Modern angolszsz kltk versei

Robinson Jeffers Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962) amerikai klt, drmar. Antik s bibliai tmkat rt t kaliforniai krnyezetbe, legsikeresebb mve a Medea (1946). Szenvedlyes versei az nnn romlottsga s erszakossga miatt pusztulsra tlt emberi trsadalom irnti megvetst fejezik ki. Shine, Perishing Republic While this America settles in the mould of its vulgarity, heavily thickening to empire And protest, only a bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the mass hardens, I sadly smiling remember that the flower fades to make fruit, the fruit rots to make earth. Out of the mother; and through the spring exultances, ripeness and decadence; and home to the mother. You making haste haste on decay: not blameworthy; life is good, be it stubbornly long or suddenly A mortal splendor: meteors are not needed less than mountains: shine, perishing republic. But for my children, I would have them keep their distance from the thickening center; corruption Never has been compulsory, when the cities lie at the monster's feet there are left the mountains. And boys, be in nothing so moderate as in love of man, a clever servant, insufferable master. There is the trap that catches noblest spirits, that caught--they say-God, when he walked on earth. Ragyogj, pusztul kztrsasg Mg Amerika a kznsgessg ntmintjt lassan kitlti s birodalomm fagy, s a tiltakozs mer bubork az olvadt tmegben: flbuggyan, elpufog s a tmeg megkemnyedik, n szomor mosollyal emlkezem, hogy a virg

azrt hervad el, hogy gymlcst teremjen, s a gymlcs azrt rohad el, hogy fldet termkenytsen. Anyjbl ki, t a tavaszi lelkendezsen, az rettsgen, a fonnyadson s haza anyjhoz, Sietsz, sietsz a pusztulssal: nem vdollak ezrt: az let j, akr makacsul kitart, akr hirtelen Hallos virgba borul; a meteorok nem kevsb szksgesek, mint a hegyek: ragyogj, pusztul kztrsasg. Gyerekeimet azonban tvol tartanm a srsds kzpontjtl: a korrupci Sohasem volt ktelez: mikor a vrosok a szrny lbainl feksznek, mg llnak a hegyek. s ti fiaim, semmiben ne legyetek olyan mrtkletesek, mint az ember szeretetben, mely frge szolga s trhetetlen r. Itt az a csapda, amelybe a legnemesebb lelkek beleesnek, amelybe beleesett mondjk Isten is, mikor a fldn jrt. Kassk Lajos Hurt Hawks I The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder, The wing trails like a banner in defeat, No more to use the sky forever but live with famine And pain a few days: cat nor coyote Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there is game without talons. He stands under the oak-bush and waits The lame feet of salvation; at night he remembers freedom And flies in a dream, the dawns ruin it. He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse. The curs of the day come and torment him At distance, no one but death the redeemer will humble that head, The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes.

The wild God of the world is sometimes merciful to those That ask mercy, not often to the arrogant. You do not know him, you communal people, or you have forgotten him; Intemperate and savage, the hawk remembers him; Beautiful and wild, the hawks, and men that are dying, remember him. II I'd sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk; but the great redtail Had nothing left but unable misery From the bone too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved. We had fed him six weeks, I gave him freedom, He wandered over the foreland hill and returned in the evening, asking for death, Not like a beggar, still eyed with the old Implacable arrogance. I gave him the lead gift in the twilight. What fell was relaxed, Owl-downy, soft feminine feathers; but what Soared: the fierce rush: the night-herons by the flooded river cried fear at its rising Before it was quite unsheathed from reality.

Sebzett hjk I A szrny trtt pillre a csapzott vllbl kimered, A szrny lecsng, mint vesztesek zszlaja; Soha tbb az eget lakni, de lni hsgben s knban mg nhny napot: macska, se prrifarkas Meg nem kurttja a hallvrs hett: talon nlkli jtszma ez. Ott ll a cserje tvben, s vr A snta megvlts lpteire; jjel a szabadsgra emlkszik, s repl lmban, melyet a virradat lerombol. Ers, s a kn rosszabb az ersnek, a tehetetlensg rosszabb. A korcs nappalok jnnek s knozzk A tvolbl, de ezt a fejet nem ms, a hall, a megvlt fogja csak leigzni, A btor kszenltet, flelmes szemeket. A vilg dz istene irgalmas olykor azokhoz,

Akik irgalmat krnek, ritkn a dlyfskhz. Te nem ismered t, kzssg embere, vagy megfeledkeztl rla; Mrtktelen s kegyetlen , a hja emlkezik r; Gynyr s dz, a hja s a haldokl ember emlkezik r. II Ha nincs a trvny, embert hamarabb lnk, Mint hjt; de a nagy rtfarknak Semmije sem maradt, csak a tnkrezzott Csont tehetetlen nyomorsga, a szrny, mely lecsng, ha lpne, a karmai al. Hat hete tplltuk, szabadon engedtem, Kszlt a hegyalja dombon, s este visszatrt, A hallt krte, Nem koldusknt, hanem a rgi, trhetetlen Dlyffel szemben. Megkapta az lom ajndkot a szrkletben. Ami lehullt, az megknnyebbedett: Bagolypuha, lgy, nies tollak; de ami Felcsapott: a vad lendlet: a kcsagok a megradt Folynl kiltoztak a flelemtl, ahogy emelkedett, Mieltt vgleg kiszakadt a val vilgbl. Vrady Szabolcs

