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

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

Tending to my garden, calm and sad My trees, their many wounds I bind I hear the dirge; but what care of mine? Trouble, I have my own to mind.

She was neither kith nor kin to me And who takes on a neighbour's care When all our hearts will have their own, Themselves all hard enough to bear.

The world is cokL.and this life is but A ballroom full of women, men,

With crowds that forever come and go In and out, time and time again.

And who's it that can keep abreast of All who come, mill about, and go?

Oh, it's quite the sign of sympathy If we e'en stop to say hello.

The world is cold...and Man's nothing but Just gluttonous and greedy meat; Insatiable as the feeding grub,

Inching forward all things to eat.

And after that ancient gardener,

Death, gathers in a season's crop Another comes up to take its place,

No better, worse a single drop.

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