Jaj, ha a medve halkan tördeli ágak jég-süvegét, és ... - Turcsány Péter

army-fatigues, in who knows how many wars, before and after
who knows how many battles…; in the teeth-rattling chilly
compartments of trains dashing through the snow-covered
region
when the „heart strengthening” bottle makes its rounds, and
that
of which fewer stories are told: the mouthfuls of booze of
light-weight dizziness of irresponsible kisses, the speedy
tempo of
the shaming sickness from stomach to the mouth and back
spewing filth on shirts and trousers, or the splitting head-aches
stronger than
any regret; time riddled with holes, the paralysis of time
dripping away; the rat-race of gourmets’ tastes, and the
numbness of the gums followed by the rinsing of one’s palate
– oh, you brotherhood of Hell!
You, orifice of Hell! Man, like a drop of booze,
starts to whirr and to eddy until he disappears in
momentarily comforting, but devouring depths.
Be You, Beloved Balance – between the snail’s gait-speed
of collapsing into ourselves and the drift of floating amid the
clouds – You be our quiet rhythm of walking-steps
and of evenly beating wings – now and forever!
Adam Makkai
The invisible palace
(A láthatatlan palota)
One palace ‘s being built by everyone
unbeknown to himself.
With basements and with grilled and grated nooks;
with towerchambers swaying into clouds.
And no one else, but he shall build all that,
each to and for himself.
He ‘ll even choose the colour of his bricks
alone, even the grades of his stairs
shall be adjusted
to his walk.
Whoever stays below, forever creeps
and crawls and never lifts his head,
he’ll drag on his existence,
like a mole.
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