TÉLUTÓ AMHERSTBEN | LATE WINTER IN AMHERST |
Ágnes Gergely | tr. David Hill |
Nem er![]() csak akadálytalan. A kín görcse a zuhatagban mélyebben benne van, a havat csodálják, tapossák, cseng ![]() de a vízesés ismeri a sziklarepedést. A tó befagy, a láb dobog, a nap legombolyog, a hold nem mindig éri el a hegyi templomot, farönkök csapódnak a t ![]() szikrázni, égni kell, a hegyi árny, a vízi árny a t ![]() kolostorkereng ![]() elfut maga el ![]() mindenkoron függetlenek a szunnyadó er ![]() Hajnal. A lámpasor kih ![]() A csónakok sehol. Szerelmesek borzonganak, megáll a kútszobor, varjú kering a kupolán, lenn szalmabáb suhan. Sosem er ![]() csak akadálytalan. |
The falling snow does not lack strength, it’s simply unopposed. Pain’s spasm pierces deeper where cascading water flows; snow is admired, and trampled down, while bells ring, candles burn, but it’s the waterfall which knows the crack within the stone. The lake grows ice, folks stamp their feet; the sun is threaded off; the moon can sometimes leave untouched the chapel on the cliff; now logs must thud into the pyre to end in sparks and flame; the fire receives no answer from mountain’s or water’s shade; and silence, like a cloister-passage, runs fleeing from itself; they’re independent of each other, all these long-slumbering strengths. Dawn comes. The row of lamps grows cold. No boat is seen to sail. Two lovers shake as they embrace. The statue-well stops still. A crow begins to loop the church, the straw-man swiftly goes. What things arrive do not lack strength, they’re simply unopposed. |
Copyright © Ágnes Gergely 2004; trans. copyright © David Hill 2004