Arany János - Győrei Zsolt (szerk.): The trill of the nightingale (Budapest, 2019)

I - „And when he bores he starts anew” - Imprisoned Souls (Peter Zollman)

Is this, then, the star of freedom?

This fiery, blinding sun

Through our gloomy prison windows

couldn’t shine on anyone.

Now the eyes are dazzled by its searing incandescent glare:

Come, our prison cell is calling, gentle twilight lingers there.

Here the teeming, roaring chaos like a savage, stormy wave sweeps away our sinking bodies till we meet our early grave.

Leave this feverish commotion, stop the never-ending blare:

Come, our prison cell is calling, endless solitude is there.

Here the open air is sharper and the winds are violent, clouds are gathering in combat, lightning splits the firmament, sky attacks the earth in anger, devastation fill the air:

Come, our prison cell is calling, calmer weather greets us there.

Struggling here in ceaseless labor day and night we stay awake between Scylla and Charybdis: little hope and daunting stake.

Int he jail fatigue or danger never drove us to despair:

Come, our prison cell is calling, restful peace resides int here.

What is this: a flashing sabre, cannon fires, gory swill, flaming torches, bloodstained banners, armies killed and poised to kill!

Fading slowly on our straw-beds we could end the whole affair:

Come, our prison cell is calling, quiet death awaits us there.

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