John Crowe Ransom John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974) amerikai klt, kritikus. Tbb amerikai egyetemen tantott, hsz ven t szerkesztette a Kenyon Review cm folyiratot, egyik alaptja volt a befolysos Fugitive cm lapnak. Visszafogott, szellemes verseinek nagy rszt a hszas vekben rta. Kritikusknt a New Criticism nven ismert ramlat egyik fontos alakja. Piazza Piece I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying To make you hear. Your ears are soft and small And listen to an old man not at all, They want the young men's whispering and sighing. But see the roses on your trellis dying And hear the spectral singing of the moon; For I must have my lovely lady soon, I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying.

 I am a lady young in beauty waiting Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss. But what grey man among the vines is this Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream? Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream ! I am a lady young in beauty waiting. Kztri darab n porkpenyes r vagyok s esengek, Hogy hallgass meg. Lgy s kicsiny fled Egy vnemberre nem is vet gyet, Csak ifj shajnak, sgsnak enged. De lsd, lugasod rzsja kiszenved, s halld a hold halotti nekt; Az n szerelmem enym lesz ma mg. n porkpenyes r vagyok s esengek. Ifj hlgy vagyok s tndklve vrok, Mg jn szerelmem s karjaiba vesz. De ez sz r a lugasban, ki ez? Szava, mint lomban, szraz, kopott. El a lugasbl, uram: sikitok! Ifj hlgy vagyok s tndklve vrok. Ttfalusi Istvn fordtsa

A szeme Egy nnek, kit smerk, a szeme ritka kessg: knakk. Ms ablak az n pofm, hol zld, hol lngot okd igazn, az m! Anym szeme kdrnc, knnyedny, a kishugomban holt fny, bolond szegny. Alighanem kivteles, ki oly kkl tkletes szemes; hol rzi, hogy naplngols

nem ri, se torndrobogs, nincs rajta kops; j munkban mg soha nem marta mfny mostoha rama; s oly szvtelen a szp bestia, sose volt kn tzhelye, knny fazeka risz, retina? Bepillantsait ntse csak, nem kedvesek, nem is okosak, hamisak. Ha kk fnyt raszt messzire, knnyen fakl, de mennyire, a jhre. Ttfalusi Istvn

Hugh Macdiarmid Hugh Macdiarmid (1892-1978) eredeti nevn Murray Grieve, skt klt, kritikus. A hszas-harmincas vek skt irodalmi renesznsznak vezralakja. Politikai radikalizmusa ellentmondsoss teszi irodalomtrtneti szerept is: Skt Nemzeti Prtot alaptott, meggyzdses kommunista volt, egyebek mellett himnuszt rt Leninhez. Ksbbi kltszete intellektulisabb, James Joyce nyelvi ksrleteinek hatst mutatja.

A svny mgtt Vad,fekete jszaka volt. Mi megbjtunk szivben, s elztk a sttet hatrtalan nagy fnnyel. Vad,fekete jszaka volt, de a fagybl csak annyi rt minket,hogy hevnktl ne tudjunk megolvadni. Vad,fekete jszaka volt,

de a szlrohamok zgsn t a szvnk gyzedelmesen dobolt. Vad,fekete jszaka volt, s a kerek fldbl alnk csak annyi kellett,hogy tudjuk: ltezik a vilg. Szili Jzsef

Crystals Like Blood I remember how, long ago, I found Crystals like blood in a broken stone I picked up a chunk of broken bed-rock And turned it this way and that, It was heavier than one would have expected >From its size. One face was caked With brown limestone. But the rest Was a hard greenish-grey quartz-like stone Faintly dappled with darker shadows, And in this quartz ran veins and beads Of bright magenta. And I remember how later on I saw How mercury is extracted from cinnabar --The double ring of piledrivers Like the multiple legs of a fantastically symmetrical spider Rising and falling with monotonous precision, Marching round in an endless circle And pounding up and down with a tireless, thunderous force, While, beyond, another conveyor drew the crumbled ore From the bottom and raised it to an opening high In the side of a gigantic grey-white kiln. So I remember how mercury is got When I contrast my living memory of you And your dear body rotting here in the clay --And feel once again released in me The bright torrents of felicity, naturalness, and faith My treadmill memory draws from you yet.

