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

II - „dead bark burning in a hole” - In the Garden (Mark Baczoni)

In the Garden

Tending to my garden, calm and sad,

Wand'ring along from tree to tree From the bluest skies, a cranebird's call Comes floating gently down to me;

And through my hedge comes the lonely sound Of a solitary dove's cries - As just next door a young woman lies Stiff, cold, with pennies in her eyes.

Few come to pay their respects to her,

Coolly each soon enough departs You can tell that she was very poor And she was not from 'round these parts.

She may have no friends or relations,

Or perhaps scattered here and there;

Not for her, alas, their sweet condolence: Strangers, curious, come to stare.

In his workshop full of wooden planks The lonely widower she's left;

Going through the assorted pieces, Heartbroken, sighing deep; bereft.

The wood that he could have made into A wee cradle, or bridal bed,

Instead he is making into a Coffin for his darling dead.

And an infant weeping unaware,

For whom the great old Book of Life,

As - if he lives - he will surely find Holds nothing more than care and strife.

He's cradled by a young servant girl,

Who tells him cry, go on and cry!

And, raining down harsh blows upon him, Shouts, too, to give him reason why.