Verhovayak Lapja, 1954 (37. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1954 / Verhovay Journal
November 17, 1954. Verhovay Journal PAGE 5 LESLIE KÖNNYŰ - MAGYAR POET Magnolia Street In front our house a rosebush, petunia It is our street, the lovely Magnolia. Simple folks live here with none of wiles Gentle their hearts, on their faces are smiles. The street in itself is spacious and wide Maple and ash-trees are lining their sides. To it’s gentle repose a loud car does harm At times even, shriek-wails the fire-alarm. Szekszárd or Kaposvár eas’ly 't could be It’s name nothing less than “a smalltown” should be. Thank God for St. Louis when home leads my gait To reach my portals I hardly can wait. Translated by ANNE B. JUTTXER This year is the twentieth anniversary since Leslie Könnyű began the publication of his fine poetry. We can appreciate even more the fruits of his literary labors when we know that much of his poetry came to being during the difficult years of World War II in Hungary, and again in the uncertain post war period when poet Könnyű found himself struggling for mere existence in Austria. Five years ago a brighter horizon beckoned to the poet as he reached the shores of The United States to establish his new home in ^Jefferson City, Missouri, later in St. Louis. And now Leslie Könnyű is enjoying more and more recognition in ’ this great country of ours as his, poems are translated for English speaking- readers, for literary societies and schools of poetry. Not to he passed over lightly is the recent magnificent tribute in two pages, with some of Konnyu’s literary gems of poetry reprinted, to the St. Louis Hungarian poet, which fine g-esture in honor of the his twentieth year in poetical composition appeared in the “St. Louis és Vidéke,’’ Hungarian publication in St. Louis, on October 8, 1954. But Leslie Konnyu’s entire career •is not confined to rhythmical and metrical language. He has a versatility that deserves much admiration. He has written plays, a short story and other productions in literature. His wide knowledge in writing has made him associated with the “St. Louis és Vidéke” Hungarian paper. He is accomplished musically as organist and pianist, in addition he is the founder of the “Hungarian Melodies” Sunday radio program. He is a technician at the Electroencephalographie Laboratory of Washington University Medical School. He has been associated with various clubs and societies in cultural and educational activities. More could be said for his versatility but enough is printed here to point out this man ias one of talent, action and accomplishment. Leslie Könnyű lives with his wife and three children, two sons and a daughter, in St. Louis. We proudly report another activity of his. He is manager of Branch 209, St. Louis. Congratulations, Leslie Könnyű, on your twentieth anniversary as poet! Below appear several of Mr. Konyu’s translated poems. R E P R I N T Editor’s Note: The following news story is the result of an exclusive interview arranged by National Auditor John Sabo with the Pittsburgh Press. The story appeared in a recent Sunday edition, featuring a Hungarian priest, who was the main speaker at the first Hungarian Evening of the Greater Pittsburgh Chapter of the American Hungarian Federation. Heroic Priest Tells How He Fled Commies Cloak and Dagger Flight Described A Hungarian priest, who crawled through the Iron Curtain with blood oozing from a hip wound, told last night how it feels to play cat-andmouse with Communist secret police. The Rev. Joseph Medges, former chaplain of Budapest University, was interviewed upon his arrival here to meet with Pittsburgh members of the American Hungarian Federation. ' The priest explained that his anti- Communist sermons angered the Red rulers of Hungai-y, “so they decided I would have to disappear.” “Two fakers—bad boys of the secret police—came to me pretending to be English intelligence agents. They offered me money for information about the Hungarian government,” Father Medges related. He saw through the clumsy trick immediately but decided to try to turn it against the Reds. Pretending to be indignant, he telephoned the Communist police to report the “traitors.” He quickly learned he was no match for the Communists at intrigue. “They arrested the ‘English spies’ all right,” he explained “But two hours later the ‘spies’ had made a 60-page confession in which they said I had been supplying them with information for months.” Father Medges was hustled off to Budapest’s infamous “Stalin Prison,” where he was subjected to a 30-hour third degree without sleep or food. “I was beaten and cursed at,” he said. “The best title I got was ‘black swine.’ They put a pistol to the back of my neck and threatened to pull the trigger.” His captors finally offered to release him if he would promise to spy upon his bishop for them. He promised—but he also promised himself to escape and tell the world the true story. He got his chance when he was transferred to a sanatorium because of ill health. Changing to laymen’s clothes, he faded into the Hungarian population to spend the next six months as a fugitive. At length a countess, who had been beggared by the Reds, introduced him to the underground route to freedom. “Be in the postoffice at 5 p. m. writing a letter with a stubby pencil,” she said. “Follow the man who asks to borrow- it.” Father Medges complied, and an elderly farmer gave him the signal. A few- days later the priest and the farmer’s young son were standing before an intricate barbed wire barricade deep in a forest on the Austro-Hungarian border. “This is the Iron Curtain,” the youth said. “Be* careful It’s mined.” He flattened himself on the ground ancf began worming his way through the maze. Father Medges followed but was not so agile. A mine exploded and jagged metals tore into his hip. The younger man dragged him the rest of the way through the barrier and helped him to an Austrian farm house, where he got treatment for the wound. Luckily, it w-as not serious. A fev/ days later, safe in the British zone of Austria, the fugitive priest told his story to English intelligence officers—real ones this time. ----------------------------Your Health From the Medical Society of the State of Pennsylvania and the Allegheny County Medical Society Too many clothes often results in an unpleasantly perspiring condition that in the wintertime may result in chilling. Persons who habitually wear too much clothing in winter are likely to become overly sensitive to changes in temperature. * * * Too many clothes affects the rate of metabolism with the result that appetite and digestion may be impaired. * * * Men are removing the old shackles for long- w'ear and are thinner than the old-fashioned suiting are being made for year-round and all- purpose wearing. Poems by Leslie Könnyű Prayer for America Lord God! I. thank Thee. Thou’st brought me hither, That Thou at last hast cast aside my cares, My home, where now red phantoms blood’ly roam, Th’ old Europe, which in ruins crashes down. Lord God! My voice does quiver in my throat, When'I bespeak Thy work, “America”. The bount’ous, blessed land, and rivers lafge, The pompous cities and. simple, lowly farms. Lord God! Here first felt a care-free bard, Aft many and many a year I feel a man Again in freedom’s life and plent’ous love, In beauty, culture, religion and free faith. Lord God! And here I see true, faithful priests. Good, loyal men and over-crowded churches, The soul shines bright in children’s guileless eyes, And on the streets bloom, ivell-farg, peace and hope. Lord God! It is worth living here and trusting, The day will come when justice is meted out, And plucked and bloody Europe in Thy arms, Receives sweet mercy, Oh Thou eternal God! Lord God! Bless this Thy people and Thy land, Which first bent down to the suffering people’s cause, To restore again the heart to the expelled, And open its gates to new-born, great desires. Lord God! Oh bless them richly a hundred times, Oh bless them with both hands and guard them always, Because naive their hearts and incorrupt, And they can la,ugh as sweetly as innocent children. Translated by F. H. EGGEMANN At Night I stand under starlight so glowing and gaze at their sky-blue gown flowing. bewitched at their beautiful flare with outstretched arms slender and bare. From lulling beauty’s mild, tender lap I’d like to pluck them, leaving a gap. so no one should see me a beggar so bare in happy abundance to strew gifts só rare on my youthful body. Bright stars shall proclaim that l am a poet! — And worthy of fame. » Translated by ANNE B. JUTTNER
