Light within the Shade: Eight Hundred Years of Hungarian Poetry

Winter

m i l á n f üst | 131 Winter Dark and frigid the earth. And it will be chillier still, you’ll see, as in slow measure it turns Slanting toward Orion’s foggy projection. Touch its lumps: they too are dusty and chill. And imagine: everything’s going to be dustier: forever greyer will be the world—as if the cold Were to permeate, pierce the essence of things, and the dust here, too, Prevail forever . . . So just walk on! Imagine also it’s all frozen already, halted, tired of its wandering, stifled,— And now already above you echoes the dry stony whirlwind of apocalypse where This particular lump will fly, a blind bird, Beaten by wind, beaten by whirlwind; turned in a cone or lashed by the onward rush Of a hurricane’s impetus dryly it beats and knocks unending against you . . . And imagine now that I walked here too; take my heart’s warmth— Take it that I was once here, that I sang, and what melodies! I, a black lump of the earth, rose up From my uttermost night, pale-faced, up to the sun, under the light . . . And I chanted my hymns to you! and I blared them out And left upon you my sad eyes: eternity inconsolable! A cockfight was here, and what a fight it was! Even to remember! Two clumps of earth resurrected And came against one another . . . In thousands of sallies struck at each other, fell back suddenly; Stared at you sometimes: unfathomable!—and called out: alas, the unfathomable! And their eyes, bloodshot, turned And popped out with horror . . . there was flame, feverish chattering,— soul, oh orphaned wanderer, 132 | Light within the Shade Dust-wanderer,—slowly draw yourself out of all this, that’s what I want. Don’t watch the flames. Wait Till we all of us turn somewhere else and forgetfulness’ dust-grey cape and the stonestorm Buries and covers you over. 1934 ...