Samplings

you must appeal to the conscience of trees their calm is the sign of confidence that you’ve coveted for ages even with a budding mind

Translations from the Hungarian By Paul Sohar  

 http://www.booktrust.org.uk/books/view/33698   The Club at Eddy's Bar by Zoltan Boszormenyi   Tamas is the link between the two divergent societies portrayed in this evocative story of human intrigue and ambition, desire and betrayal, commitment and infidelity. As he flees his homeland in Eastern Europe and arrives as a refugee in Canada, Tamas must battle with bureaucracy to set himself free from his past and ensure that his family can join him in his new life. He finds kindness and compassion too along the way as he struggles to learn a new language in an alien place and find the work that will be the key to his future success.  

Done taking stock. Nothing to add. Blank white wall. An endless winter croupier. The stake at stake. Two crickets having a ball. Empty kettle in the kitchen. Stinks. Books, booze, in neutral. City gate with muddy links. Shirt ironed and starched. It's yours if you call. Having doubts? I'll put them to sleep. You're a treasure. All.  And nothing at all.

Dedicated to Lawrence Ferlinghetti on the occasion of his acceptance and subsequent rejection of the 2012 Janus Pannonius Poetry Prize awarded by the Hungarian PEN Club.

Snap me up in your jaws and run off with me to join the shades of this world without souls. But if you try to devour me or plant a tree of fear inside me, I'll laugh at you.

Playing With The Wind (Játék a széllel) A sweeping wind soaking everything And drying its time-bandages on my back. I’m undecided between dream and reality. Thought is treading with a planet pack. The wind can start without being blown. We have the ideal buried deep inside, The Lord will save us from drowning in sin, I can see hope on new hope crucified. Smarting, dismembered, live memories. They drip their sticky  honey on my spirit, They paint my black trails with starlight breeze. The magic of sand projects me into space. You could be my safe shelter. The wind Brings you back, but you never reach my face.

Our Lord our Lord if you are indeed an invention of ours and we are creations of yours then you’ll surely forgive us that our own work did not turn out perfect

In Refugee Camp (Menekülttáborban) Blue-bleached clouds are grazing over the camp servantwinds scrub the night clean time sits around in a winter coat among bare tree branches warm ashes can be found lingering in the tatters of old supermarket circulars and I keep busy trying to drown a live bird in my chest the word

Shivering Tulips  (Didergő tulipánok) this snowfall smarts I’m in it up to my neck waiting for you since this morning longing is a high-grade dream with you and with me too hand in hand barebushes are stomping their feet I’mwaiting for you amongwinds passing by andshivering tulips within