranger,
The will-o’-the-wisp in the distance, the will-o’-the-wisp in the distance.
But alas! I cannot remain this way.
I should like to show myself to the world,
So that someone sees me, so that someone sees me.
This is why I sing and I torment myself.
I should love to be loved.
I wish to be of someone, I wish to be of someone.
Endre Ady: I Guard Your Eyes
With my old man’s wrinkled hand,
with my old man’s squinting eyes,
let me hold your lovely hand,
let me guard your lovely eyes.
Worlds have tumbled, through their fall
like a wild beast chased by fright
I came, and I on you did call
scared, I wait with you inside.
With my old man’s wrinkled hand,
with my old man’s squinting eyes,
let me hold your lovely hand,
let me guard your lovely eyes.
I do not know why, how long
can I thus remain for you –
but I hold your lovely hand
and I guard your lovely eyes.
(January, 1916)
Translated by Ádám Makkai
www.libri.hu
Endre Ady :Longing For Love
Neither the issue nor the sire,
neither fulfilment nor desire
am I for anyone,
am I for anyone.
I am as all men, the sunless sea,
the alien thule, mystery,
a fleeing wisp of light,
a fleeing wisp of light.
But I must look for friends and brothers;
I want to show myself to others
that seeing they will see,
that seeing they will see.
For this my lyric masochism;
I long to close the gaping schism,
and thus belong somewhere,
and thus belong somewhere.
Endre Ady:I Am The Son Of King Gog Of Magog
(Translated by Ádám Makkai)
I am the Son of King Gog of Magog(1)
I’m banging doors and walls to no avail -
yet I must ask this question as prologue:
may I weep in the grim Carpathian vale?
I came along Verecke’s(2) famous path,
old Magyar tunes still tear into my chest -
will it arouse your Lordships’ righteous wrath
as I burst in with new songs from the West?(3)
Pour in my ears your molten liquid lead,
let me become the new Vazul(4) of songs -
let me not hear the new songs you have bred:
Come, tread me down in furious, evil throngs!
But to the end, tortured, expecting nothing,
the song keeps soaring on its new-found wings:
even if cursed by hundred Founding Fathers -
triphanumt, new, Magyar, and true it rings.
My horse Pejkó
Look at my stallion, Pejkó!
He steps here, he steps there, hey-ho!
He sails through mountains and waters,
Don’ try to buy him for diamonds!
Whenever my Pejkó goes walking,
Hear all the stars applauding!
When he flies full speed and prances,
Even the Sun laughs and dances…
Translated: Elma Hunyadi
In the forest of Vaál
Far off and deep in woodlands ways
Where nettles lurk and maples blaze,
A distant valley’s heart has made
A dim, serene retreat of shade.
Ah, could my wandering steps repair
To dwell within a cottage there,
How sweet would such existence be
In calmness and tranquillity!…
To give the world no anxious thought
And let its evils go for nought;
To meditate in peace of soul
Upon man’s life, unmarr’d and whole…
Upon the fragrant hills to lie
Beneath the sunny April sky,
And gaze upon the clouds that race
Through past and future, time and space.
This, then, were better after all,
Unmark’d to live, and then to fall
In silence down, unmov’d by strife,
From off the dying tree of life…
And so, unknown, sepultur’d deep,
For ever more to lie asleep …
Such quietude at last were best,
And all we yearn for is to rest.
Translated by:Kirkconnell, Watson
Love me, my God
My God in earth, grass and stone, may we
Trouble each other no more this day:
Often I walk in the cemetery.
Often I tell of Thee and Thy word:
Thou art today the truest Art-Not,
Relic of old Hungarian lore.
Love me, if Thou art able to love,
Love me, for alas, I am despised
And it is a good thing to be loved.
Love me and clasp me to Thy bosom,
Alas, we live in a wicked world
And on bread depends my salvation.
How I would like to be fancy-free!
But my life and my fate are foreordained:
So must I be born, so must I eat,
So must I run the race, so love,
So must I make great plans, so beg,
And always give and give and give.
Adams, Bernard
Pintér Tibor put on the Net.
from: colecizj.easyvserver.com