Vrszer szilnkok

Emlkszem, hogyan leltem rges-rgen vrszer kristlyokra egy trtt kben. Flemeltem a csorba kzetdarabot, ide-oda forgattam: slyosabb volt, mint nagysgbl hittem volna. S barna mszk rtegezdtt egyik lapjn. De a tbbi: kemny, zldesszrke, kvarcos k volt, sttebb rnyalatokkal enyhn pettyezett, s itt, ebben a kvarcban futottak az erek, ragyogtak magenta-vrs gyngyszemek. S emlkszem, mint lttam ksbb, hogyan vonnak ki cinberitbl higanyt ketts gyrben clpver kosok, mint fantasztikus-szimmetrikus, soklb pk: monoton-pontos zuhans-emelkeds, kr-menetelve vgtelen, vesen, s fradhatatlan mennydrgve, sulykoln, mg rajta tl a sztmorzsolt rcet egy msik konvejor kivonta a mlybl, s a gigszi getkemence szrks-fehr oldaln magasan ttong nylshoz emelte. gy rmlik fel, hogyan nyernek higanyt, ha elgondolom, emlked bennem mg hogy l, s drga tested hogy rothad az agyagban s rzem megint, boldogsg szabadul el, rad tndkl zuhatagval az let, a hit odabenn, belled vonja ki egyre taposmalom emlkezetem. Tandori Dezs

Wilfred Owen Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) angol klt. 1913-15-ig Franciaorszgban tantott angol nyelvet, majd jelentkezett a hadseregbe. Tisztknt rszt vett a somme-i tkzetben, 1917 mjusban megsebeslt. A krhzban ismerkedett meg Siegfried Sassoon kltvel, akinek hatsa alatt legjobb munki szlettek. Versei tmja a hbor borzalma, az rtelmetlenl elhullt fiatalsg. Egy httel a hbor vge eltt halt hsi hallt. letben csak ngy verse jelent meg. Verseibl komponlta 1962-ben Benjamin Britten Hbors Rekviem cm mvt.

Strange Meeting It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined. Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned, Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred. Then ,as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared With piteous recognition in fixed eyes, Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless. And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell. With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained; Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground, And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan. 'Strange friend,' I said, 'here is no cause to mourn.' 'None,' said that other, 'save the undone years, The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours, Was my life also; I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world, Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair, But mocks the steady running of the hour, And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here. For by my glee might many men have laughed, And of my weeping something had been left, Which must die now. I mean the truth untold, The pity of war, the pity war distilled. Now men will go content with what we spoiled, Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled. They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress. None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress. Courage was mine, and I had mystery, Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery: To miss the march of this retreating world Into vain citadels that are not walled. Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels, I would go up and wash them from sweet wells, Even with truths that lie too deep for taint. I would have poured my spirit without stint But not through wounds; not on the cess of war. Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were. I am the enemy you killed, my friend. I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed. I parried; but my hands were loath and cold. Let us sleep now...'

Klns tallkozs Mintha elhagytam volna a csatt, Rg sott, durva alagton t, Titni harcok vgta grniton S alvk nygst kellett hallanom, Oly mlyrl, honnan nem j mozdulat. Egyik felugrott, szeme rmtapadt, Sajnlkoz felismerssel llt, Kezt emelte, mint aki megld. s megrtettem, hol e zord terem, Holt mosolybl: a pokolba, lenn. Az arcot fjdalom redzte be, Pedig fntrl a vr nem rt ide, gyzajt, mg nygst se hallhatott. - Bartom - mondtam - gyszra semmi ok. - Nincs - szlt - csupn az el nem tlttt vek. Remnytelensg. Brmiben remnykedj, Az az n ltem is; vadul futottam m, Vadsz a legvadabb szpsg utn, Mely befont hajjal, csendben nem hever, Az ra jrsba gnyt kever, S ha bnt, ht jobban bnt, mint itt e hely. Mert sokan nevettk vgsgomat, S ha srsombl valami maradt, Meghal most. A hbor bnatrl Ki szl majd, mit a hbor leprol? Elg, mi eddig tnkrement? Ha nem Kiforr a mrgk jra vresen. Kemnyek lesznek, mint a tigris, jra. Tartjk a sort, br npek kelnek tra. Volt bennem btorsg s hivats, Volt bennem mestersg, s volt tuds: Megtrni a vilg dszmenett, Mely fal nlkli erdkbe trt. Az alvadt vrt a kocsik kerekn Forrsvzzel lemostam volna n, S szavakkal, mikhez nem frhet mocsok. Nem bntam volna lelkem hagyni ott, De nem sebeken t, hadiadnak. Ahol nincs seb, a homlok ott is horpad. Meglt ellensged vagyok, bartom. Megfagytl, mg e sttben is ltom, Tegnap, mikor tdftl testemen.

Vdtem magam, de ellankadt kezem. Aludjunk ht... Kappanyos Andrs fordtsa

Hart Crane Hart Crane (1899-1932) amerikai klt, a modern, ipari, vrosi lt nneplje. Zaklatott gyermekkor utn 1916-ban New Yorkba kltztt s rni kezdett. 1926-os els knyve (Fehr pletek) szimbolista hatsokat mutat, de megfigyelhet az eredeti, szabad asszocicin alapul kpalkots. F mve az 1930-as Hd, melynek kzponti szimbluma, a Brooklyn-hd ismt a modern let igenlst hirdeti. 1931-ben Guggenheim-sztndjjal Mexikba ment, hazatrse sorn leesett a hajrl, s vzbe flt.

