Hungarian Poems.

[Cern]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeleeXvq-JI


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUS2qWVk-JQ


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pSCzAuPaRk


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qCuB_QUe9A0


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dR8G_mdDQWU

[Szegedist]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-BuUloEgF0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlmucehNcw8

[Szegedist]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=845q9rxstQU

[Cern]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXO9ajtHzLU

[Cern]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=89Lls0n0JGs

[Cern]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5V1q33xLbaw

[Cern]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5S4Jwsj-sw8

[Szegedist]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3P2jsJIMXRE

[Cern]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1dn9yD3rGw

[Szegedist]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U027-09fCcA

[Cern]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAwzn9na7rI

[Cern]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NoWeI7IXVCc

[Cern]

"Ismét csalódtam, azt hivém, elég
Ledönteni a múltnak rémeit,
S szabad versenyt szerezni az erőknek. -
Kilöktem a gépből egy főcsavart,
Mely összetartá, a kegyeletet,
S pótolni elmulasztám más erősbbel.
Mi verseny ez, hol egyik kardosan
Áll a mezetlen ellennek szemében,
Mi függetlenség, száz hol éhezik,
Ha az egyes jármába nem hajol.
Kutyáknak harca ez egy konc felett. "

MADÁCH IMRE: AZ EMBER TRAGÉDIÁJA

[Cern]

Sándor Márai : Angel from the heaven


Angel from the Heaven, go with haste

To the festering - frosty Budapest

There, between the russian tanks

The bells are silent.

Where christmas isn't bright.

There arent any golden nut on the trees,

There is nothing else than, frost, shivering, hunger.

Tell them, so that they can understand!

Speak laudly in the night:

Angel, deliver message of miracle!



Flap your wings quickly,

Fly, swiftly, because theyre waiting.

Dont tell them about the world,

Where candles are burning,

Tables are full in warm houses,

Cleric cheers with fair words

Flimsy is whispering, gift,

Whise word is deliberateing, smart design,

Sparkler is sparking on the trees,

Angel, now You speak of miracle!



Tell this, because this is the wonder of the world:

A por nations christmass treeIn the

Silent Night it began to be on fire

And now a lot of make a sign of the cross.

Continents people just watch, and watch,

Some understand it, some of them dont.

They are thinking, this is too much for thousands.

They are praying or shuddering,

Because something else hangs on the tree, not candy:

Christ of folks, Hungary!



And a lot of passes by:

The soldier, who poked him in the heart,

The Farizeus, who sold it,

Who denied, three times.

He dipped his hand in the same bowl,

Wanted to sale it for thirty silvermoney

And while he abused him,

Hit him, acussed him:

Now the people just stand and stare,

But nobody can say nothing to him.



Because He doesnt says nothing, neither is accusing,

Stares, like Christ from the cross.

This christmas tree is very odd,

Devil brought it, or Angel brought it,

Who cast die on his robe,

They dont know what are they doing,

They just suspect it

The secret of this night,

Because this is one odd christmas:

The Hungarian nation hangs on those trees.



And the world speaks of miracle,

Clerics speaks of bravery.

The state man startes it,

The holy pope blesses him.

And every folk, and orders

Now questioning, why this had to happen.

Why didnt they extinctioned as others wanted?

Why didnt they just waited the end of it?

Why, how the sky opened,

A nation sad: Enough!



These people does not understand,

What has rised like the sea?

Why did world orders shaken?

A nation shouted. Then silenced.

But now a lot of them asks: What happened?

Who did make law out of bone, and flesh?

And more of them asks

Stammerly, because they really dont understand

Them, who inherited:

Does freedom this big?



Angel, deliver the message from the sky,

They will be always new life out of blood.

They met each other sometimes

The child, the donkey, and the shepherd

In the litter, next to the manger,

If life give born,

They still guard the miracle,

They stand guard with their breath,

Because the star is bright, the dawn shaters,

Tell them: angel from the heaven.



1956, New York

http://www.magyarulbabelben.net/upload/image/1814_marai_sandor.jpg

[Cern]

József Attila: By the Danube

By the Danube

1
On the bottom step that from the wharf descends
I sat, and watched a melon-rind float by.
I hardly heard, wrapped in my destined ends,
To surface chat the silent depth reply.
As if it flowed from my own heart in spate,
Wise was the Danube, turbulent and great.

Like a man’s muscles bending at his toil,
Hammering, pitching, leaning on the spade,
So bulged and then contracted in recoil
Each wave that rippling in the current played.
It rocked me like my mother, told me a wealth
Of tales, and washed out all the city’s filth.

And drops of rain began to fall, but then,
As though their fall had no effect, they stopped.
Yet still, like one who stayed at the long rain
Out of a cave, my gaze I never dropped
Below the horizon. Endlessly to waste,
Drably like rain fell all bright things, the past.

The Danube just flowed on. And playfully
The ripples laughed at me as I reclined,
A child on his prolific mother’s knee
Resting, while other thoughts engaged her mind.
They trembled in time’s flow and in its wake
As tottering tombstones in a graveyard shake.

2.
I am he who has gazed a hundred thousand years
On that which he now sees for the first time.
One moment, and fulfilled all time appears
In a hundred thousand forbears’ eyes and mine.

I see what they could not because they must
Drag hoes, kill and embrace, for this enrolled,
And they, who have descended into dust
See what I do not, if the truth be told.

We know each other as sorrow and delight.
I, in the past, they in the present live.
They hold the pencil in the poem I write.
I feel them and evoke what they now give.

