A keresés eredménye

My little dove

My little dove who flew away from me
your image returns night after night to impede my sleep
because of love, I get restless and I'm waiting for you
although hidden as ever my pain is beyond all bearing.
 
Because of your cruelty I'm bustling around sick and feverish
after cradling the warm affection that we lived together,
you took flight, here you left me, making me an orphan
homeless and alone, mired in sadness, since that time.
 
Without any solace I keep loving you each sunrise
as a shadow I am walking alone with my loneliness.
My eyes suffer when looking at the house where you no longer are,
a broken heart that stains my chest and makes me sob.
 
With a low flight from me you turned away little dove
because you didn't want me to stroke your hair and skin.
Come back, I ask you, to comfort me as you know how.
Relieve this sorrow that crushes my soul, my little dove
 

Kundera's Grandmother

Kundera's grandmother, and also mine,
knew every herb and their applications,
they knew what they had inside the mattresses,
they knew how to study the sky and bake bread.
 
Kundera's grandmother in her small Czech town
and mine in her Belchite, and they both knew
the priest was the confidant of the police.
There were no secrets around them.
 
Kundera's neighbor looks like mine.
If he is someone distinguished, nobody would say so.
He's a very proper character who spends eight hours
a day typing on a computer.
 
My neighbor goes back home and turns on the TV
and drinks a toast with the family with El Gaitero cider1
when the announcer affirms that in the whole world
there is no other place safer than our city.
 
My neighbor never knew that on that same night
on his street a young girl was raped,
that two elderly ladies were attacked and an indigent
turned up in the alley with his throat slit.
 
My neighbor, that night, got into bed
convinced he had the world under control,
certain of being a very well informed man
in respect to what was happening around him.
 
Kundera's grandmother, and also mine,
knew every herb and their applications,
they knew what they had inside the mattresses,
they knew how to study the sky and bake bread.
 

• 1. A Spanish cider

Kundera's Grandmother

Kundera's grandmother, and also mine,
knew every herb and their applications,
they knew what they had inside the mattresses,
they knew how to study the sky and bake bread.
 
Kundera's grandmother in her small Czech town
and mine in her Belchite, and they both knew
the priest was the confidant of the police.
There were no secrets around them.
 
Kundera's neighbor looks like mine.
If he is someone distinguished, nobody would say so.
He's a very proper character who spends eight hours
a day typing on a computer.
 
My neighbor goes back home and turns on the TV
and drinks a toast with the family with El Gaitero cider1
when the announcer affirms that in the whole world
there is no other place safer than our city.
 
My neighbor never knew that on that same night
on his street a young girl was raped,
that two elderly ladies were attacked and an indigent
turned up in the alley with his throat slit.
 
My neighbor, that night, got into bed
convinced he had the world under control,
certain of being a very well informed man
in respect to what was happening around him.
 
Kundera's grandmother, and also mine,
knew every herb and their applications,
they knew what they had inside the mattresses,
they knew how to study the sky and bake bread.
 

• 1. A Spanish cider

Kubala

Pele was Pele. And Maradona is one and enough
Di Stéfano was a well of tricks
Honor and glory to who made shine the sun
of our football of everyday
They all have their merits, each to his own
But for me there's nobody like Kubala
I beg you respectable silence
To make a resume for those who never enjoyed him.
 