Voyages I Above the fresh ruffles of the surf Bright striped urchins flay each other with sand. They have contrived a conquest for shell shucks, And their fingers crumble fragments of baked weed Gaily digging and scattering. And in answer to their treble interjections The sun beats lightning on the waves, The waves fold thunder on the sand; And could they hear me I would tell them: O brilliant kids, frisk with your dog, Fondle your shells and sticks, bleached By time and the elements; but there is a line You must not cross nor ever trust beyond it Spry cordage of your bodies to caresses Too lichen-faithful from too wide a breast. The bottom of the sea is cruel. II And yet this great wink of eternity, Of rimless floods, unfettered leewardings, Samite sheeted and processioned where Her undinal vast belly moonward bends, Laughing the wrapt inflections of our love;

Take this Sea, whose diapason knells On scrolls of silver snowy sentences, The sceptred terror of whose sessions rends As her demeanors motion well or ill, All but the pieties of lovers hands. And onward, as bells off San Salvador Salute the crocus lustres of the stars, In these poinsettia meadows of her tides, Adagios of islands, O my Prodigal, Complete the dark confessions her veins spell. Mark how her turning shoulders wind the hours, And hasten while her penniless rich palms Pass superscription of bent foam and wave, Hasten, while they are true,sleep, death, desire, Close round one instant in one floating flower. Bind us in time, O Seasons clear, and awe. O minstrel galleons of Carib fire, Bequeath us to no earthly shore until Is answered in the vortex of our grave The seals wide spindrift gaze toward paradise. III Infinite consanguinity it bears This tendered theme of you that light Retrieves from sea plains where the sky Resigns a breast that every wave enthrones; While ribboned water lanes I wind Are laved and scattered with no stroke Wide from your side, whereto this hour The sea lifts, also, reliquary hands. And so, admitted through black swollen gates That must arrest all distance otherwise, Past whirling pillars and lithe pediments, Light wrestling there incessantly with light, Star kissing star through wave on wave unto Your body rocking! and where death, if shed, Presumes no carnage, but this single change, Upon the steep floor flung from dawn to dawn The silken skilled transmemberment of song; Permit me voyage, love, into your hands ...

IV Whose counted smile of hours and days, suppose I know as spectrum of the sea and pledge Vastly now parting gulf on gulf of wings Whose circles bridge, I know, (from palms to the severe Chilled albatrosss white immutability) No stream of greater love advancing now Than, singing, this mortality alone Through clay aflow immortally to you. All fragrance irrefragably, and claim Madly meeting logically in this hour And region that is ours to wreathe again, Portending eyes and lips and making told The chancel port and portion of our June Shall they not stem and close in our own steps Bright staves of flowers and quills today as I Must first be lost in fatal tides to tell? In signature of the incarnate word The harbor shoulders to resign in mingling Mutual blood, transpiring as foreknown And widening noon within your breast for gathering All bright insinuations that my years have caught For islands where must lead inviolably Blue latitudes and levels of your eyes, In this expectant, still exclaim receive The secret oar and petals of all love. V Meticulous, past midnight in clear rime, Infrangible and lonely, smooth as though cast Together in one merciless white blade The bay estuaries fleck the hard sky limits. As if too brittle or too clear to touch! The cables of our sleep so swiftly filed, Already hang, shred ends from remembered stars. One frozen trackless smile ... What words Can strangle this deaf moonlight? For we Are overtaken. Now no cry, no sword Can fasten or deflect this tidal wedge, Slow tyranny of moonlight, moonlight loved And changed ... Theres Nothing like this in the world, you say,

Knowing I cannot touch your hand and look Too, into that godless cleft of sky Where nothing turns but dead sands flashing. And never to quite understand! No, In all the argosy of your bright hair I dreamed Nothing so flagless as this piracy. But now Draw in your head, alone and too tall here. Your eyes already in the slant of drifting foam; Your breath sealed by the ghosts I do not know: Draw in your head and sleep the long way home. VI Where icy and bright dungeons lift Of swimmers their lost morning eyes, And ocean rivers, churning, shift Green borders under stranger skies, Steadily as a shell secretes Its beating leagues of monotone, Or as many waters trough the suns Red kelson past the capes wet stone; O rivers mingling toward the sky And harbor of the phoenix breast My eyes pressed black against the prow, Thy derelict and blinded guest Waiting, afire, what name, unspoke, I cannot claim: let thy waves rear More savage than the death of kings, Some splintered garland for the seer. Beyond siroccos harvesting The solstice thunders, crept away, Like a cliff swinging or a sail Flung into Aprils inmost day Creations blithe and petalled word To the lounged goddess when she rose Conceding dialogue with eyes That smile unsearchable repose Still fervid covenant, Belle Isle, Unfolded floating dais before Which rainbows twine continual hair Belle Isle, white echo of the oar!

