Heltai Jenő: Szabadság

 Tudd meg: szabad csak az, akit
  Szó nem butít, fény nem vakít,
  Se rang, se kincs nem veszteget meg,
  Az, aki nyíltan gyűlölhet, szerethet,
  A látszatot lenézi, meg nem óvja,
  Nincs letagadni, titkolni valója.

  Tudd meg: szabad csak az, kinek
  Ajkát hazugság nem fertőzi meg,
  Aki üres jelszókat nem visít,
  Nem áltat, nem igér, nem hamisít.
  Nem alkuszik meg, hű becsületéhez,
  Bátran kimondja, mit gondol, mit érez.
  Nem nézi azt, hogy tetszetős-e,
  Sem azt, kinek ki volt, és volt-e őse,
  Nem bámul görnyedőn a kutyabőrre
  S embernek nézi azt is, aki pőre.

  Tudd meg: szabad csak az, aki
  Ha neve nincs is, mégis valaki,
  Vagy forró, vagy hideg, de sose langyos,
  Tüzet fölöslegesen nem harangoz,
  Van mindene, ha nincs is semmije,
  Mert nem szorul rá soha senkire.
  Nem áll szemébe húzott vaskalappal,
  Mindég kevélyen szembenéz a Nappal,
  Vállalja azt, amit jó társa vállal,
  És győzi szívvel, győzi vállal.
  Helyét megállja mindég, mindenütt,
  Többször cirógat, mint ahányszor üt,
  De megmutatja olykor, hogy van ökle...
  Szabad akar maradni mindörökre.

  Szabadság! Ezt a megszentelt nevet
  Könnyelműen, ingyen ajkadra ne vedd!
  Tudd meg: szabad csak az, aki
  Oly áhítattal mondja ki,
  Mint istenének szent nevét a jó pap.
  Szabad csak az, kit nem rettent a holnap.
  Ínség, veszély, kín meg nem tántorít
  És lelki béklyó többé nem szorít.
  Hiába őrzi porkoláb s lakat,
  Az sose rab, ki lélekben szabad.
  Az akkor is, ha koldus, nincstelen,
  Gazdag, hatalmas, mert bilincstelen.
  Ez nem ajándék. Ingyen ezt nem adják,
  Hol áldozat nincs, nincs szabadság.
  Ott van csupán, ahol szavát megértve
  Meghalni tudnak s élni mernek érte.

  De nem azért dúlt érte harc,
  Hogy azt csináld, amit akarsz,
  S mindazt, miért más robotolt,
  Magad javára letarold,
  Mert szabadabb szeretnél lenni másnál.
  A szabadság nem perzsavásár.
  Nem a te árud. Milliók kincse az,
  Mint a reménység, napsugár, tavasz,
  Mint a virág, mely dús kelyhét kitárva
  Ráönti illatát a szomjazó világra,
  Hogy abból jótestvéri jusson
  Minden szegénynek ugyanannyi jusson.
  Míg több jut egynek, másnak kevesebb,
  Nincs még szabadság, éget még a seb.
  Amíg te is csak másnál szabadabb vagy,
  Te sem vagy még szabad, te is csak...
  Gyáva rab vagy.

(Keltezés: 1945. május 1.)

Walt Whitman: Are you the new person drawn toward me?”

Are you the new person drawn toward me?
To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose;
Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?
Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?
Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy’d satisfaction?
Do you think I am trusty and faithful?
Do you see no further than this façade, this smooth and tolerant manner of me?
Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man?
Have you no thought, O dreamer, that it may be all maya, illusion?

Brittany Jones: dec 08

You don’t have to say you love me..

Say, “I’ve noticed darling,
I can’t breathe if you’re not around.
And I’m going to try and make this forever
But, I know there are no guarantees.
And I’m not sure we’ll always understand each other
But, you’ll always be
The first person I look for when I enter a room
And I’ll always want to share my coffee with you
And I promise to keep your name safe
So that no one else in the whole world can say it
The way that I do.”

