2015. február 28., szombat

Szergej Jeszenyin: Bokraink közt

Bokraink közt már az ősz barangol,
kóró lett a fényes laboda.
Zizegő, szép zabkéve-hajadról
nem álmodom többé már soha.

Arcod haván bogyók bíbor vére -
szép voltál, te kedves, illanó!
Szelíd, mint az alkony puha fénye,
s fehéren sugárzó, mint a hó.

Szemed ragyogása kimúlt már régen,
neved, a törékeny, messze szállt.
Gyűrött sálam őrzi már csak híven
fehér kezed hársméz-illatát.

Amikor a háztetőn a hajnal
macskamódra, lustán lépeget,
emlegetnek tűnődő szavakkal
vízimanók, dúdoló szelek.

Kéklő esték azt suttogják rólad:
álom voltál, elhaló zene.
De tudom - aki formálta vállad,
fénylő titkoknak volt mestere.

Bokraink közt már az ősz barangol,
kóró lett a fényes laboda.
Zizegő szép zabkéve-hajadról.
nem álmodom többé már soha.

2015. február 27., péntek

Gerald Stern: Waving Good-Bye

I wanted to know what it was life before we
had voices and before we had bare fingers and before we
had minds to move us through our actions
and tears to help us over our feelings,
so I drove my daughter through the snow to meet her friend
and filled her car with suitcases and hugged her
as an animal would, pressing my forehead against her,
walking in circles, moaning, touching her cheek,
and turned my head after them as an animal would,
watching helplessly as they drove over the ruts,
her smiling face and her small hand just visible
over the giant pillow and coat hangers
as they made their turn into the empty highway.

2015. február 26., csütörtök

Miller Williams: How to Stop Smoking

If you are a man
think of a woman wiggling out of her underwear
saying come on you don’t have to love me.

If you are a woman
think of the man thinking that.


2015. február 25., szerda

Fodor Ákos: Natural law

If you don't believe
you can keep it up -
you will drop it.

Kányádi Sándor: Mint öreg fát az őszi nap

mint öreg fát az őszi nap
lemenőben még beragyog
és elköszön a szerelem

jöhetnek újabb tavaszok
hajthat még rügyet lombokat
gyümölcsöt többé nem terem

felejtgeti a titkokat
miket senki sem tudhatott
őrajta kívül senki sem

fészke is üresen maradt
elhagyták kiket ringatott
üresen ing-leng üresen

de boldogan föl-fölsusog
ha valaki még néhanap
gyér árnyékában megpihen

2015. február 24., kedd

Alison White: Thank You

I used to lie in bed,
imagining the universe
but it never fitted

in my head. Now
you are gone
and the universe

fits nicely.

2015. február 23., hétfő

Billy Collins: Another Reason Why I Don't Keep Guns in the House

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

2015. február 21., szombat

Sárhelyi Erika: Az önzetlenekhez

Van, kinek tenyere ég felé néz,
de két szemét felvetni nem meri,
mert arcára konok szégyent idéz,
ha csak másnak kenyerét eheti.

S van, ki lehajol, tenyere meleg,
összezár a riadt kezek fölött,
úgy ad, hogy abba a föld is remeg,
és felpillant minden sorsüldözött.

Mert szemében nincs se vád, se kétség,
s a céda nyomort nem kéri számon,
csak ad, tisztán, mint a tavaszi ég,
majd megy - s nem marad utána lábnyom.

2015. február 20., péntek

Naomi Shihab Nye: Yellow Glove

What can a yellow glove mean in a world of motorcars and governments?

I was small, like everyone. Life was a string of precautions: Don’t kiss the squirrel before you bury him, don’t suck candy, pop balloons, drop watermelons, watch TV. When the new gloves appeared one Christmas, tucked in soft tissue, I heard it trailing me: Don’t lose the yellow gloves.

I was small, there was too much to remember. One day, waving at a stream—the ice had cracked, winter chipping down, soon we would sail boats and roll into ditches—I let a glove go. Into the stream, sucked under the street. Since when did streets have mouths? I walked home on a desperate road. Gloves cost money. We didn’t have much. I would tell no one. I would wear the yellow glove that was left and keep the other hand in a pocket. I knew my mother’s eyes had tears they had not cried yet, I didn’t want to be the one to make them flow. It was the prayer I spoke secretly, folding socks, lining up donkeys in windowsills. To be good, a promise made to the roaches who scouted my closet at night. If you don’t get in my bed, I will be good. And they listened. I had a lot to fulfill.

The months rolled down like towels out of a machine. I sang and drew and fattened the cat. Don’t scream, don’t lie, don’t cheat, don’t fight—you could hear it anywhere. A pebble could show you how to be smooth, tell the truth. A field could show how to sleep without walls. A stream could remember how to drift and change—next June I was stirring the stream like a soup, telling my brother dinner would be ready if he’d only hurry up with the bread, when I saw it. The yellow glove draped on a twig. A muddy survivor. A quiet flag.

