Itt-Ott, 1977 (10. évfolyam, 1-6. szám)

1977 / 4. szám

In their sharp sabres bright They take a just delight.

For they're collectors of heads,Over the battlegrounds In bloody, mangled mounds Unburied comrades lie, dead,Bellies of beasts and birds Often become the urns Of a good soldier's ashes.

Oh army, glorious,

Of brave young warriors Serving on the wide frontier!

The whole world respects you,

May God still protect you

And increase your name and fame,As He gives trees apples,

May He, in your battles,

Give you victory in the field!

Balassi (1554-1594)

"Egy katonaének"

—éji fordítása

from: A SAD MAN'S lament (Excerpt)

Our glass drops and it shatters, our teeth fall out.

Our clothes are rumpled, tattered, our eyes grow weak.

We lose our keys, our buttons, our spirit flags.

The candle's burning faster, our blood's more slow.

The lamp comes crashing down and our heart stands still.

Oh, woe to me, to you, oh, oh, woe to us.

Kosztolányi Dezső: "A pohár eltörik," "A bús férfi panaszai"-bol.--éji fordítása

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