Light within the Shade: Eight Hundred Years of Hungarian Poetry

Red Rébék

já nos a r a n y | 49 Red Rébék ”O’er the narrow footbridge scuttled Red Rébék, then off she flew—”* In a poplar tree she settled, Preened herself as corbies do. He to whom she croaks her “caw!” Harm and scathe shall suffer sore, ’Roint thee, daw! She it was who in black water Boiled poor Dani Pörge’s shoe, Till he married Shinko’s daughter, Tera, girl more light than true. Doubtless now he rues it sore, Minds the cawing evermore, ’Roint thee, daw! Now when Dani bumps that gipsy, Pardon asks he not, and still In the house a-catching, trips he Ups-a-daisy, nose to sill. Secretly she comes indoor, ”What a waste!” sighs evermore; ’Roint thee, daw! Fancy wife, as if unheeding Honeyed words, makes this reply: ”Make no wrangles in our wedding, For no fickle wench am I!” Auntie Rebi sighs the more: What a pity! Caw, caw, caw! ’Roint thee, daw! Next she comes and brings white money, Kerchief red and gauds of art: ”Here, my daughter! Sweet as honey, 50 | Light within the Shade Let this good wine staunch thy heart: Woe if beauty may not soar!” ”Let the bailiff in the door.” ’Roint thee, daw! Griefs enough and quarrels growing Now at home make all things ill; But the neighbors are unknowing: Dani Pörge bears it still. Cradle soon rocks on the floor: Crow outside sings: caw-haw-haw! ’Roint thee, daw! ”Woman, devil! (Where’s my musket?) Take your father home this brat, And this crow a picnic basket For your journey I will shoot.” Now no more the crow sings: caw! All her words stick in her craw: ”’Roint thee, daw!” In the town the word speeds burning: ”Is it true what we’ve heard said? Dani shot a crow this morning But Aunt Rebi fell down dead!” Rebi’s soul grieves not a straw: As a crow, returns to caw. ’Roint thee, daw! Now for murder he is wanted: Now what can poor Dani do? Fugitive, he sets off, hunted, On the footbridge sets his shoe, Meets the bailiff of the law, Crow is screeching: caw, caw, caw! ’Roint thee, daw! já nos a r a n y | 51 Narrow is the bridge’s footing, Not enough for two, we deem; Dani yields not; an upsetting, And a great splash in the stream. Deep it is, with spate and thaw. Crow sees everything, says: caw! ’Roint thee, daw! At a rustling leaf he’ll shiver, Life’s a torment, on the run; ”Stranger, there, stand and deliver!” Says above a loaded gun. Crow is with him evermore: ”You’ll get caught, my fine outlaw!” ”’Roint thee, daw!” ”Crows and ravens, lunch is ready. Many though you are, you see There’s enough for everybody, But the eyes—leave them for me.” Black as beetles though they are, ”Pity!” woman cries in awe, ”’Roint thee, daw!” O’er the bridge with raven feather Red Rébék still cawing flies; From one corbie to another Endlessly her soul it hies; He to whom she croaks her “caw!” Harm and scathe shall suffer sore, ’Roint thee, daw! 1877 *These two lines are fragments of a folk legend.—J.A. ...