Where had it been in the three gone months? I could wash it, fold it in my winter drawer with its sister, no one in that world would ever know. There were miracles on Harvey Street. Children walked home in yellow light. Trees were reborn and gloves traveled far, but returned. A thousand miles later, what can a yellow glove mean in a world of bankbooks and stereos?

Part of the difference between floating and going down.

2015. február 19., csütörtök

2015. február 18., szerda

Kemény Lili: Őszi dal

Ez a fasor félig gyógyult műtét utáni varrat,
ez a hold egy vén boszorkány jogosan kiszúrt szeme,
ez a sírás messziről jön, és titkokat takargat,
ez a fiú a szerelmem, és nem lehetek vele.

Ez a tanya egy kirabolt lélek külvárosa,
ez a borjú biztosan nem éri meg a telet,
ezt a kádat egy nő minden nap kimossa,
a mozdulataiban elfojtott szeretet.

Ez az ősz egy öregember utolsó emléke,
ezt az őszt gondolja végig azelőtt, hogy meghal.
Rezzenetlensége csak látszólagos béke,
hasán sínpár fut a lekésett vonattal.

2015. február 17., kedd

Judith Viorst: Being a grandparent is the best revenge

You laughed when I worried about you. Now
You have a child,
And his merest mosquito bite can cause you alarm,
But he laughs when you count the ways he could come to harm
Without your protection.

You squirmed when I smuggled with you. Now
You have a child,
And you're trying to give him a cuddle and a kiss,
But he slips from your grasp, determined to resist this
Annoying affection.

You spurned meals I made just for you. Now
You have a child,
And you've gone out and bought his favorite chicken parts,
But he tells you he's finished - one taste after he starts,
Though they're broiled to perfection.

You sighed when I said just you wait until
You have a child.
Now I'm here to assure you, unequivocably,
That though he is doing to you what you did to me,
He's not into rejection.

For he may not want your protection.
And he may not want your cuddles.
And he may not want your chicken.
But he wants mine.

2015. február 16., hétfő

Charles Bukowski: A Future Congressman

in the men's room at the
this boy of about
7 or 8 years old
came out of a stall
and the man
waiting for him
(probably his
"what did you do with the
racing program?
I gave it to you
to keep."
"no," said the boy,
"I ain't seen it! I don't have it!"

they walked off and
I went into the stall
because it was the only one
and there
in the toilet
was the

I tried to flush
the program
but it just swam
sluggishly about

I got out of
there and found
empty stall.

that boy was ready
for his life to come.
he would undoubtedly
be highly successful,
the lying little

2015. február 14., szombat

Imre Flóra: Én szeretem a rejtélyeidet

én szeretem a rejtélyeidet
tartózkodásod zavart büszkeséged
ahogy nem mondasz nemet sem igent
ahogy a személyes teredet véded

még a játszmáidat is szeretem
mikor nem válaszolsz vagy mikor másra
mikor a mondat mögül hirtelen
felvillan a lélek elhallgatása

a mozdulat és a megtorpanás
a nehézpáncélozott védtelenség
ahogy önmagadnak elébe állsz
rejteni tenger-szemed végtelenjét

meg ne lássák a titkolt benti képet
engedékeny gyönyörű gyöngédséged

2015. február 13., péntek

Edwin Morgan: The Subway Piranhas

Did anyone tell you
that in each subway train
there is one special seat
with a small hole in it
and underneath the seat
is a tank of piranha-fish
which have not been fed
for quite some time.
The fish become quite agitated
by the shoogling of the train
and jump up through the seat.
The resulting skeletons
of unlucky passengers
turn an honest penny
for the transport executive,
hanging far and wide
in medical schools.

2015. február 12., csütörtök

Eireann Corrigan: Privileges (for Christina)

If you are gaining weight at the acceptable pace,
(which is two and a half to three pounds a week)
and you have graduated from tubes and have no clumsy
IV to dance partner alongside you- As long as doctor
has not secured you with restraints on bed rest,
then you can sign out at the nurses' station to the
pediatric unit's toy room to play video games. It smells
like the floor where people hook their kidneys
to machines and because we are not innocently
sick, those nurses give us severe looks before bustling
back into the rooms of the blameless leukemia patients. But
they have Donkey Kong and Burger Time and also
that unlatched window that leads directly out
to the hospital roof. Bingo. Freebird. You watch
the door while I swing over one leg at a time, then
stand in front of the view, all the cars in the lot that can drive
home. I'll yank you through the window but don't forget
to turn back, prop it open with a cheap doll torso
on the sill so we can get back inside. Sayonara psychiatric
ward, farewell to Nurse Betsy, who believes that everyone
pacing the hallway is trying to burn off breakfast. Out here,
we run laps across the speckled asphalt until our sides stitch
with pain. Then we do sit-ups, counting aloud to the night.
There are soft patches of tar to stick a penny for each month
we've been inside. and when we race, your gown tied
in the back billowing forward and your gown tied in the front
billows back and you look like a bride or some shepherdess-lost
in all her robes. Soon you'll get nervous and say it's time
to go inside. But let's crouch together for a few more minutes
and relish that good shiver, let our teeth clatter and show off
our narrow shoulders to that wide and hulking sky. Tomorrow
on those long sofas of group therapy, we'll both claim
we want to die. But we'll mean:please someone convince us
to stick around. Remind us over and over that we deserve
to drink even the milk left over in the cereal bowl, to sop up
what's left on our plates with bread. Because last night, we stood
on top of fourteen floors of suffering-from the maternity
to the morgue. Hundreds of beds buckling beneath the weight
of legitimate illness, thousands of plastic sacks of donated blood-
We stood above all of it and did not leap. Neither of us even dangled
from the grainy ledge or balanced one foot on the parapet.
Let's be honest here-we've hardly approached any edges at all.

