258
ISE BALAsz-RAK6CZY
as in an old photograph - a sepia photograph in a heart-shaped frame.
And below it, on one of those stylized ribbons, "Vehimur in altum" -
We are borne into the deep.
I do not interpret dreams. Their "language," it seems to me, belongs
to a different realm . So, I went on with my life, but with a different
sense to it - a sense of expectation. Dut of what?
Now, in retrospect, I can say of what.
It
was an expectation oflove.
That dream was an Annunciation : a ribbon emerges from the angel's
mouth, "Hail, thou that art highly favored." The fulfillment, as with
Mary, would take months.
His name is Gar. He is a rancher, like me, and a neighbor, although
the distances here are so vast it was a long while before we met. It was
our veterinarian who introduced us. My flocks are largely Hampshires,
bred equally for wool or meat. Gar has been interbreeding them with
Rambouillets to produce better yields of both. He was very generous. He
lent me his purebred ram and, more than that, offered me advice of great
value. He is a lean, sober man . I would never have guessed he might be
courting me. One june day I came by to consult him and surprised him
(he had not seen me) declaiming aloud from the
Ceorgics :
" ...
when
summer at the Zephyrs' call sends sheep and goats alike to glades and
meadows, let us hasten, as the morning star appears, to the cool pas–
tures. "
"While the day is young," I answered, "The grass is gleaming, and
on the tender blades there still is dew delightful to the herd."
That, of course, was the beginning. The moment I saw the poetry in
this pragmatic man, I loved him . julia, he is a wonderful lover - not
subtle, not concerned to please. He hurts me. I always resist him, know–
ing I will yield , but not without a fight. He is never put off by
my
resistance; he pursues me with a steady necessity. He does not think.
And now, I do not think either. "She has lost her head," you'll
say.
My head, my heart, my cunt . .. everything but my self I live in the ec–
stasy of the
Riesenrad,
but it is inseparable from the sheep, the landscape,
the horses and dogs, the Indians, from Gar's body, from my own. The
wheel spins, julia, and every inessential thing flies off: Katja's memories,
Nannerl's terror, parents, sons. Even you, julia, whom I love, fly off into
a vast ficld of stars. The night skies here are immensely black, but they do
not dwarf me. Sometimes, when I ride alone at night, I spur my horse to
gallop. Then, I feel I am charging straight at Heaven, as if I myself were
becoming a comet or a constellation . I live in the depths of the galaxies,
Julia, and I am not lost.
Selected and translated from the Hungarian
by
Stephen
Kurtz
