Fraternity-Testvériség, 1955 (33. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1955-12-01 / 12. szám
TESTVÉRISÉG 13 phasis should not be on this feature; the varied aspects of his poetry show him as the poet of such themes, as national spirit, love, solitude, and metaphysical problems. He applied poetic license to his diction; at times he followed the pattern of rococo poets. “Compared with the poets of his time he wrote with unusual subjectivity and naturalness.” 14 Since István Gyöngyösi, in whose poetry the common center is conjugal love, no poetic book appeared in Hungary in Which love was the sole subject matter, except Sándor Kisfaludy’s Himfy Szerelmei (The Loves of Himfy) which appeared in 1801.15 It is evident that the spontaneous expressions of Csokonai, contrasted with the contrived verses of other poets, proved to be an exceptional experience in Hungarian literature. “Similarly to Sándor Kisfaludy, Csokonai developed Hungarian poetic traditions, but Kisfaludy’s policy was mainly that of a political minded representative of the landed gentry, whereas Csokonai had true poetic intentions.”16 His aesthetic judiciousness added to the significance of his poetic stature. His rhythmic structure, the frankness of his emotions or his comic sense, his contemplativeness and his insistence on the sound of words and homely images, his departure from trite rhetorical devices, confirm the view of those who call him one of the liveliest and at the same time one of the most thoughtful Hungarian poets. In his poem “Az én poézisom természete” (The Nature of my Poetry), rejecting the “night thoughts” of Edward Young, he gives praise to the “gay Muses and smiling Graces.” “A rózsabimbóhoz” (To the Rosebud), “A Duna nimfája” (The Nymph of the Danube), “Az eleven rózsához” (To a Living Rose), “Tartózkodó kérelem” (Reserved Plea), and other poems (most from the Lilia collection), reveal him as a poet who handled the eighteenth century French norm of le sentiment in an individual manner. While some of his poems are closely related to their rococo model, in general the Hungarian poet conquered the rigid conventions with his own personal rhythm. But sometimes he seems too deliberate or fanciful in the presentation of his feelings or ideas. Considering the circumstances under which he wrote, his topical and technical defects are not surprising; one is rather surprised at the clearness and vivaciousness of his poems. Little of his poetry is translated into English. “A reményhez” (To Hope) illustrates his subjectivity and meditativeness. 17 14 Gyula Farkas, op. cit., p. 136. 15 János Horváth, ed. MAGYAR VERSEK KÖNYVE (Budapest, 1937), p. 25. 16 Antal Szerb, op. cit., p. 249. 17 Watson Kirkconnell, op. cit., pp. 48-50. To mortal eyes, thou, Hope, dost gleam A form divinely sweet; But eyes of gods can pierce the dream And see thy blind deceit. Unhappy men in times of ill Create thee for their easing; And as their guardian angel still They worship without ceasing. Why dost thou flatter me with praise? Why dost thou then deride me? Why in my bosom dost thou raise A dubious heart to chide me? Stay far and fair beyond my reach, As first my soul thou greeted! I had depended on thy speech, But thou hast ever cheated. With jonquil and with daffodil Thou plantedst all my garden, And introduced a brattling rill To be my orchard’s warden; Thou didst bestrew my laughing spring With many a thousand flowers, The scents of heaven thou didst fling To perfume all its hours; My thoughts, like bees, found morning sweet ’Mid garden plots and closes, And rang’d about in fragrant heat Above my heavy roses. One hope possess’d my soul apart, One radiant prospect joy’d me, My garden lay in Lilia’s heart, Its wonders never cloy’d me. But, ah, the roses of my ease Have wither’d quite away; My sparkling brook and shady trees Are dead and dry to-day. The springtime of my happiness Is winter now instead; My dreams are gone beyond redress, My fairy world is fled. Ah, wouldst thou leave me but my lass, The Lilia of my passion, I’d let all sad complaining pass Nor mourn in any fashion. Within her arms I could forget Misfortune, grief and pain; No wreath of pearl could match my girl Were she with me again. Depart from me, 0 cruel Hope! Depart and come no more; For blinded by your power I grope Along a bitter shore. My strength has fail’d, for I am riven By all thy doubt and dearth; My tired spirit longs for heaven, My body years for earth.
