And clatter down rocky scree to the valley floor
And scatter, not to the east and sunrise, but south
Where the wind sheds tears from a sky in mourning
And a slippery liquid oozes from their quims,
Hippomanes no less, collected by jealous step–
Mothers and blended with herbs and mumbo-jumbo.
Siindor CsoOri
May the Water Keep Vigil with Me
I wake. Outside there's a lake
and a foreign country's darkness.
Inscrutable cry of bird
under the bushes,
as though someone were being murdered.
My head's heavy with drinking,
heavy with myself In my recent dream
shirtless soldiers were running
and combing the ruffled park
with raised pitchforks.
Were they looking for me? For you, the long-banished?
I can't remember anymore. A blood stain
shone darkly on a stone. Past that, a storm lantern,
overturned. The flame mingled with the mud
and made everything so finite, so shameless.
I'd like to sleep for spite, too. I'd like to forget
my European dream, the horror of those flat on their backs,
but in this foreign silence I'm just stumbling and groping;
I tum on the tap, let the water flow,
may it keep vigil with me till morning.
Translated from the Hungarian
by
Len Roberts and Anette Marta
