I like writing poetry. I usually write in English, although I have written some poems in German as well, and very few, in my mothertongue, Hungarian. The poems below were written in the past ~ 10 years of my life (they are not in chronological order).
Maps and pores and prophecies
in this world
I am in this world
X marks my spot, placed or thrown,
earthborn once, now soaring,
now swimming along, disconnected
for mere glimpses, and only
as I jump and sleep,
and even then encased (or jailed?)
I get to take on any shape
in this home I never leave
of this world
I am of this world
the flesh I pick at – not just mine
and all water I am vessel for
unwittingly inhaling gas as
fireworks well up inside, are
braided and released
through questions, votes, by
chewing gum or bread, and
scraping up my knee
for this world
I am for this world
birthright and more, my smile
and flowers I can cut and give
bad, butchered jokes and all
the dishes soiled by making friends
and ratatouille
the space I take (the space I make)
and all the women
I will be
Return to Gosau
Gosau is a lady in grey
With a chiseled jaw that's partially covered by
Her ethereal scarf
I remember her naked
And clothed in white
Last summer she greeted me
And her smile was green
And green was a warm colour
I tripped and I fell and I cut myself
In Gosau while a yellow coated
Child played with their yellow coated
Father in the rain
And I cried watching a duckling
Swim to a turquoise shore
I took pictures of a sea of yellow
Swimming on top of the moss
Covering the forest floor
I see other mountains from this place
That I keep returning to,
and I do believe
That they are yellow, too
That they caress and move and lighten,
Too.
And maybe I will go one day.
Just never because I'll be done with you.
Ungaretti in Japan
I walked my garden
And picked the perfect cherry
At the perfect time
I see now
I never understood the value
Of a poem about a flower
Until I loved one
Twenty-one petals around its yellow eye
(That's 1 modulo 2 - "loves me" back!)
White, crumpled, yet silky smooth
With jagged edges - still, never rough.
And what looks like one yolk
To a careless gaze
(Before! Now I barely blink - waste of light)
Is about two hundred suns,
Waiting to give life to more lives
(Make more to be loved)
I watch her dance defiant
As the southwest strikes,
And share her with a honeybee.
I am barely jealous that my hands must touch her
With restraint and care,
While that beast
Of her own size
Is, for a moment,
enveloped by her.
Lebensgefühl
Vom Licht geküsst
Überall zu Hause
Doch nur hier und dort
Allein daheim.
Ein Teil verdunkelt.
Ab und zu
Mach ich mich auf
Und geh hinein.
Banale Listen:
Flügel freier.
Morgen näher.
Seele rein.
Ich ziehe los, will fort und
Weg hier.
Suche, ziele -
Und tauch nur tiefer
In mich ein.
Ist schon Abend?
Schatten drängen.
Wenn ich mich jetzt ganz schnell wende
Höre ich kurz
auf zu sein.
ohne Titel
alles, was ist: durch deine Augen
durch deine Augen erst: alles, was ist
Storage
I have no name for my cobbled-together,
Wavering and fragile last-resort faith.
From remnant shreds of memory, I recall
My even-then distant Catholic education.
I cross my amateur fingers and when
It gets dark out there, I pray.
Was taught and never learned, but when
It gets dark in here, I pray -
A dilettante, but I pray anyway.
Or when goodness shines and I stand
Awestruck as a witness of my own elation,
I default to bowing my head - I kneel and
I pray to create space in advance
For big answers to big, heavy questions.
It's not so much that I'm an optimist -
I must make room, even if nothing ever comes that fits.
So you ask me, your proud agnostic skeptic:
Are you not ashamed to resort to prayer?
I am, but, you see, it's almost irrelevant.
I shall pray till you give me another idea
Where to shed and to store this vast
I Don't Understand.
From now on, only Everything
This is how I want it:
Coming together from places of freedom.
Free souls meet in the spring, and stay where the joy is.
