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Location: Vienna, Austria, Austria

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Egy vers három nyelven / One poem in three languages

Tedd a kezed
mintha kezed
kezem volna.

Úgy ´örizz, mint
ki gyilkolna,
mintha éltem
élted volna.

Úgy szeress, mint
ha jó volna,
mintha szívem
szíved volna.

(József Attila)

Leg die Hand
auf meine Stirne,
ganz so, als wär
deine Hand meine.

Hüt mich, als könnts
hier Mörder geben,
ganz, als sei dein
Leben mein Leben.

Lieb mich, als läg'
darin kein Schmerz,
ganz so, als sei dein
Herz mein Herz.

Lay your hand
upon my brow,
as though your hand
was my own.
Guard me, as if
from strangler's force,
just as though my
life was yours.
Love me, as though
it could not smart,
as though your heart
was my heart.



Blogger Åsa said...


3:48 AM  
Blogger caru said...

poor Attila... he would have been 100 years old this year, but he died in 1937, by throwing himself in front of a train. he was really poor and really depressed throughout his life :(

he's supposed to be THE hungarian poet, by the way.

6:19 AM  
Blogger Åsa said...

Why does poerty and depression always go so well toghther.
Karin Boye one of my favs also killed herself
Or I think she was losta nd never found again, presumably drowned.
There is a beutifull poem about he death written as a tribute to her

12:05 PM  
Blogger caru said...

by the way, that's a really good page about her.

i didn't know before, that she had painted pictures, too... i think the first time i ever heard about karin boye was when i accidentally read "Kallocain" in a godawful german translation as a teenie (i had a thing about science fiction and that sort of books then).

12:15 PM  

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