Calvin Synod Herald, 1974 (74. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1974-01-01 / 1. szám
REFORMÁTUSOK LAPJA 5 NEW PETŐFI TRANSLATIONS The translator of these Petőfi poems, MR. LÁSZLÓ TEHEL of Washington, D.C. started out as a poet in his own right when as a 17 years old high school student, he published a small volume of poems in his native Székesfehérvár in 1912, entitled: “Az én világom.” He never published a volume again, but wrote numerous poems of high merit which were published in various Hungarian periodicals. In the first World War he was a First Lieutenant of the 17th Honvéd Regiment of Székesfehérvár, and spent the last few months of the war in an Italian prison camp. We are happy that in this Petőfi jubilee year we are the first to publish these excellent translations in our paper. Edmund Vasváry Septernler s c£ nJ I rophecxj by Sándor Petőfi Mother, my dear, you used to tell me, Divine hands paint our nightly dreams. Windows are dreams and through them our soul Into the future gains a glimpse. I had a dream also, Mother, dear, O, tell me the meaning of it. Wings grew on me and I flew across The boundless sky, the infinite. My son, my son, my only sunshine, Rejoice, because the starry skies Will bless you with a mighty long life, That is what your dream signifies. by Sándor Petőfi The flowers still bloom in the valley down yonder, In front of the window the poplar is green. But don’t you see up there the glorious wonder? The hilltop is sparkling in silvery sheen. In my young, happy heart, still sunshine is glowing And bursts forth in it beautifully the spring, But in my hair here and there silver is showing, The winter is near with its snowcovering. The flowers must fade and life flies as illusion . . . Cuddle up my sweet bride, my heart’s pretty bloom, Who laid your head today on my happy bosom, Shan’t you tomorrow cry on my chilly tomb? . . If I should die sooner, leaving you alone here, Would you grieve prostrate on my body, cold? Or could a new love from me tear you away, dear Inducing you to change my name you now hold? If ever you cast off the dark veil of mourning, Lay it on my grave, as heartache’s gloomy flag, In the dark of the night I’ll come back a-moaning And into my bleak world I’ll carry it back, To dry with it my tears for you, fickle sweetheart, Who lightly abandoned your steadfast, true mate And to bandage with it the wound of my sick heart, Whose undying love for you never will fade . . . Translated by László Tehel -------------^ ------------------WHERE DO YOU LIVE? Some church members live on Hide-and-Seek St. Others live in Hard-to-Get Ave. or Hurt-side St. or Touchy PI. or Indifferent Dr. Quite a few live on Dead-End St. and a number on Once-A-Year Plaza. Thank Goodness there are many faithful members who live on good Old Church St. year in and year out. WHERE DO YOU LIVE? So grew the lad and in his bosom Burst into flame the youthful age And songs becalm the heart when its blood Sparks into passion, into rage. He got his lute and into it infused The whole scale of his sentiments And as the warbler swings all over, So did his songs across the lands. And flew the songs upon the blue skies Conveying down the star of fame And for the bard’s head weaved of its rays An aureole, a diadem. But poison is the songs’ sweet savor. He gave his all into the lute And all his burning, flaming feelings Consumed the life-sap of the youth. The passions’ blaze became hellfire And in the flames he was the prey. As dried up leaf on sickly, thin branch Of life-tree, he could hardly sway. There is he, lying on his death-bed, The child of countless woes and ills, Hearing his mother deeply praying As her tortured heart sadly shrills: O, Lord, do not yet take away him, Do not cut off his lofty route.... Didn’t his dream predict a long life? ... Or don’t our dreams tell us the truth?... Mother, my dear, our dreams do not lie Though I’ll finish this earthly race, The glorious name of your poet son Will live till the end of the days. Translated by László Tehel