The imaged Word, it is, that holds Hushed willows anchored in its glow. It is the unbetrayable reply Whose accent no farewell can know. Utazsok I Hullmvers friss fodrai felett Vg-cskos klykek szrjk egymst homokkal. Kagylhj-gyjt versenyk tart, Fonnyadt hnrt markolnak-lengetnek, nfeledten hajiglzva, trva. s rikkantsaikra vlaszul Villmlik a hullmokra a nap, Azok meg a homokra mennydrgnek; S ha hallhatnnak, szlnk e fikhoz: , szp frgk, kutytokkal szkellk, rljetek kagylnak, botnak, melyet Idk s elemek faktottak; de van egy Vonal, annl lljatok meg, ne bzztok Izmos-inas testetek ott lelsre, Mely tl zzm-h egy tl tg kebelbl. A tengerfenk kegyetlen. II S mgis, e nagy jelzst, mely szn rklt, Parttalan r, szabad szlcsend vilga, Brokt selyem, simul s rad, hol az egy-p hasa hold-jrsra lktet, Vgyunk rejtett vltsait nevetve; Vedd e Tengert, diapazonja lelkek Harangja, h-ezst tekercs-szavas, Harag-jogaros zsarnok, vgszavaz Kny-kedv viselkedse jra-rosszra, S mskpp, mint szeret-kezek kegyelnek. S tovbb, mint San Salvador hangja kongva Ksznt sfrny csillagfnyt nyelves rccel. rad karcsonyvirg-rt lvel Szigetsor-adagio, , n Pazarlm, Vre j-vallomst nem hagyna gyarln. Nzd, vlla fordultn rk forognak, S futnak, ha vasa-sincs ds tenyere

Tlfut fejlcein hullm-haboknak Futnak, br hek , lom, vgy, hall forr Eggy egy percre, nyit vzi virgbl. Szn, vszakok, kell htat-idtk. , karib tz glyi, hegedsk, Ne legyen fldi partunk, mg srunknak rvnye nem felel: a fka-szempr Hab-meredtje mily paradicsomot vr. III Vgtelen vrrokonsgot visel Szeldlt tmd, mely vissza a fnyt Hozza tenger-skokrl, hol az g trt Szve-trnfosztsa akrmi hullm; Mg szalagos vz-utakon tekergek, Melyeket csaps nem kavar, Tvol tled, amerre a tenger is Ereklyetart kezet emel pp. S gy, t stt, duzzadt kapukon, Minden tvolsg zrin klnben rvny pillesor tnik el rugalmas Oromzatok, hol fny kzd egyre fnnyel, Csillag cskol hullmzs-csillagot, mg Tested is ring! s hol a hall, ha hull, Nem mszrls, csak ily szl vltozsnyi Szkken hajnaltl-hajnalig porondon Selyem-sebes szemlycsere dala; Szerelmem, hadd utazzam tenyeredben... IV Kinek szmllt mosoly ra s nap, Mr ha tenger-sznkpknt ismerem, s most Szrny- s szrnyrvnyt vadul vlasztank szt, Krei, tudom (tenyrtl a zord, hlt Albatroszig, nem-vltoz fehrig), Nem fognak t tgabb sodr szerelmet, Mint, dalknt, e halandsg agyag tjn halhatatlan tart, csak feld. Illatok, szeghetetlen, s tombol Igny, tallk, s logikus pp itt S most, e hely: mink, koszorzni jra, Js szemek s ajkak hadd mondjk a szently Kapujt, s mit kapunk jniusunkbl

Nem szkken s zrul, szegve lpteinkben Mind: szr virg, toll, ma, hogy n leszek, ki Elsl vsz a sz-vgzete rban? A testeslt sz kzjegyben ott ll, Tart a kikt, s lemond, kevervn Kzs vrt, mely tt, mint tudhat volt, Kebledben dl-tgt, gyljn egybe Sok fnyes sejts, veim fogsa, Szigetek, hol srtetlen vezet Szemed kk szlessgi foka, szintje E vr csend-kilts adja nked, , minden vgy titkos uszonya-szirmt. V jfl utn, agglyban, tiszta rmmel: Srthetetlen magny, sima, akr ha Fehr, kegyetlen penge sszevgja Folt a delta a kemny ghatron. rinteni tl tiszta, tl trkeny?! lmunk kbele mind gyors akta-tny lesz, Sztkattan, csillag-emlk szakadta. Fagyott, nyoma-se mosoly... Mely szavakra Flna a sket holdfny? Mert alul Maradtunk mi. Nem gyorstja szeldd Se kard, se kilts az raplyos ket, hold lass, zsarnok, szeretett Fnye-vltozst... Nincs a vilgon Semmi ehhez hasonl" szlsz, s tudod, nem rinthetem kezed, nem nzhetem, nem, Az g istene-hagyta hasadkt, Hol csak holt homok forog, szikra-szr. s sosincs tiszta rts!" Nem, hajad ds Fny flottjban zszltlan lmom Telje e kalzsg volt. m fejed most Hzd be, magnyos lenne s tl sudr itt. Szemed habok dlt lejtin rohan mr; Llegzeted titok-szellem-pecstelt: Hzd be fejed, aludj hosszan, hazig. VI Hol jg-fny kazamatk emelik szk vesztett reggel-szemt,

