Light within the Shade: Eight Hundred Years of Hungarian Poetry

Dandelion

124 | Light within the Shade Dandelion Why at your hand Why at your hand, your hair Why at your hand, your hair, your eyes Why at your hand, your hair, your eyes, your skirt Do I snatch so? Forever you ask, Angrily loud at times, at times headshakingly dumb— Why not just a gentle caress, The way it is done by normal people, Why so grabbingly, with those glowing eyes And why the laughter to boot—such impertinence! So ugly, so earsplitting, so raucous! Oh, you’ll leave me at once, or slap my hand! Dandelion, don’t leave, Better I tell you, I’ll tell you—wait, I’ll whisper in your ear— Just push aside that curl. What at your hand What at your hand, your hair What at your hand, your hair, your eyes What at your hand, your hair, your eyes, your skirt So plucks and snatches thus—can’t you remember? What plucks and snatches so—you still don’t know?— Though with such an angry face You try, despite your knowledge, to avert it, Holding back your hair, your eyes, your skirt. At your stamen At your stamen, pistil At your stamen, pistil, and stem At your stamen, pistil, stem, and petal What snatches, Dandelion?—the wind! The wind, the wind, the impudent crazy wind f r ig y es k a r i n t h y | 125 Screaming gleefully at your annoyance. Dandelion, what now? This is only a breeze. This is still mere snatching and whistling. But I haven’t yet spoken to you about my family. Hey, listen! My father was Mr. Howling Storm—and my mother the celebrated Ms. Typhoon of Arkansaw. Then there’s my brother-in-law, Funnel Cloud— Dandelion-fluff, haven’t you ever tangled and swirled aswoon On the spin-crest of the cloud-piercing whirlwind? Maybe you’d better not slap my hand. 1927 ...