#2391 -- 1956

 

2391

7.198

19.vii.26

1956

ekphrastikus vers

Kondor Béla 1956-os „Apokalipszis bábokkal és masinakkal” utan

 

 

ez egyfajta meztelenség, amit a gépbe táplálunk

a küzdelem után, csak azért, hogy létezzek

 

hívd hitnek

hívd reménynek

 

trombiták hajlottak

 

a szárnyaink túl nehezek ahhoz, hogy felemelkedjenek a földről

 

az ima újra összetörik

 

néhányan a gépben vannak

 

csak éppen ott ébredtünk fel

 

látod, hány lábbal megy el

 

hol van az erős ember?

 

és ki fog minket megmenteni tőle?

 

végig azt gondoltuk, hogy jön a segítség

 

félénkek vagyunk

 

ismét kudarcot vallottunk

még mindig itt vagyunk

 

van egyfajta meztelenség

 

hívd hitnek

hívd reménynek

 

az egyiket méretre vágják

 

mégis, ugyanazok a régi szavak kell elegendő

 

job aludni

abban van vigasz

 

van egy tükör, amiben tudunk

 

ne nézz! Jobb nem nézni!

 

megint kudarcot vallottunk

 

még mindig itt vagyunk

 

a próféták azt mondják, újra felébredünk

 

új bábok

 

egy másik gép

 

a tragédia után van bohózat

 

végig azt gondoltuk, hogy jön a segítség

 

nem mindig jobb aludni?

 

azt hiszem, ismered a forgatókönyvet

 

egy ősi korona dicsősége –

 

egy Horthy, egy Kádár

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1956

ekphrastic for Kondor Béla’s 1956 ‘Apocalypse with Puppets and Machines’

 

it’s a kind of nakedness we feed in

after the struggle simply to be

 

call it faith

call it hope

 

trumpets are bent

 

we strain to reach up

 

what is the message?

for whom was it sent?

 

our wings are too heavy to lift off the ground

 

prayer is crushed once again

 

we’re naked, brittle of bone

 

the struggle is eternal

 

surely there must be help

 

some of us are in the machine

it just happens to be that’s where we woke up

 

you can see how many feet make it go

 

is that a horse still?

we knew about horses

 

there’s an old tower standing yet

 

call it faith

call it hope

 

our wings are too heavy

 

we strain to reach

we cannot afford this

 

all along we were thinking help would have come

 

our hands are bare, are empty

 

it’s a kind of mirror

all the world can see

no one looks in

 

we’re shy

 

we have failed again

we’re still here

 

there’s a kind of nakedness

 

one is cut down to size

 

it’ whenever you ask ‘who are we (?)’

 

the same words suffice

 

it is better to sleep

 

there’s comfort in that

 

in thirty years we may wake briefly

fall under another spell shortly after

 

new puppets, another machine

 

one needn’t be a prophet to tell

 

we are cut down to size

our hands are bare, are empty

 

after tragedy there’s farce

 

I think you know the playbook

 

the glory of an ancient crown –

a Horthy, a Kadar

#2390 -- vidéki élet, fekete-fehér // country life, black and white

2390

7.197

18.vii.26

vidéki élet, fekete-fehér

ekfrasztikus

vers Révész Tamás fényképeihez

 

egy leomló kerítés

kis kémény a hóban

 

a város egy fényképezőgép lencséjében nőtt fel

 

egy háború dúlt itt egyszer, mondják

vagy lehetett volna egy másik

 

persze ehhez megfelelő szemekre lesz szükséged

 

a bicikli romjaiban

cementet gyártunk

 

végre a nap és egy cigaretta

 

csobbanj át ezen a nyáron

tedd ki a nyelved!

 

ezek egy másik világ képei

ezek díszesen vannak bekeretezve

 

ez sosem egészen szemtől szemben

 

mi ellenálltunk a színekig

 

a kés a fényes dolog

 

 

 

country life, black and white

ekphrastic for the photography of Revesz Tamas

 

 

a fence made of falling

a little chimney in the snow

 

the city grew up in the lens of a camera

 

a war rolled through here once, so they say

or it might have been another

 

of course you will need the right eyes for this

 

in the bicycle ruins

we're making cement

 

the sun and a cigarette at last

 

splash through this summer

poke out your tongue

 

these are pictures of another world

ornately framed

 

this is never quite face to face

 

we have resisted as far as the colour

 

a knife is the shining thing

  

#2389 -- purring / dorombolni

 

2389

7.196

17.vii.26

purring / dorombolni

 

the city is

 

a scratch under the chin

it catches

 

seasonal thing

 

winter steam

fan for the heat

 

there is the purr of conversation

we talk in our sleep

 

streetcar clang

the footpath breathing

 

old refrains

 

the city’s snoring

some would say

 

nothing like a chorus

 

it’s all these hearts

all they can hold

 

there’s never the full confession

 

we’re dreaming of elsewhere

dreaming to be here

 

it’s time out of mind tells out

 

as you beside me

purring now

 

we each beside ourselves

#2388 -- stumble stones

 

2388

7.195

16.vii.26

stumble stones

 

such a little lid for the pit

such a long way to fall

 

you do know it’s out of the world they went?

perhaps that won’t be immediately apparent

 

such hells!

and anyone could fall

 

such a little lid for the pit

such a long way down

 

think of it as a person-hole

 

great pit of nothing

 

they decorate it all with horrors

 

there isn’t the luxury of stairs

 

all personality is gone

 

it’s whose turn next (?)

you ought to ask

 

it’s where we trip

where we all stumble

 

such a little lid for the pit

such a long way to fall

 

it’s mind where we all go

#2387 -- diasporic

 

2387

7.194

15.vii.26

diasporic

jetlag zombie robots in Budapest

 

we are the children of ghosts

 

they never came back

 

the old pengő is useless these days

 

perhaps they once had wishes

we will never know now

we set out with a map in our heads

on the phone, a back pocket paper map

print too small

 

who were they to this

 

we are the children of ghosts

come back for more

 

live on a fold between districts – Kiraly Utca

downstairs gluten free, attitude

 

one way’s as good as another

 

to the countryside and hock the lot!

 

there are ways to survive

 

streets lead off like drunks

but we’re alright

 

follow a tour leader’s flag

 

we could end up in any language

perhaps one not yet spoken

 

our children will of course be ghosts

marry a ghost and that’s what you get

 

this is all part of the game

 

the way they throw these streets together

give us perfume samples in the mall

 

you can’t have too many shoes!

 

from all over the world, they feed

we receive

it’s this to which we conform

 

it’s with every footfall

set in cement for a sky

 

we are the children of ghosts

dodged one bullet

but there was a next

years passed

there was the petal fall

the unleafing

no further snow

 

it’s like we weren’t quite dead enough

had to risk all again

to be lost

to go on

just to pass by windows

and see no reflection

it’s all so long ago

 

I cannot remember building all this

 

everything done so we wouldn’t know

that was the best thing then

 

these are ways of another time

home by Bolt if we can’t find a way

they say streets lead to the future too

 

but it’s always the old wars

the pretending

close your eyes

and we’re coming now

know where you’re hiding

 

they’re getting away with it again

 

and we’re ghosts, after all

 

it’s all night to be here forgetting

 

buildings will always remember us

 

have to write a way out

what can we say

when no one will hear?

 

we’re ghosts, we’re mute

we’ll float by, unseen

 

bullets stray, there are little brass plaques

trapdoors to our insect past

 

the wall is a floor is the ground

is the street

 

we are the undead

have no idea of down or up

 

we’d be an embarrassment if they knew

 

we are the children of ghosts

 

we are here

 

nothing can cure us of time