3.
My mother was Cumanian, and half Szekler
My father half Rumanian or entire.
The nurture from my mother’s mouth was nectar
And from my father’s lips the truth was pure.
When I stir, they embrace. Then, soon or late,
This makes me sad. This is mortality.
Of this I am made. Such words as these: Just wait
Until we are no more - they speak to me.

They speak to me, for not I am they, robust
Despite whatever weakness made me frail,
And I think back that I am more than most:
Each ancestor am I, to the first cell.
I am the Forbear split and multiplied
To make my father and my mother whole;
My father and mother then in turn divide,
and so I am made one, a single soul.

I am the world; all that is past exists;
Where nations hurl themselves against each other,
With me in death the conqueror’s victory lasts,
In me the anguish gnaws of those they smother.
Árpád, Zalán, Werbőczy, Dózsa, Turks,
Tartars, Rumanians, Slovaks, storm this heart.
If in great depths a quiet future lurks,
It owes the past, to-day’s Hungarians, part.

I want to work. Enough of conflict goes
Into that need which must confess the past.
The Danube’s tender ripples which compose
Past, present, future, hold each other fast.
The battle which our ancestors once fought
Through recollection is resolved in peace,
And settling at long last the price of thought,
This is our task, and none too short its lease.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pSCzAuPaRk

[Cern]

József Attila: Belated Lament.


My fever's ever thirty-six degrees and still
mother, you're not with me.
Like any loose, easy girl when called at will,
You have lain down by Death's side readily.
From the gentle autumn landscape and many
kind women I try to piece you together,
But there's no time left as the all-consuming
fierce fire grows hotter.

As I was returning home for the last time
the wars had just ended,
And in entangled and ruined Budapest
Many shops were left breadless and empty.
Crouching on train-roofs I brought you potatoes,
While the sack was filled with millet already;
Stubborn me, I had got a chicken for you,
But you were nowhere to be.

Your sweet breast and self you took away from me
and gave them to the worms.
My, how you consoled and chid your son, but see:
False and deceitful were your kind words.
As you blew on my soup, stirring it, you said:
"You're growing big for me, eat, my precious, eat",
But your empty lips taste oily dampness now -
How greatly you misled me!

If only I'd eaten you!.. You brought me your supper
but did I ask for it?
Why did you bend your back over the washing?
That now in a box you should straighten it?
See, I'd be glad if you would strike me once more,
Now I'd be happy for I'd return your blow;
You are worthless for you're trying not to be,
You spoil it all, you shadow.

You're a greater swindler than any woman
who deceives and betrays.
Stealthily you deserted your living faith
You bore out of your loves amid your wails.
You gipsy! what you have given, cajoling,
In the final hour you stole back the lot.
The child feels a quick impulse to swear; mother,
don't you hear it? Tell me off.

Slowly light enters my mind and the legend
has vanished like a dream.
The child that clings to the love of his mother
now realizes how silly he's been.
Deceit awaits him who's born of a mother:
He's either deceived or to deceive he'll try.
If he struggles on, he'll die of this but if
he gives in, of that he'll die.


With a pure heart.


Without father without mother
without God or homeland either
without crib or coffin-cover
without kisses or a lover

for the third day - without fussing
I have eaten next to nothing.
My store of power are my years
I sell all my twenty years.

Perhaps, if no else will
the buyer will be the devil.
With a pure heart - that's a job:
I may kill and I shall rob.

They'll catch me, hang me high
in blessed earth I shall lie,
and poisonous grass will start
to grow on my beautiful heart.

[Sodium]

Thank you for these

[gültekin]

They have shed again on black soil
The brave Magyars, their glorious Turanian blood.
They have written again to the history, the most honorable,
Their epic of courage

Death for the motherland,is the most beautiful way to die
Deaths allow to live, the homeland of a nation.
Of course, Arpad's nation can not be killed,
Although they give off thousands of their life

To the herds of the swamp folk Muscovites,
Magyars showed the pride of Turanians.
They died in thousands... To die is not to lose,
It is to glorify your fame...

(This poem is written by Turkish poet Hüseyin Nihal Atsız, tribute to 1956 uprising in Hungary and dedicated to Prof.dr. Imre Taht )
I have tried to translate, hope it's make sense :shy:
http://www.siirvadisi.com/siir/16082.htm

[Cern]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCnVh6ntw7Y

Endre Ady: Christmas

I.

Bell is chiming
Sing is rising
Thanksgiving song hears afar
In Christmas time in my village
Every soul think of God.

Every person
With so much love
Humble themselves with a praise
In my little hometown
The Messiah brought our God’s grace.

Young, and old,
Go in long straight line
To the temple praise, up high
In my little home town the
People are praying to God

It seems to me
The Lord of High
Sent down us His love and peace
In my little humble town
Every hearts
Open for Grace

II.
I’m lost in the big city,
On the noisy streets
I wish I can go home
For Christmas Eve
I wish to pry just like
old times


With open heart have the Peace.
I wish I can forget the years
I can return, as a child,
I wish to have back my child faith
To able to receive the Grace.


III.

If the story of this Night
Would become our Guiding Light
The world around us might
Be a place of honest life.
Sinful men would stand for God
And the hope for eternity

Should be as for all the time
The life here in the earth
Would not be like pain of birth
Only one force would lead us
In the Universe to pass,
There would no more creed to take
Only Praise our God the Great
And have love for the others …
Christmas message
Should be told
Around the whole big world.