Itt-Ott, 1996 (29. évfolyam, 1/126-2/127. szám)
1996 / 1. (126.) szám
of the 80’s and 90’s. We are engulfed now by rampant egotism. And I happen to be a poet. Thus, I think it’s prudent to let the poems speak for themselves. Let us ask them: please reveal some aspects of America! Don’t be bashful. The poets I sought out are Hungarians who have lived or who are still living in the U.S. The translations are my own. Sándor András: Speeding Oasis (Rohanó oázis) Excerpt XII California: a dispassionate woman with a lovely figure. She is exciting and frigid. She can easily be made to conceive but it’s a solitary endeavor. I love her because she lures me and repulses me. She doesn’t let me delude myself. She points at my slit navel incessantly with her peaks, with her indifferent cliffs, with her coastline, with her giant firs that are 2000 years old. She points at my navel and under it the umbilical cord with which I can’t tether myself again. The Tuscan landscape — with its grapevines that cling to their support, with its olive gardens where cottages sprout gently (the stone is 2000 years old), with its slender cypresses that evoke dreams from the Renaissance — invades us lovingly. California, no houses, no roads grow out of you; these objects just lay on top of you like scattered boxes of crumpled paper. I already fear you because I’d wish to clutch a broom so I can sweep away the human trash. I’d like to peer deep into myself, into my core; I’d like to sweep away the human trash like the fir needles of useless kisses, the timid sand of caresses. I’d like to sweep away the human trash off the mysterious contours of a frigid lady that absorbs sensuous heat. That tans under the Sun. György Faludy: A Farewell to America (Búcsú Amerikától) Excerpt Oh, giant mountains, oh prairies and savannas The tomorrow still awaits you Where else could I live and keep to myself without others peering through my window Oh sherbets, tasting like ice cream The calm of trains Oh, the most comfortable life style! Oh, brief whistles Short conversations Oh, long laughs America, where I was only a guest, oh soil, where I could stay but chance made me leave America, whom I see for the last time but whom I’ll quote a thousand times Please, allow me to bid you farewell New York (New York felé) Excerpt I don’t understand these people. They live without tradition, taste, deep joy but not without superstitions. They don’t know the stunning, physical rapture of thought. They eventually die without having seen the nipples of lewd, celestial love. They don’t even know the thorough joy of earthly love! They only fantasize about scarlet vaginas, penises, the size of an elbow. These things they find in cheap magazines before and after their failed lovemakings. They’ve wrung the neck of history. They have no future. They only exist in the present, being glued to the second hand of a clock. They seek permanence in the transient. They chase conflicts instead of harmony while listening to the slimy voice of ads on TV. They chase refrigerators, cars, the most imposing houses ITT-OTT 29. évf. (1996), 1. (126.) szám 45
