Matthew Sweeney: Gold

After the murder, I called a meeting
to see if we were happy. I declared
I was not — I said I liked the man
we shot. You all disagreed with this.
I asked if you knew him, his wife,
none of you did. “Kill me, then,”
I said. You all stared at me. “Why,
Bernard? Of course we won’t.”
“Why not?” I said. “He was a good
man, a better man than me. And
look at what I’ve brought you — 
rubbish, dodgy tales, dross.”
“Easy to dismiss that,” you said.
“We appreciated it all. And you
wandered the wild paths to bring
it back to us — your songs, your
legends, magic stories, your gold.”
I thanked you, but shook my head.
The good man was dead. I didn’t care
what I’d brought you. I needed to go.
I packed up my sagas, my song lyrics,
my alchemy potions, my gold, and
I disappeared.

Matthew Sweeney: A megingás

Félúton a mélység felett
ezrek szemeláttára,
millió tévénéző előtt:
megingott, s majdnem lezuhant.
Tán a sóhaj tartotta meg
egykerekű biciklijén:
meglendítette lábait
s végül a túlpartra elért.
És amíg az ünneplő tömeg
hordozta diadalmasan,
végig a megingásra gondolt,
ahogy húzta a szakadék
mélyére, ökörcsont közé,
és hallotta az ordítást,
s tömeg döbbent moraját,
és azt is, ahogy vége lett -
és arra kérte hordozóit:
vigyék vissza a szakadékhoz,
köteléhez, mely ott feszült -
és fogta egykerekűjét,
és megpörgette a pedált,
és visszalökte, üresen -
döbbenten figyelt a tömeg -
és íme, éppen félúton
a gép zörögve lezuhant.

(fordította: Szabó T. Anna)

Matthew Sweeney: Cacti

After she left he bought another cactus
just like the one she'd bought him
in the airport of Marrakesh. He had to hunt
through London, and then, in Camden,
among hordes of hand-holding kids
who clog the market, he found it,
bought it, and brought it home to hers.
Next week he was back for another,
then another. He was coaxed into trying
different breeds, bright ones flashing red-
like the smile of the shop-girl
he hadn't noticed. He bought a rug, too,
sand-coloured, for the living-room,
and spent a weekend repainting
the walls beige, the celing pale blue.
He had the worn, black suite re-upholstered
in tan, and took to lying on the sofa
in a brown djelleba, with the cacti all around,
and Arab music on. If she should come back,
he thought, she might feel at home.