Ladányi Mihály: Lehetőség

Kicsoda-micsoda legyen,
amikor felnő a gyerek?
Író legyen? Költő legyen?
Vagy megegyék az egerek?

Nem kell! - mondják az egerek,
empirikus megoldás lenne,
és a kukacok kutyát-macskát
mondanának az egerekre.

Robert Frost: The exposed nest

You were forever finding some new play.
So when I saw you down on hands and knees
In the meadow, busy with the new-cut hay,
Trying, I thought, to set it up on end,
I went to show you how to make it stay,
If that was your idea, against the breeze,
And, if you asked me, even help pretend
To make it root again and grow afresh.
But ‘twas no make-believe with you to-day,
Nor was the grass itself your real concern,
Though I found your hand full of wilted fern,
Steel-bright June-grass, and blackening heads of clover.
‘Twas a nest full of young birds on the ground
The cutter-bar had just gone champing over
(Miraculously without tasting flesh)
And left defenseless to the heat and light.
You wanted to restore them to their right
Of something interposed between their sight
And too much world at once—could means be found.
The way the nest-full every time we stirred
Stood up to us as to a mother-bird
Whose coming home has been too long deferred,
Made me ask would the mother-bird return
And care for them in such a change of scene
And might our meddling make her more afraid.
That was a thing we could not wait to learn.
We saw the risk we took in doing good,
But dared not spare to do the best we could
Though harm should come of it; so built the screen
You had begun, and gave them back their shade.
All this to prove we cared. Why is there then
No more to tell? We turned to other things.
I haven’t any memory—have you?—
Of ever coming to the place again
To see if the birds lived the first night through,
And so at last to learn to use their wings.

Jill McDonough: Our Father

A year or two, mornings before school,
our father came into our rooms with pliers.
My sisters and I crammed into Jordache
casings, Gloria Vanderbilts. We’d jump
into jeans, tug them up our ashy thighs, abrade
young skin with denim seams. Taut denimed butts
on polyester Holly Hobby bedspreads, until they
were painted on, until our arms ached, our fingers
hurt, until we were panting, exhausted, our smooth
foreheads beaded with sweat. Near tears as usual,
calling for help. After the first time, when he laughed
but then couldn’t grip the brass zipper, so ha ha dad
the joke’s on you, he kept pliers handy, grabbed
the pull tab, tugged it up the teeth so we
could button our own damn pants. What we think
we want. What we know. What do we know
when we ask for what we think we want? We pray
for ridiculous things, we humans. And so often are indulged.

Haász János: Jó modor

Anya szerint nagyon fontos a jó modor.
Ami nem egy Honda vagy Kawasaki,
hanem hogy szépen viselkedünk.
Ne lökdösődjek a sorban.
Ne szedjek először a tálból.
Engedjem előre a lányokat.
Ne egyem meg az utolsó csokit.
Ne menjek előre, mikor buszra szállunk.
Segítsek az időseknek.
Ne hangoskodjak.
Anyának mindig igaza van,
biztosan most is.
Kár, hogy más gyerekeknek nem
mondhatja el a jó modort,
és ők lökdösődnek
és kiveszik
és nem engedik
és megeszik
és előre mennek
és nem segítenek
és hangoskodnak.
Pont mintha felnőttek lennének.

Georgia Douglas Johnson: When I rise up

When I rise up above the earth,
And look down on the things that fetter me,
I beat my wings upon the air,
Or tranquil lie,
Surge after surge of potent strength
Like incense comes to me
When I rise up above the earth
And look down upon the things that fetter me.

Kántor Péter: Örök nyár az Oktogonon

Ma láttalak az Oktogonon.
Ott mentél el mellettem,
olyan közel, hogy akár
meg is érinthettelek volna.
A füledhez tartva a mobiltelefont,
mosolyogva beszéltél egy láthatatlan
valakihez, aki nem én voltam.
Amikor megálltam és visszanéztem,
csak egy pillanatra, a napsütésben,
láttam csattal összefogott hajadat,
s láttam, ahogy erőteljes,
enyhén himbálózó járással
eltűnsz a Körút irányába.
Örök nyár, te voltál az?
Vagy csak valaki, aki hasonlít rád,
akinek soha nem mondanám,
hogy örülni kell, örülni kell,
mintha én lennék Olga
a Három nővérből.
Láttam csattal összefogott hajadat,
ringó lépteidet,láttam, ahogy magába nyel
a hullámzó Körút.
Örök nyár, te voltál? 