S cen folyi pezsgetik Zld partjaik, s fnn idegen az g, Mint kagyl szli szntelen Egyhang frigyt, lktetn, Vagy mint sok vz a nap vrs Gerincn, fut tl fok-kvn; , folyk, gnek-vegylk, Lelvn gy fnix-mell kiktt Szemem hajorron, stten Vakult vendged, zllve jtt, Vrvn, tzben, nincs-hangja nevet, Mit krhetek: habod vadabb Legyen, mint a kirlyhall, Fzr-szilnkold jsodat. Sirokkn, a napfordulk Villm-kaszsn, kszva tl, Mint leng szirt s vitorla, mely prilis-szvbe kanyarul Teremts vg, szirmos szava Elnylt istennhz, ha kl, Legyen szemekkel prbeszd, Mg mosoly-titka csak henyl Mig forr kts, Belle Isle, Emelvny, szva terl, Szivrvny-font rk-haj, Belle Isle, fehr-visszhang evez! A kpzet-kp Sz horgonyoz, Izzvn, suhan fzeket. Csalhatatlan vlaszt mi hoz, Hang, bcszvn nem sejtheted. Tandori Dezs

Allen Tate Allen Tate (1879-1979) amerikai klt, kritikus. John Crowe Ransommal egytt a The Fugitive cm folyirat alaptja. A huszas-harmincas vekben vltakozva lt New Yorkban, Londonban (ahol T S. Elliottal tallkozott) s Prizsban (ahol Hemingway krhez csatlakozott). Ezutn visszatrt Amerikba, ahol tbb egyetemen tantott. Az j kritika" egyik vezralakja; verseit

csiszolt formk s gazdag kulturlis utalsrendszer jellemzi.

Ode to the Confederate Dead Row after row with strict impunity The headstones yield their names to the element, The wind whirrs without recollection; In the riven troughs the splayed leaves Pile up, of nature the casual sacrament To the seasonal eternity of death; Then driven by the fierce scrutiny Of heaven to their election in the vast breath, They sough the rumour of mortality. Autumn is desolation in the plot Of a thousand acres where these memories grow From the inexhaustible bodies that are not Dead, but feed the grass row after rich row. Think of the autumns that have come and gone!-Ambitious November with the humors of the year, With a particular zeal for every slab, Staining the uncomfortable angels that rot On the slabs, a wing chipped here, an arm there: The brute curiosity of an angel's stare Turns you, like them, to stone, Transforms the heaving air Till plunged to a heavier world below You shift your sea-space blindly Heaving, turning like the blind crab. Dazed by the wind, only the wind The leaves flying, plunge You know who have waited by the wall The twilight certainty of an animal, Those midnight restitutions of the blood You know--the immitigable pines, the smoky frieze Of the sky, the sudden call: you know the rage, The cold pool left by the mounting flood, Of muted Zeno and Parmenides. You who have waited for the angry resolution Of those desires that should be yours tomorrow, You know the unimportant shrift of death And praise the vision And praise the arrogant circumstance Of those who fall Rank upon rank, hurried beyond decision-Here by the sagging gate, stopped by the wall.

Seeing, seeing only the leaves Flying, plunge and expire Turn your eyes to the immoderate past, Turn to the inscrutable infantry rising Demons out of the earth they will not last. Stonewall, Stonewall, and the sunken fields of hemp, Shiloh, Antietam, Malvern Hill, Bull Run. Lost in that orient of the thick and fast You will curse the setting sun. Cursing only the leaves crying Like an old man in a storm You hear the shout, the crazy hemlocks point With troubled fingers to the silence which Smothers you, a mummy, in time. The hound bitch Toothless and dying, in a musty cellar Hears the wind only. Now that the salt of their blood Stiffens the saltier oblivion of the sea, Seals the malignant purity of the flood, What shall we who count our days and bow Our heads with a commemorial woe In the ribboned coats of grim felicity, What shall we say of the bones, unclean, Whose verdurous anonymity will grow? The ragged arms, the ragged heads and eyes Lost in these acres of the insane green? The gray lean spiders come, they come and go; In a tangle of willows without light The singular screech-owl's tight Invisible lyric seeds the mind With the furious murmur of their chivalry. We shall say only the leaves Flying, plunge and expire We shall say only the leaves whispering In the improbable mist of nightfall That flies on multiple wing: Night is the beginning and the end And in between the ends of distraction Waits mute speculation, the patient curse That stones the eyes, or like the jaguar leaps For his own image in a jungle pool, his victim.

What shall we say who have knowledge Carried to the heart? Shall we take the act To the grave? Shall we, more hopeful, set up the grave In the house? The ravenous grave? Leave now The shut gate and the decomposing wall: The gentle serpent, green in the mulberry bush, Riots with his tongue through the hush-Sentinel of the grave who counts us all!