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer: Rima XXI

Mí a költészet? kérded, míg égszínkék

szemed szememnek mást látni se hagy.

Mi a költészet? És ezt épp te kérded?

A költészet... te vagy.

(Simor András fordítása)

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer: Rima XXI

¿Qué es poesía?, dices, mientras clavas
en mi pupila tu pupila azul,
¡Qué es poesía! ¿Y tú me lo preguntas?
Poesía... eres tú. 

Nikki Giovanni: Untitled

there is a hunger
     often associated with pain
     that you feel
     when you look at someone
     you used to love and enjoyed
     loving and want
     to love again
     though you know you can’t
that gnaws at you
     steadily as a mosquito
     some michigan summer
     churning his wings
     through your window screen
because the real world
     made up of baby clothes        to be washed
     food                                        to be cooked
     lullabies                                  to be sung
     smiles                                     to be plaited
     ribbons                                   to be bowed
     coffee                                     to be drunk
     books                                     to be read
     tears                                      to be cried
     loneliness                              to be borne
says you are a strong woman
     and anyway he never thought you’d really miss him

e. e. cummings: Since feeling is first

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers.  Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other:then
laugh,leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Fodor Ákos: Szerelem

Ahogy a szél meglebbenti a függönyt
nem a függöny, nem a szél. A lebbenés.

R. Eirik Ott: Crushworthy

I want someone
to have a crush on me
for a change

to notice
when I don’t come to class
and wonder if I’m okay

to get nervous
when I enter the cafe,
to fumble
with her papers
and books,
to pick at her clothing
and check
her reflection
in salt shakers and napkin holders

to catch her breath
when she sees me from across campus,
tug on her best friend’s collar
and point with her eyes
and whisper loudly,
“There he is!”

to run around the block
as quickly
and nonchalantly
as she can
just to walk past me
make eye contact
and smile
to look into my big brown eyes
(such long lashes!)
from across the room
and think, “Yes…”

to look at my full kissing lips
and think, “Oh yes…”

to hear my voice
and imagine
how her name
would sound

if I said it
if I whispered it
if I…

“Oh yes…”

I want someone
to make up nicknames for me

to talk about me in code
“I saw Backpack Boy today
in the library
in the Romantic Lit. secion…

I saw Steel-Toed Boots Boy
talking to some girl
(some girl!)
in the bookstore today…”

I want someone
to go straight home
every night
and check her answering machine
just in case
just in case

and check the phone cord
and check the battery
and check the tape
and make sure the goddamned blinking light
isn’t burned out

just in case

I want someone to say,
“You’re wrong about him
because you don’t know him
the way I know him,”

because she can just tell

that I’m a good person
must be
a good person
gotta be
a good person
because I write poetry about my mom and my cats

and because she likes me so much
for some reason
some unexplainable psychic supernatural reaction
to me

me.

I want someone
to mark her calendar
“He talked to me today”
to wonder
what I would smell like
after a long warm sleep
under a down comforter

to close her eyes
and picture
what our kids would look like

to write silly wretched wonderful
poetry
about me

for a change

Judy Grahn: Love Rode 1500 Miles

Love rode 1500 miles on a grey
hound bus & climbed in my window
one night to surprise
both of us.
the pleasure of that sleepy
shock has lasted a decade
now or more because she is
always still doing it and I am
always still pleased. I do indeed like
aggressive women
who come half a continent
just for me; I am not saying that patience
is virtuous, Love
like anybody else, comes to those who
wait actively
and leave their windows open.

Charles Bukowski: Ó, igen

van, ami rosszabb
a magánynál
de gyakran évtizedekig tart
mire rádöbbenünk
és addigra
általában
már túl késő
annál pedig
semmi sem rosszabb
mint amikor
már túl késő.