Várady Szabolcs: Egy szekrény előtt

A szekrényből kidőltek a ruhák,
ő bevallotta, hogy már nem szeret.
Mihez kezdek az életemmel?
Jön a nyár, és?
Leborultam a földre,
rám hullt egy lepedő,
így jó lesz, így jól van.

Rumi: [The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you...]

“The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you
Don't go back to sleep!
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep!
People are going back and forth
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open
Don't go back to sleep!”

Caitlin Krastek (age 6): Four poems

Silent E

is quiet.

It just sits there

at the end

of the word.

Semi-Colon

It’s not fair

that we can’t use them

in first grade  

Mushrooms

Smooth tops

Mice hide

underneath them:

umbrellas to keep

out the rain  

The Alligator

Swims in icky swamps;

it opens its jaws

and chomps

and chomps

Ted Kooser: Abandoned Farmhouse

He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.

A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.

Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm-a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.

Billy Collins: Flock

It has been calculated that each copy of the Gutenberg Bible...required the skins of 300 sheep.
-from an article on printing

I can see them squeezed into the holding pen
behind the stone building
where the printing press is housed,

all of them squirming around
to find a little room
and looking so much alike

it would be nearly impossible
to count them,
and there is no telling

which one will carry the news
that the Lord is a shepherd,
one of the few things they already know.

Terék Anna: Közelebbférkőzés

Lennének hajlékonyabbak a szavak…
Összehajtogatnám mondataimat
egészen kicsikre,
hogy a zsebedbe férjenek.
Hogy a kulcsod és
a kirándulásra vett
buszjegy mellé kerüljenek.
Olyannyira közel hozzád,
hogy csiklandozzanak
nadrágod vékony textiljén át,
ami elválasztja őket bőrödtől.

Boda Magdolna: (teázgatás)

Istenem,
jó lenne egyszer összeülni
és megtanácskozni
a terveinket,
hogy legyen meg a te akaratod,
azonképpen az enyém is.
De legalább
azt mondd meg,
hogy kérsz-e cukrot
a mentateámba?

Linda Pastan: Grace

When the young professor folded
his hands at dinner and spoke to God
about my safe arrival
through the snow, thanking Him also
for the food we were about to eat,
it was in the tone of voice I use
to speak to friends when I call
and get their answering machines,
chatting about this and that
in a casual voice,
picturing them listening
but too busy to pick up the phone,
or out taking care of important
business somewhere else.
The next day, flying home
through a windy
and overwhelming sky, I knew
I envied his rapport with God
and hoped his prayers
would keep my plane aloft.

Gregory Orr: How lucky we are That you can’t sell A poem

How lucky we are
That you can’t sell
A poem, that it has
No value. Might
As well
Give it away.

That poem you love,
That saved your life,
Wasn’t it given to you?

Dékány Dávid: Teendők

Addig mondogatni a saját nevemet,
amíg már nem jelent semmit.
Egy egzotikus ország lakóitól megkérdezni,
nekik mit jelent az a szó, hogy egzotikus.
Rájönni, mi a logika az ábécé sorrendjében.
A jelenlévők közül egyedül tudni, hogy ez egy álom.
Valakit bevásárlókocsiban tolni.
Megkülönböztetni a normál szóközt a dőlt betűstől.
Dobni a royal flusht.
A Marson lovagolni.
Megtanulni lovagolni.
Elfelejteni biciklizni.
Leggyakoribb vendég lenni egy lakásban.
Sosem tudni meg, mit jelent az a szó, hogy bérmálkozás.
Addig nézni egy falevelet, amíg le nem hullik.
Látni a Halley-üstököst.
Teljesíteni valaki utolsó kívánságát.
Érezni, ahogy egy polip mindhárom szíve
egyszerre dobog.

Danna Faulds: Allow

There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado.  Dam a
stream and it will create a new
channel.  Resist, and the tide:
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground.  The only
safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild and the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.