da a polgrhbor halottaihoz Egyik sor a msik utn: a srkvek Szabadon trjk ki nevk az elemeknek, Csak zg, svt a szl s nem emlkezik, A barzds fldn felhalmozdik egy Halom szraz levl, alkalmi ldozatknt: A termszet az rkkval hallnak Aztn elzi hatalmas lehellete, Az g kegyetlen szndka ad mindenre szrnyat S a halandsg moraja svlt vele. Az sz elhagyatottsgot jelent, ezer Ngyszglnyi helyen, hol a fradhatatlan Testekbl emlkek nnek az gre fel: Nem holtak; fvet tpllnak gazdag sorokban emlkezz az szkre, melyek messze tntek, A nedves s szorgalmas novembert idzd fel, Mely mindennek rl, mi nyirkos, ragads ma Bemocskolva a knyelmetlen koporskban Porl angyalokat: itt egy kar, ott egy szrny: Egy angyal kvncsi pillantsa taln Tged is kv vltoztat, akrcsak ket, Forml a dagad leveg-kupoln Mg slyosabb vilgba hullva vissza lassan Kiszabott teredet emlegetted vakon, Akrcsak a vak rk, shajtva, forgoldva. A szl, a szl kbt mindent, bizony, levelek replnek, lehullanak. Te, ki a falnl vrakoztl, ismered Egy llat biztonsgos sztne a tied A vr jfli jvttelt A krlelhetetlen fenyvet, a fsts eget, A hirtelen hvst, dht mind ismered

A hs tcst, mit otthagyott az g: Zn s Parmenides dht. Te, ki a vgyak haragos Elszntsgra vrtl, mely holnap tid lesz, Tudod, milyen jelentktelen a hall, S a ltomst dicsred, Az elesetteknek szeszlyes Sorst dicsred, Kik elszntan siettek, s most itt fekszenek, Hol meglltotta ket a fal, az let. Csak nzed-nzed a levl-vilgot, Replnek, hullnak s kimlnak Fordulj a dics mlt fel, A felkel gyalogsgra fordtsd szemed: fld-mlyi dmonok s mr egyik sem az let. Stonewall, Stonewall, s az elsllyedt kendermezk Bull Run, Antietam, Malvern Hill, Shiloh: Elveszve ezen a sr mly hajnalon, Csak tkozod a lenyugv napot. Eltkozod csak a sr levl-vilgot, Vn emberknt a szlben Kiltst hallasz az rlt brkbozt A csendet reszket vn ujjakkal mutatja, S megfojt tged, idvel mmit. Ugatva Fogatlanul mar az eb. A dohos regben Csak a szl hallatszik. Most, hogy a vrk sja Megkemnyti a feleds ssabb tengert, S az r veszlyes tisztasgt zrja-vja, Mit mondhatunk mi, kik szmlljuk napjainkat, S fejeink emlkez bnattal ingnak Felvve a mogorva boldogsgnak kpenyt, A csontokrl mit mondhatunk tiszttlanul, Hisz zldel nvtelensgk nni fog A roncsolt karok, roncsolt fejek s szemek, Mik rlt zldben tntek el, a fldben itt, alul. Jn s megy, jn s megy sok karcs, szrke pk, S a fzfk hnrja kzt megbuvik Egy magnyos kuvik, S lthatatlan zenje dlt agyunkba hull Hskdse haragos morajval. Csak ezt mondjuk, a levelek

Replnek, hullnak s kimlnak Csak ezt mondjuk, a levelek susognak A hull j valszntlen vak kdben, Amely sokrt szrnyain repl: Az j a kezdet s a vg. S az rltsg vgei kzt vr A nma tprengs, trelmes szenveds Kvlt szemekkel, vagy mint jagur veti magt Sajt kpmsra a dzsungel mocsarban. Mit mondjunk mi, kiknek szvben ott a Megismers? A cselekvst vigyk magunkkal A srba? Vagy vigyk remnykedn srunkat A hzba be? A telhetetlen srt? Gyernk, A rgi kfalat s forgt hagyjuk magukra: A nyjas kgy zlden a szederbokorban A nyelvvel a csenden t zajong, s titokban rzi a srt, amely szmt mindannyiunkra! Vgh Gyrgy

Stevie Smith Stevie Smith (1902-1971) eredeti nevn Florence Margaret Smith, angol klt s regnyr. Londonban lt, els ktett 32 ves korban ksztette el, de a kiad inkbb a regnyrst tancsolta. Regnyei, csakgy, mint versei, az let apr tnyeirl beszlnek mly, elgikus humorral. Klti hrnevt 1957-es ktete alapozta meg (Nem jel, csak fullads). Halla utn adtk ki szszegyjttt verseit, valamivel ksbb letrl szndarabot is rtak (Stevie), amelybl sikeres film is kszlt.

Not Waving But Drowning Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning. Nem jel, csak fullads A halott mg shajtozott fektben, nem hallotta ms: Messzebb jrtam, mint gondolttok, s nem jel voltam, csak fullads." Szegny fi, hogy szerette a mkt, most meg itt fekszik, ni. Dermeszt lehetett, ahogy megllt a szve szlt a tbbi. Jaj, dehogy, hiszen mindig dermeszt volt (mg shajt, de nem hallja ms), nagymessze jrtam letemben, s nem jel voltam, csak fullads. Gergely Agnes fordtsa

The Airy Christ Who is this that comes in splendour, coming from the blazing East? This is he we had not thought of, this is he the airy Christ. Airy, in an airy manner in an airy parkland walking, Others take him by the hand, lead him, do the talking. But the Form, the airy One, frowns an airy frown, What they say he knows must be, but he looks aloofly down, Looks aloofly at his feet, looks aloofly at his hands, Knows they must, as prophets say, naild be to wooden bands. As he knows the words he sings, that he sings so happily Must be changed to working laws, yet sings he ceaselessly. Those who truly hear the voice, the words, the happy song, Never shall need working laws to keep from doing wrong. Deaf men will pretend sometimes they hear the song, the words, And make excuse to sin extremely; this will be absurd.