Running from nothing,
Fighting for nothing,
Seeking nothing.
Just this: to notice a spot in the sun and take a seat,
One beside the other, and let it shine on our faces.
Of course, we know that the sun will set,
And that it will rise again,
That soon it may be cloudy,
And then summer will come – and go.
Only none of it matters
as the sunshine rays kiss
our cheeks and make them feel
warm, warm, warm.
Dualität
Mein Blickfeld ist weit, hat er gesagt
Und gemeint, dass er den Fokus verliert,
Oder gemeint, dass er den Überblick wahrt?
(Jeder Mensch in seinem Widerspruch.)
Und mein Blick ist weder weit noch eng,
Wenn mich mein Kopf beansprucht -
Vor lauter Innen kein Raum für Draußen
(Jedem Menschen seine Dichotomie.)
dancer
when I go home
(to that which is not home,
anymore)
I get to show off
a half captive, half oblivious,
audience watches me
perform at breakfast
the city has taught me tricks
they never could, and starting
late is a hindrance
as in any sport
I'm afraid I will never
be as fast, as strong or as elastic
as those former children with
their leotards and buns
I am a child of the countryside
and no matter how long it has been
my accent always comes back
right at that kitchen table
my feet sickle and my
sternum falls just a little
they don't see it, but my coach would
- and I do
Kezdetben
Kezdetben hontalan szívem
A ház és a falu, a szokás és a család
Kéretlen ketrecéböl kitörni,
Szabadulni szeretett.
Délután azonban megdermedt.
A szabadság szíjtalan szelében lebegett
Mikor csodálkozva-csalódottan
Rádöbbent, hogy remegett.
Most majdnem este van. Bokáimat
Símogatja a saját bársony kötelem.
E hontalan madárka engem is meglepett:
Elfogultam, de nem megfogott,
Inkább: megszelídített
A szeretet.
Mit eines Kindes Augen, aus eines Kindes Mund
Wenn ich die Worte eines Kindes hätte,
die blinde Hoffnung junger Mädchen hegte,
noch glaubte Papas Märchens nachts am Bette,
in denen Licht das Dunkel stets besiegte.
Wenn ich mich einst in Unschuld weiter hätte
In den Wonnen hoher, fremder Kunst vergraben
Mich begnügt mit Vers und Melodie zur Sätte
Ohne eig'ne Träume, die gen Himmel ragen
Wenn ich von diesem Leben gar nichts wüsste -
zu wenig jedenfalls, um Angst zu haben -
und ich nicht stets in Altes fliehen müsste,
vielleicht würd' meine Sprache nicht versagen.
Dann säh' ich jetzt mit eines Kindes Augen,
Fühle noch roh, naiv und rein wie eh,
Dann wären meine Worte klar wie: Taube,
Salz und Sonne, Luft und Schnee.
Baby squirrel
You were standing on the left side of the path,
and I was passing along on the right. I think I
felt a stir of delight, before I saw your right
left right left right panicked zigzag. Finally,
you chose right, and I had chosen to keep going
straight, and I hit the brakes far too late for
your small body to stand a chance.
You lay there, twitching, long enough for me to
think "oh God, I cannot do it, I cannot put you
out of your misery", but then suddenly, stopped
moving. You were all put together still, except
for that one bulging red eye and the blood that
seeped from your mouth. I slid both of my hands
under you and felt your soft fur on my palms.
You were still so warm, just a minute ago there
had been nothing more alive. I carried you away
from the road and sat down beside a tree and as
I held you in my lap, I wept. There was nothing
to do, but to weep, to forgive myself, and then
find a spot to honour your death. After a while
I picked a sunlit spot on leaves of green.
You looked calm and cared for, and you were, in
that curled up way I set you down. I stopped to
check in on you, homeward bound. Despite having
killed you, I felt a sort of gratitude that you
had been treated with such reverence. Cherished
and grieved. Little baby squirrel, I wish I had
loved you under different circumstances.