A keresés eredménye

What Kind of Days Are Now Ahead of Us?

What kind of days are now ahead of us?
And where this springtime country road is heading?
It leads, it seems, by reckoning and guessing,
To your quiet street, to the forbidden garth.
 
You won’t run out to greet me anymore
Across the asphalt slabs of the air station,
To kiss my hand in an impulsive gesture,
And to repeat what once you’ve said before.
 
It’s painful, darling, sad to realize
That icy paths turned out to be so sloppy,
That happiness is not foreseen yet, sorry,
Because we don’t see sorrow in our lives.
 
How heavy are the kindness-carrying chains!
Improbable events today are likely,
And they can lower to the deepest rightness
The path that’s labeled “a homebound lane”.
 
Goodbye, my darling, let me say goodbye!
My old backpack feels lighter than a feather.
I’ll set the bridges burning all together,
And matches, for a change, today are dry. [x2]
 

Heather bush

Versions: #1
It's so nice around, quiet and dignified,
There are no cities, no noise, no phone calls.
Everything is open to the wind on all four sides,
Sail of clouds and pine mast, so tall.
 
Chorus
Heather bush is like a little boat,
And far, far away is our shore.
Heather bush is like a little boat,
And the boat has neither rudder, nor oars.
 
Autumn turns yellow from under the damp grass,
Springtime sun touches our cheeks, brighten the eyes,
You say: where this boat taking us?
I'm so indescribably surprised...
 
Chorus:
And not understanding hasty words I say,
Your arms outstretched in the empty sky,
Your reflection in the blue water of May
Like a cross thrown in the river, all in white.
 
Chorus
So many miles of love we walked together,
They went beyond horizon, above the cloud,
It's just I'll always miss that honey heather,
Whether we'll ever find those places, I doubt.
 
Chorus
 

Lady

Oh, my darling, my sweetheart, my dear unsurpassable lady,
My icebreaker is sad, and my skipper looks south of course.
Just imagine this picture: a star from the Swan constellation
Stares directly at me through my porthole surrounded with bronze.
Through the same vent directly the furious winds come in rushing.
They are known in the parts of the world as monsoons or trade winds.
They would scatter my letters, while leafing through them with the sneering,
All these letters not sent, due to absence of their addressee.
 
Where have you, my beloved, succeeded to leave me unnoticed?
Where exactly, my darling, I’ve stepped on a different path?
And while strumming my guitar, I passed by the symphonies solemn,
All the while I was thinking these concerts are waiting ahead.
Inattentive to all, I was eating my lamb and was pouring Tkemáli.1
Every morning for me there were someone’s wallpapers to eye.
I was welcomed by these, who would always fail to understand me,
Who would thought that contentment is also a part of a lie.
 
In the waves of shop windows a tenebrous figure would linger:
A reflection of solitude, following all of my strides.
And this figure was joined by a fleet of the driverless vehicles,
On the wet asphalt roads they were rolling with no one inside.
I was flying through years trapped inside empty wagons of subway,
In deserted port docks I was greeting and meeting myself.
Only storms and bad weather would start with me roundelay dancing,
All that happened on earth was without your own presence as well.
 
Someone wandered around, incoherently talked, – I lost hearing.
Television set shoveled pinups in my face, – I went blind.
I just hope for my trustful old friend and good old mountain skiing.
So, for now in this desolate land I will dwell unassigned.
Oh, my darling, my sweetheart, my dear unsurpassable lady,
My icebreaker is stuck in the ice, like it run short of breath.
You’re my precious friend sent to me from the Swan constellation,
Don’t forget to descend, please give hope, once decided, do save.
 

• 1. Tkemali is a famous Georgian sauce primarily made of cherry plum.

Brigantine

I'm tired of talking and arguing
And of loving your tired eyes...
In the blue and distant filibuster sea
Brigantine raising it's sails.
 
The captain, weathered like rocks,
Went to sea, without waiting for sunshine-
For farewell raise your glasses
Of golden and tart wine.
 
We drink for the furious, for the unruly,
The one's who despised cheep comfort of the Ins-
Reigns in the breeze the Happy Roger
Singing the song the people of the Flint.
 
In trouble , in joy and and in grief
Only slightly squint your eyes-
In the blue and distant filibuster sea
Brigantine raising it's sails.
 
I'm tired of talking and arguing
And of loving your tired eyes...
In the blue and distant filibuster sea
Brigantine raising it's sails.