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Would somebody resad the poem Ode on this site: http://www.bibl.u-szeged.hu/exhib/ja/ode-eng.html . Then please, please compare it to mine. And tell me what's your opinion about them. This guy has published my favourite's poems in English. Tks. I'm waiting for your true opinion.

Maj · Accepted Answer

József, Attila: Ode

1
I am sitting
here on a glittering wall of rocks.
The mellow wind of the young summer
like the warmth of a good supper
flies around.

I let my heart grow fond of silence.
It is not so difficult,
- the past swarms around -
the head bends down
and down hangs the hand.

I gaze at the mountains' mane
every leaf reflects the glow
of your brow.
The road is empty, empty,
yet I can see
how the wind makes your skirt flutter
under the fragile branches of the tree.

I see a lock of your hair tip forward
your soft ******* quiver
- as the stream down below is running away -
behold, I see again,
how the ripples on round white pebbles
the fairy laughter spouts out on your teeth.

2
O how I love you
who made to speak
both the wily solitude which weaved its plots
in the deepest caverns of the heart
and the universe.

Who part from me, in silence, and run away
like the waterfall from its own rumble
while I, between the peaks of my life,
near to the far,
cry out and reverberate
rebounding against sky and earth
that I love you, you sweet step-mother.

3
I love you like the child loves his mother,
like silent pits love their depth
I love you like halls love the light
like the soul loves the flame,
like the body loves repose.
I love you like all mortals love living
until they die.

Every single smile, movement, word of yours
I keep like the earth keeps all fallen matter.
Like acids into metal
so my instincts have burnt
your dear and beautiful form into my mind,
and there your being fills up everything.

Moments pass by, rattling
but you are sitting mutely in my ears.
Stars blaze and fall
but you stand still in my eyes.

Like silence in a cave,
your flavour, now cool,
Still lingers in my mouth
and your hand upon the waterglass
and the delicate veins upon your hand
glimmer up before me again and again.

4
O what kind of matter am I
that your glance cuts and shapes me?
What kind of soul and what kind of light
and what kind of amazing phenomenon am I
that in the mist of emptiness
I can walk around
the gentle slopes of your fertile body?
And like the word
entering into an enlightened mind
I can enter into its mysteries...

Your veins like rosebushes
tremble ceaselessly.
They carry the eternal current
that love may blossom in your cheeks
and they womb may bear a blessed fruit.

Many a small root embroiders through and through
the sensitive soil of your stomach
weaving knots, unwinding the tangle
that the cells of your juices may align
into clusters of swarming lines
and that the good thickets of ypur bushy lungs
may whisper their own glory.

The eternal matter happily proceeds in you
along the tunnels of your bowels
and the waste gains a rich life
in the hot wells of your ardent kidneys.

Undulating hills rise
star constellations oscillate
lakes move, factories operate
millions of living creatures
insects
seaweed
cruelty and goodness stir
the sun shines, a misty arctic light looms -
unconscious eternity roams about
in your metabolism.

5
Like clots of blood
these words fall
before you.
Existence stutters
only the law speaks clearly.
But my industrious organs that renew me
day by day
are now preparing for silence.

But until then all cry out.
You,
whom they have selected out of the multitude
of two thousand million people,
you only one,
you soft cradle,
strong grave, living bed
receive me into you...

(How tall is the sky at dawn!
Armies are dazzling in its ore.
This great radiance hurts my eyes.
I am lost, I believe...
I hear my heart beating
flapping above me.)

6
(By-Song)

(The train is taking me, I am going
perhaps I may even find you today.
My burning face may then cool down,
and perhaps you will softly say:

The water is running, take a bath.
Here is a towel for you to dry.
The meat is cooking, appease your hunger,
this is your bed, where I lie.)

(Translated by Thomas Kabdebo).

