László Noémi: IDŐMILLIOMOS
Memory Green / Emlékvirágzás
October 26, 2024
July 1, 2024
Kiss Judit Ágnes: Halálos villanella
„Hogyan létezhet ennyi fájdalom?”
A négy szó, mint a csikk, bőrömbe égett,
mi elhangzott azon a hajnalon.
Mit ér a test? Az ócska-drága rom,
mit oly soká építgettek az évek?
Hogyan létezhet ennyi fájdalom?
Csak kérdés van, de nincsen válaszom,
csak Isten ellen súlyos vádbeszédem,
mi elhangzott azon a hajnalon,
mert nem vagyunk több: hulló, sárga lomb,
áramütés alatt vonagló féreg,
hogyha létezhet ennyi fájdalom.
A kártyák mind kiosztva, nincs talon,
Semmim se volt, de megadtam a tétet,
mi elhangzott azon a hajnalon,
és vesztettem. Túl sok volt egy lapon,
anya, nem tudlak megmenteni téged.
(hogyan létezhet ennyi fájdalom?)
Lehámlott rólad ölelő karom,
ahogy arcodról mállott le az élet.
Mi hangzott el azon a hajnalon?
Hogy nem létezhet ennyi fájdalom.
Deathly Villanelle
’How can there ever be so much of pain?’
These words, like burning stubs scorched into my skin
when they were said early dawn of that day.
What’s body worth? The dear ruins that remain,
which throughout those long years have been built in?
How can there ever be so much of pain?
There’s just the question, no answer obtained,
only grave accusal against God herein,
all that was said early dawn of that day,
for we’re yellow leaves only, falling, faint,
worms made by an electric shock wriggling
if there can ever be so much of pain.
The cards are all dealt, no reserve by-lain,
I had nothing, but I gambled high stakes to win,
all that was said early dawn of that day,
and I lost. I had played too high to gain,
mother, I can’t protect and save you dear.
(How can there ever be so much of pain?)
My embracing arms drooped off you, so lame,
just like life was slowly flaking off your face.
what was said early dawn of that certain day?
That there can’t ever be so much of pain.
October 19, 2020
Frank O'Hara (1926-1966)
I played by myself in a
corner of the schoolyard
all alone.
I hated dolls and I
hated games, animals were
not friendly and birds
flew away.
If anyone was looking
for me I hid behind a
tree and cried out "I am
an orphan."
And here I am, the
center of all beauty!
writing these poems!
Imagine!
From Selected Poems by Frank O'Hara
magamban játszottam
az iskolaudvaron, teljesen
egyedül.
utáltam a focit, az állatok
nem szerettek és a madarak
elrepültek.
egy fatörzs mögé, és
kiabáltam: "Nem vagyok
sehol!"
minden szépség közepe!
micsoda verseket írok!
Képzeld!
Billy Collins / Yosa Buson
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
Billy Collins: Az a baj a költészettel, Jelenkor, Bp., 2020
Yosa Buson (1716 – 1784)
a butterfly sleeps.
sleeping
a butterfly
sits still.
(trans: X. J. Kennedy)
釣鐘にとまりて眠る胡てふ哉
tsuriganeni tomarite nemuru kochoukana