A MAGYAR UGARON
Elvadult tájon gázolok:
Ős, buja földön dudva, muhar.
Ezt a vad mezőt ismerem,
Ez a magyar Ugar.
Lehajlok a szent humusig:
E szűzi földön valami rág.
Hej, égig-nyúló giz-gazok,
Hát nincsen itt virág?
Vad indák gyűrűznek körül,
Míg a föld alvó lelkét lesem,
Régmult virágok illata
Bódít szerelmesen.
Csönd van. A dudva, a muhar,
A gaz lehúz, altat, befed
S egy kacagó szél suhan el
A nagy Ugar felett.
Elvadult tájon gázolok:
Ős, buja földön dudva, muhar.
Ezt a vad mezőt ismerem,
Ez a magyar Ugar.
Lehajlok a szent humusig:
E szűzi földön valami rág.
Hej, égig-nyúló giz-gazok,
Hát nincsen itt virág?
Vad indák gyűrűznek körül,
Míg a föld alvó lelkét lesem,
Régmult virágok illata
Bódít szerelmesen.
Csönd van. A dudva, a muhar,
A gaz lehúz, altat, befed
S egy kacagó szél suhan el
A nagy Ugar felett.
Székely Aladár: Ady Endre portréja (1910. január 1.)
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 Anton N. Nyerges
***
On the Hungarian Fallow (1906)
I walk a land, fertile of old,
But now grown wild with millet-grass and tares.
This fallow field is Hungary,
For which none cares.
Low to the sacred soil I bend,
Some baneful thing its purity now sours.
Alas, you skyward-stretching weeds,
Are there no flowers?
The spirit of the land sleeps on.
I watch. About me tendrils sinuate.
The cherished scents of flowers long dead
Intoxicate.
Silence. The millet-grass and tares
Drag me down, stupefy, envelop, and
A mocking wind wafts by above
Our fallow Land.
Translated by Bernard Adams
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 Anton N. Nyerges
***
On the Hungarian Fallow (1906)
I walk a land, fertile of old,
But now grown wild with millet-grass and tares.
This fallow field is Hungary,
For which none cares.
Low to the sacred soil I bend,
Some baneful thing its purity now sours.
Alas, you skyward-stretching weeds,
Are there no flowers?
The spirit of the land sleeps on.
I watch. About me tendrils sinuate.
The cherished scents of flowers long dead
Intoxicate.
Silence. The millet-grass and tares
Drag me down, stupefy, envelop, and
A mocking wind wafts by above
Our fallow Land.
Translated by Bernard Adams
______
Ady Endre összes költeményei
.