Woodward · Answer

I think that the beginning of this one is very good. The first section of part 3 is to cliché and typical school kid poetry. It gets really good again but where you go on about the insides, intestines and other internal body parts it loses its romanticness. It's not so 'etheral' as the first parts. It gets good again until the last part which is too 'real', again not very 'etheral'.

Maj · Answer

Ode
by Attila József, translation by Peter Szabo

I’m sitting on a twinkling wall of rocks.
Summer’s lying-
Its breeze, as the warmth of
a nice dinner, is flying.
I get my heart accustomed to silence.
I have a chance-
what’s disappeared gathers here,
the head bows and the hand near
just hangs.

I’m watching the mane of the hills-
your forehead’s light,
flashed by the leaves in the night
no- one’s on the road,
your skirt flies away, along
the flutters of the night.
Under the leafy boughs
I can see as your hair strokes
the air, your soft *******- and as
the stream’s running along-
I see, as, on the stones, is born:
your angel smile, as a breath.

Oh, how much I love you,
who drew me out, with a glance,
both, in my heart’s rooms hidden
intrigue of loneliness,
and the Universe.

As waterfall of its own roar, you, dear
part from me, in silence run farther,
while me, among tops of my life, near
the approaching distance, I sing, cry,
wriggling on the ground and in the sky:
I love you so, dear stepmother.

I love you as a child loves his mum,
as its depth the silent mine,
as rooms like the light, the fine
flame likes the soul, body likes calmness!
I love you as those mortal like
to live until the moment they die.

Your every smile, breath, move, word
I keep, as fallen things keeps the ground.
Just as acid into steel swords,
you bit my mind where my instincts you found-
kind, nicely shaped bird,
your existence fills everything around.

Moments clattering walk by,
but you stay mutely in my brain.
Stars catch fire and fall, die,
you’ re still in my eyes as in river the rain.
Your taste, as silence in a lair
in my mouth is floating as cool air,
and on the glass, your hand stays,
I see the fine veins.
It’s looming there somewhere.

Oh, what kind of material am I,
that your eyes cut and shape me?
What soul, oh, and what light,
makes me walk all over, in this twilight,
the gently slooping sights of your body?
And as the Word is received by open mind,
it secrets are received by my two eyes…

Your arteries, as a rose- bush
tremble continuously as
they carry current for your
cheeks so love can bloom and
your womb can have a blessed fruit in the end.
Your stomach’s sensitive sole
is embroidered by a whole
bunch of fine roots, spun all
into piles as food they devour,
and your blood cells roar
their glory for us all.

Eternal matter flows as a tide
as your bowels’ tunnels they reach,
and excrement gains hot, rich life
in the busy fountains of your kidneys.

Wavy hills arise there,
zodiacs tremble in you, somewhere,
lakes move, factories work,
millions of animals bustle, birds,
beetles,
weed,
cruelty and good deed;
Sun is shining, northern light is lour-
in your essence in silence pours
the unconscious eternal deep.

As clotted blood, these words
vibrate,
fall in front of you.
Existence stutters,
only the law is clear.
But my busy organs which’ ve created me on
and on, they’ve prepared, as my thoughts,
to become mute.

But till then they all shout-
You, the one, above
two billion humans ,
the only, soft cradle around,
deep grave, living bed I’ve found,
accept me in!...

( How high’s the down sky!
Armies shine in its ore.
The strong light hurts my eye.
I believe I’m lost, I fall.
I hear as above me,
My heart beats once more.)

Enclosure

( Train’s carrying me, I follow you, love,
once I’ll maybe find you there, above,
maybe this burning face cools once,
maybe, silently, you’ll speak as I glance:
Fresh water’s splashing, have a bath!
Here’s the towel, dry yourself up in the grass!
Meat is frying, I know you’ve waited that!
Where I’m lying , that is your bed.)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
" Teaching doesn't mean knowledge but action."

Pieter · Answer

Woodward, I asked you to compare the two versions , mine with the other, not to analyse one of them.. Thanks.

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