2015. február 11., szerda

Bella István: Nem lehet

Már a lépcsőházban tudom, hogy nem vagy itthon,
bár fogalmam sincs, hogyan, honnan s miért?...
A lépcsők szepegték cipőmnek alig titkolt
bánatukat: elment, de... ugye... visszatér?!

Az elfancsalodott falak panaszolták: elment,
vagy a kifoltosodott falú mennyezet?
A koldus karfák motyogták meredten,
vagy a vasrács rozsdállt - nem lehet, nem lehet!

A kulcslyukakból süvít az üresség,
a nyíló ajtó gúnyosan nyekken: "Tessék,
csak tessék, tessék, úgy sincs odabenn senki!"

A kulcstartó üresen nyújtózik, henyél,
de a padlón ott világít egy cetli:
csak "leugrottam a kisboltba tejért".

2015. február 10., kedd

Dorothea Grossman: I Have To Tell You

I have to tell you,
there are times when
the sun strikes me
like a gong,
and I remember everything,
even your ears.

2015. február 9., hétfő

Reed Whittemore: For the Life of Him and Her

For the life of her she couldn't decide what to wear to the
All those clothes in the closet and not a thing to wear.
Nothing to wear, nothing wearable to a party,
Nothing at all in the closet for a girl to wear.

For the life of him he couldn't imagine what she was doing
up there.
She had been messing around in that closet for at least an
Trying on this, trying on that, trying on all those clothes
up there,
So that they were already late for the party by at least an

If only he wouldn't stand around down in the hall,
She could get herself dressed for the party, she knew she
could somehow,
But he made her so nervous, he was so nervous there in the
That she didn't think they would get to the party anyhow.

He didn't want to go to the party anyhow,
And he didn't want to stand and stand in the hall,
But he didn't want to tell her he didn't want to go anyhow.
He just didn't want to, that's all.

2015. február 7., szombat

Simon Márton: Objektív

Ez egy kavicsról szól, egy egyszerű, sima
kőről, ami a szép, áttetsző vízben süllyed.
Erről, mert így akarom. Ez könnyen elképzelhető,
veszélytelen, kicsit unalmas is - engem nem
érdekelne. Azért jó lesz, jó, mert nem leszel
benne. Tényleg csak a kavicsról szól. Ahogy süllyed.
Nyilván mellébeszélés, de az a lényeg.
Ebből nem derül ki, milyen érzés a kezedben -
milyen volt. Pedig ezt a kavics is tudhatja.
Nem fontos, ahogy az ízed távolodik - a felszíntől
egy darab fehér kő. Szóval ennyi. Süllyed.
A súlyából annyit veszt, amennyi kimondható,
de kövekről nemigen beszélünk. Még annyit se,
mint a hazugságokról, például. Ezért is szól róla.
Vagy mert mindegy, miről. Mert a két-három szó,
ami nem lenne mellébeszélés, nálad maradt.
Nekem ez jutott. Arról a kavicsról szól.
Feneketlen vízbe esett, szóval most,
nagyjából örökké, merül.

2015. február 6., péntek

Cynthia Harper: Hanging the Wash

Mama said you could always tell
the state of a woman’s love life
by the condition of her underwear.
Twenty ivory briefs
flapping in the wind,
not a lavender, pink,
or naughty black
in the whole sensible lot.
Four beige half slips like
neutral guards in a row.
No touch of scarlet or
little pink rosettes,
just clean drawers hanging
on a gray metal clothes line.
Oh, Mama, how did you ever learn so much?

2015. február 5., csütörtök

2015. február 4., szerda

Fodor Ákos: Xénia

Sült-főtt ételt és szerelmet
akkor lehet megítélned,
mikor már kissé lehűltek.

2015. február 3., kedd

Myongok: A Lover That Shows

A lover that shows himself only
in a dream I would call a liar.
But outside of dream I cannot
show myself my own desire.

You there, do not call yourself
a dream, just show yourself to me.

(Translated by Constantine Contogenis and Wolhee Choe)

2015. február 2., hétfő

Spike Milligan: Mirror, Mirror

A young spring-tender girl
combed her joyous hair
'You are very ugly' said the mirror.
on her lips hung
a smile of dove-secret loveliness,
for only that morning had not
the blind boy said,
'You are beautiful'?