This is a poet known only by name to me. Our Mike Slippkauskas has been translating him. It strikes me that this very young Hungarian who died in 1937, the year before Heaney's or Mezey's birth, belongs in our hearts, our memories. I am only going to quote one of Mike's translations, but there are a great many more. Here is Attila Jozsef's deceptively simple poem in Mike's elegant translation. Mike protests that nothing his hand is in belongs on this forum. Jozsef however belongs here, and we owe a debt to Mike for bringing us to him. More to follow.
I Wander
Where is that little house, which so few ever see?
Where each one loves us all and waits there just for me,
And waits there just for me.
In going, should I choose the left path or the right?
Should there be stars above I’ll face the starry night,
The shining, starry night.
Wherever no star shines is where I’m sure to go
And there will be the place they’ll love me even so,
They’ll love me even so.
[This message has been edited by Tim Murphy (edited June 29, 2006).]
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