Magyar News, 1995. szeptember-1996. augusztus (6. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1995-11-01 / 3. szám
by Tibor Kecskesi-Tollas Just this much light was left to us of life: A hand's breadth of sun and some starry sky. Each day we waited for it to arrive In our dim dungeon, afternoons and at night. This too they took away, the hand ’s breadth of sun: They ’ve timed up all the windows, one by one. With eyes dilated wide I see the blue sea Of Naples, and above its shining shore Vesuvius still waits, smoking, and dotting the scene, Happy, dark-tanned people by the score. Like blind men, we live in night’s oblivion. They’ve tinned up all the windows, one by one. Ten of us lie in one suffocating hole, Our mouths gasping to fill our lungs with air, Like the gills of a fish flung ashore on a pole, We gape silently — and feel we can’t bear To breathe the smell of food and human dung. They've tinned up all the windows, one by one. While the cool western wind sends a bouquet Of Alpine fragrances scented with pine, The soul is rinsed as one sees far away And smells the snow that makes the mountain shine. Here, my companion ’s t.b.’s just begun. They’ve tinned up all the windows, one by one. The excursion boat’s horn shrill the silence rends. A girl ’s laughter gliding along the walls Melodiously no more in our ears blends. Thousand-fluted summer no longer calls. Our cell is deaf each sound is dead and done. They’ve tinned up all the windows, one by one Past Barcelona ’s gardens gently sifts The cooling of a brown woman s warm voice, And her gitár’s twang through the twilight drifts Where the road is filled with colorful dancers ’ noise: And into our ears the leaden days hum . . . They've tinned up all the windows, one by one We would reach out to touch the velvet sky, But the blood gushes from our fingertips. Nailed in, as if into a coffin, we lie, Except that rough wool scratches and louse nips. We would caress the many-rayed sun — And they’ve tinned up the windows, one by one. At a ball in London many silk-clad girls Glide across the smoothly polished floors, And the downiness of their soft-falling curls Is mirrored in the furniture and the doors. The West dances — has it sold us for fun? They’ve tinned up all the windows, one by one. The fresh tang of spring has often washed our tongue. Groaning, we now swallow dank gulps in turn Of the stale and horrid stench into our lungs And every bite will make our stomach churn. Yet we ’ll swallow this last wrong that’s been done: They’ve tinned up all the windows, one by one. Our hunger-racked bodies are sated with dreams — And Paris offers choice gourmet delights. The Silent Horror creeps, it almost seems, High above the flashing neon lights — And you ’ll never see another rising sun! They 'll tin up all the windows, one by one! May radios continue to shriek hoarsely About human rights and about liberty. Only here do I, walled in, feel coarsely, Moscow ’s scrouge, with millions who are not free. From Vac* to Peking roar slaves in unison: “If you 're not careful, throughout the entire world They ’ll tin up all the windows, one by one! ” Translated from the Hungarian by Erika Papp Faber ‘The prison at Vac was one of the major penal facilities for political prisoners. Thirty years later, the windows of Vac prison were still covered with tin, but painted in a way that, from a distance they might be mistaken for green shutters. TIBOR KECSKESI-TOLLAS, born at Nagybarca, 1920, was a career officer in the Hungarian army. He was seriously wounded in the spring of 1945. On trumped up charges he was imprisoned in 1947 and given a 10 year sentence starting at the prison of Vac. This poem was written on scraps of paper and first circulated among fellow prisoners in Vac. Since 1956 it has become part of every commemorative celebration of the 1956 Uprising among Hungarian exiles. He was released three months before that historic October, then took part in the fight for freedom. After the Russian tanks crushed the Uprising, Tollas fled the country and became editor of NEMZETŐR in Munich, Germany.(Biography and translation from Hungarian taken from ”A Sampler of Hungarian Poetry”, an unpublished manuscript by Erika Papp Faber.) page 6 THEY’LL TIN UP ALL THE WINDOWS, ONE BY ONE