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer: Rima XLIV

Como en un libro abierto
leo de tus pupilas en el fondo.
¿A qué fingir el labio
risas que se desmienten con los ojos?

¡Llora! No te avergüences
de confesar que me quisiste un poco.
¡Llora! Nadie nos mira.
Ya ves; yo soy un hombre... y también lloro. 

Nina Suba: Taboo

In this game, there are words I cannot say.

Like if I mean Bill Clinton, I can't say President or United States.
Or if snowball, I can't say winter or fight
Or any other word at the top of my mind -

Unless you say it first.

I must hold the tip of my tongue
And find a way around words,
Tell you about pain, for instance,

By recounting the sadness of the stars on moonless nights
When nothing seemed to move, not even time,

Or I could say empty chairs, unread letters, and
presents that remain unopened in one's hands.

I could tell you, It's when you shut your eyes because it's the only thing
that you can do, the only thing that you have strength for, and then you dream
of mangled bodies falling from the sky and crashing into you.

If I mean pain, I could also take your hand,
Press your fingers into all the holes you made,
Say, This or Here, then tell the tale behind each hollow,
When all I really need to say is your name.

Anna Swir: She Does Not Remember

She was an evil stepmother.
In her old age she is slowly dying
in an empty hovel.

She shudders
like a clutch of burnt paper.
She does not remember that she was evil.
But she knows
that she feels cold.

Translated from the Polish by Czeslaw Milosz and Leonard Nathan

Fodor Ákos: Gyöngy

Szeretlek, mondom.
– Látod: már ez a nap sem
kelt s telt hiába.

David Whyte: Self-portrait

It doesn't interest me if there is one God

or many gods.

I want to know if you belong or feel

abandoned,

if you can know despair or see it in others.

I want to know

if you are prepared to live in the world

with its harsh need

to change you.  If you can look back

with firm eye,

saying this is where I stand.  I want to know

if you know

how to melt into that fierce heat of living,

falling toward

the center of your longing.  I want to know

if you are willing

to live, day by day, with the consequence of love

and the bitter

unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even

the gods speak of God.

Jane Hirshfield: Tree

It is foolish

to let a young redwood

grow next to a house.

Even in this

one lifetime,

you will have to choose.

That great calm being,

this clutter of soup pots and books --

Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.

Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.

Hafiz: Beszélnünk kell e problémáról

Gyönyörű a Lény,

akit e gödörbe rejtettél.

Ezért éjszakánként

a kiásott föld puha halmai közt

kis tálkákban gyümölcsöt, magvakat,

tejet, bort hagyok neked.

Gyakran énekelek is.

Hiába, kedvesem,

mégsem bújsz elő.

Beleszerettem Valakibe,

aki benned rejtőzködik.

Beszélnünk kell e problémáról –

Különben

sosem szabadulsz tőlem.

Manuel Altolaguirre: El alma es igual que el aire

El alma es igual que el aire.
Con la luz se hace invisible,
perdiendo su honda negrura.

Sólo en las profundas noches
son visibles alma y aire.
Sólo en las noches profundas.

Que se ennegrezca tu alma
pues quieren verla mis ojos.
Oscurece tu alma pura.

Déjame que sea tu noche,
que enturbie tu transparencia.
¡Déjame ver tu hermosura!

David Whyte: Sometimes

Sometimes

if you move carefully

through the forest

breathing

like the ones

in the old stories

who could cross

a shimmering bed of dry leaves

without a sound,

you come

to a place

whose only task

is to trouble you

with tiny

but frightening requests

conceived out of nowhere

but in this place

beginning to lead everywhere.

Requests to stop what

you are doing right now,

and

to stop what you

are becoming

while you do it,

questions

that can make

or unmake

a life,

questions

that have patiently

waited for you,

questions

that have no right

to go away.