He stops it with the head, he puts it down with the chest
And sleeps it with the left foot
And crosses the middle field with the ball
Attached to the boot.
He dodges the midfielder and gets in the big area
Fighting over the ball
He hides it with the body, pushes it with the ass
And back heels it
He pees on the central with a yours-and-mine
With dedicatory
And shoots it just to put it
On the way to glory
 
Long live the knowledge and the joy of the game
Decorated with a bit of fantasy
Football in colors, gourmet bite,
Crochet lace, a delight
 
When he stops it with the head, when he puts it down with the chest
When he sleeps it with the left foot
When he crosses the middle field with the ball
Attached to the boot.
When he dodges the midfielder and gets in the big area
Fighting over the ball
And he hides it with the body, pushes it with the ass
And back heels it
And he pees on the central with a yours-and-mine
With dedicatory
And shoots it just to put it
On the way to glory
 
Let me gloss the glory of those facts
As the Greeks did years before
With the joy of who played with him
And has his picture in his wallet
When he stops it with the head, when he puts it down with the chest
And he sleeps it with the left foot
 

My dear

Think on me, my dear, think on me
when the switches have a dig at you in the morning.
I won’t make you warmer the cold
either sweeter the coffee and milk
but think on me
my dear
think on me
Think on me when the wage doesn’t come to you
or when they brush you in the metro at eight and half.
and bring me
embroidered on your blouse
or painted on your red smile.
Swing me
of your earrings.
Border me with your rings
And let me come with you, let me come.
Let me go where you go to, let me go.
My dear, between pleasure and pain
enlaced against a poem
you read in secret.
The lazy town will yawn
when you will indicate the hour and open the office windows
And the birds will affect you
which nest in your hair,
the heart say you :
the bird put in cages, dies.
They bring me in the feathers dreams and beats
when they knock on my panes with their beaks
and tell me
the small white history
which between four walls faded.
 
They squeak
the spring dies,
when it can’t go out for a walk.
Let me go with you, let me go
Let me go where you go to, let me go
my dear, and the face turns red
 
Think we still have
your birds path
to fly it you and me with them.
 

The Testament of Amelia

Narrator:
Amelia is sick
The daughter of the good king
Counts come to see her
Counts and noble people
 
Amelia:
Oh, my heart is knotted up!
Like a bunch of carnations...
 
Stepmother:
Daughter, o my daughter
What is that you are suffering from?
 
Amelia:
You know very well, mother
What I'm suffering from.
 
Oh, my heart is knotted up!
Like a bunch of carnations...
 
Stepmother:
Daughter, o my daughter
You should confess
After you've confessed
You'll make your will
 
Amelia:
Oh, my heart is knotted up!
Like a bunch of carnations...
 
I leave a castle to the poor
So they may pray to God (for me)
Four castle to my brother Carlos
Two to the Holy Mother
 
Oh, my heart is knotted up!
Like a bunch of carnations...
 
And to you, o mother
I leave my husband
You may take him in your bedroom
As you've been doing for a long time
 
Oh, my heart is knotted up!
Like a bunch of carnations...
 

Etiquette Lessons

Versions: #2
Cultivate good manners
for your bad examples
If you don't want your peers
to point their fingers at you.
 
Dress your base instincts up
in sheep's clothing.
The cowl does not make the monk,
but it sure looks like it does.
 
In public, present yourself friendly,
attentive, considerate,
courteous, thoughtful, polite,
solicitous, accommodating.
 
And when you fuck up, do make sure
to adorn the blunder*
So that, admiringly, the world says
How prettily he fucks up!*
 
Have a smile on your face,
as you swing the whip.
Break the bad news to people,
but wrapped like a present.
 
Tell the world with a bouquet,
that you came to raze it down.
Sign death sentences,
but with spiffy handwriting.
 
Put God as your witness,
and lie creditably.
Make people fall in line,
but without raising your voice.
 
Because at first sight one cannot see
the rottenness of your guts.
Looks can be deceiving
to your own benefit.
 
Listen to me and start taking
lessons of etiquette.
 
Cultivate good manners
wherein you can hide your sins.
Embellish your work clothes with silk
and test the results.
 
Although you might be
- the scum of humanity-
A complete perfect bastard,
but with regal demeanor.
 
Insult with civility,
steal with sophistication,
murder cleanly
and swindle with class.
 
Slander, but without lacking decency,
betray with pizazz,
spray perfume on your foulness
with exquisite etiquette.