Emily Dickinson: After great pain, a formal feeling comes

After great pain, a formal feeling comes --
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs --
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round --
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought --
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone --

This is the Hour of Lead --
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow --
First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go -- 

Mitsuye Yamada: Looking Out

It must be odd
to be a minority
he was saying.
I looked around
and didn’t see any.
So I said
Yeah
it must be.

Fodor Ákos: Tündérpárbeszéd

- Tudsz játszani?
- Tudok.
- És szeretsz is?
- És szeretlek is.

Warsan Shire: for women who are 'difficult' to love

you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn't you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can't make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.

Maya Angelou: Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me. 

Susanna Styve: Mother, In Love at Sixty

Reason number one it can't work: his name is Bill. For god's
sake, he hunts. He has no pets, other than two doting
daughters, and his ex-wife is still alive. He's simply not my
type. Who wants to get married again, anyway? I'm too old.
I go South at the first frost. Plus, he's messy. Men are messy.
He could die. Then where would I be?

Odette Alonso: Moriremos de amor

Todos los vientos llegan como una manotada
y yo cubro tu cuerpo lo incorporo
quiero aliviarme en ti.
Hace un segundo la luna era distinta
y no había ese susto en tu mirada.
Algo nos viene encima
ese sordo rumor es un presagio.
Cierra los ojos pronto amiga mía.
Es el amor que llega.

Krisantha Sri Bhaggiyadatta: Winter '84

 I tell the corner store owner

 'pretty cold out there'

 he says

 'ain't what it used to be'

 'oh', i say, 'why is that'

 innocently

 tensing

 wondering if coloured immigration

 has affected the seasons...

 'they've been fooling around

 with the weather',

 he says.

 [his wife nods]

 'ever since they sent a man

 to the moon

 it hasn't been right'

 oh, i say,

 breathing out

 intrigued

 'yeah, i know what you mean'

John Keats: When I have Fears that I may Cease to Be

 When I have fears that I may cease to be

    Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,

 Before high-piled books, in charactery,

    Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;

 When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,

    Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

 And think that I may never live to trace

    Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

 And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

    That I shall never look upon thee more,

 Never have relish in the faery power

    Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore

 Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

 Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Andrew Vecchione (6th grade): Sorry, But It Was Beautiful

This is just to say
sorry I took your money
and burned it.

But it looked
like the world falling apart
when it crackled and burned.

So I think it was worth it.
After all
you can't see the world fall apart every day. 

Fodor Ákos: Arcképcsarnok

Van egy arc,
amit csak önmagunkat elképzelve látunk
- lehet, hogy ez az igazi.
És van annyi arcunk,
ahányan csak ránknéznek (és: ahányszor!) és még az is lehet,
hogy ezekben akad néhány közös vonás
- lehet. Akkor ez a valóság.
Van egy,
amit tükörbe nézve látunk: villám-
gyorsan alakuló, képlékeny látvány: múzsája a Szomszéd Ízlése s az azt szolgáló, vagy azt ellenző szándék
- efölött húnyj szemet; ne kerüld, de ne hidd el.
És van,
van arc, amit csak az lát, aki szeret,
akit szeretünk. Ez a legszebb,
a legmulandóbb. A legérvényesebb.

Jacques Prevert: Déjeuner du matin

Il a mis le café
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et il a reposé la tasse
Sans me parler

Il a allumé
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder

Il s'est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder

Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleuré

Jacques Prevert: Breakfast

He poured the coffee

Into the cup

He poured the milk

Into the cup of coffee

He added the sugar

To the coffee and milk

He stirred it

With a teaspoon

He drank the coffee

And put back the cup

  Without speaking to me

He lit a cigarette

He blew some rings

With the smoke

He flicked the ashes

Into the ashtray

  Without speaking to me

  Without looking at me

He got up

He put his hat

On his head

He put on

His raincoat

Because it was raining

He went out

Into the rain

  Without a word

  Without looking at me

And I

  I took my head

 In my hands

  And I wept