Heed it not. Whatever foolish men may do the song is cried For those who hear, and the sweet singer does not care that he was crucified. For he does not wish that men should love him more than anything Because he died; he only wishes they would hear him sing.

A lgi Krisztus Ki jn talpig ragyogsban, kit kld fnyl Napkelet? az, , a lgi Krisztus, elhiszed vagy nem hiszed. Lgi lny, a lgi parkban lgiesen lpeget, Kzenfogjk, szval tartjk, vezrlik a tbbiek. De a lny, a lgi Forma arcn lg sttje, amit szlnak, tudja, gy van, s idegenl nz le. Idegenl nzi lbt, idegenl kt kezt, tudja mr a prftktl, egykor fhoz szegezik. S tudja jl, hogy nekt, az nekes sz mmort zord trvny majd megkti, s mgis nekel tovbb. Ki valban hallja t, az neket, a szt, zord trvnyek nlkl is majd cselekszi a jt. Siketek is gy tesznek majd, mintha hallank, mert a sz mentsg a bnre -- , az ostobk. Ne figyelj rjuk. Vtkezhetnek, a dal egyre harsog a hallknak, s megfeszttetssel nem gondol az des dalnok. Mert nem akarja, hogy azt higgyk, szeretni kell, mivel meghalt; csak az akarja: halljk, hogy nekel. Gergely gnes

The Fugitives Ride Across the bridge across the dyke Foresworn by friend and foe alike. I ride The field upon the further side Stretches before me and its wide

Horizon dark against dark sky Beckons me on. Dim homesteads lie To left and right as I ride by. It is a wet and steamy night, More steamy night I have not seen, More steamy night there has not been, I have rode on for many a mile And now it does not rain And has not done for quite a while And all the plain Lies limpid underneath the stars That give an eerie light And make the plain seem to be bright. With standing water, deep or shallow? Deep lake, or river? Corn or fallow? Lord, Lord, I pick my way This false starlight is worse than no light To bewitch The eyes and hide the gaping ditch. What owl was that that howls upon The trees athwart the stream And have I been this way before Or do I dream? He seems to be a mournful one That hoots to make a coward run I hate to hear I hate to see An owl that hoots so dismally It makes my very blood run cold No bird should dare to be so bold I feel as fearful as he should Whos done a dreadful deed of blood. (Now hold up horse a moment pray, Dont sidestep in the foolish way, If you fall down upon the ground There is a chance you will be drowned.) A wetter plain I have not seen A wetter plain there has not been I say there has not been A wetter plain Since first I came And may I die If once again it does not rain. In early dawn is this dark plain Made darker still of darkness shorn More dismaller but still same Lit by the ray that heralds day.

On my poor horse so lost so wan That cannot understand Why we must ride and ride and ride And never yet come home On you must go until you drop For since time wont, I dare stop.

A menekl lovas Emitt a hd, amott a gt, megtagad ellensg, bart, szguldok t a messzinyl rnasg hullmain, odbb a tg, stt hatr mint gre forrt stt hivs. Tanyk, vakok, ktoldalt, ahogy vgtatok. Kd nedvezi az jszakt, nem lttam jjel ily kdt, sosem volt mg ily ji kd, tvgtatok mrfldeket, az es nem esik, mr rgesrg nem eshetett, a messzi sk fnyt fog a csillagok alatt, borzong fnyvilg, mintha stne a pusztasg. llvz? sekly, mlybe rnt? mly t, folyam? ugar, vagy sznt? Uram, n nem tudom, n csak lptetek az uton, a sttnl rosszabb az lvilg, mert kbulat fdi a ttott rkokat. Milyen bagoly rikoltozott a vzi gakon? s mr jrtam itt korbban is, vagy lmodom? Gyszt hordoz az, ki gy huhog, ha gyva volnk, elfutok, , rmes hang, rmltoms, baljs bagolyrikoltozs, meghl bennem a vr, mitl lehet madr ily rmt, s gy szorongok itt bell,

mint kin gaztett lidrc l. (Lovam, megllj, egy percre csak, ne tncolj, mint a kerge bak, ha felbuksz s a fld lehz, az is lehet, hogy vzbeflsz.) Nem lttam nedvesebb mezt, nincs mez ennl nedvezbb, nem, nem, n ily mezt nem lttam itt egsz uton, csak a hall segt, mg jra nem esik. Hajnalra mlystt a sk, mert mly a megnyirblt stt, s baljs, holott a jl tudott sugr a napjelz futr. Fuss, j lovam, te elveszett, ki meg sem rtheted, mrt szguldunk tovbb, tovbb, ha nem jutunk haza, fuss, az id majd fldre vet, s mert meg nem ll, n nem merek. Gergely Agnes fordtsa

Robert Penn Warren Robert Penn Warren (1905-1989) amerikai regnyr, klt, kritikus. Mveinek f tmja az emberi mltsg megrzse a korrupt s erszakos modern vilgban. Kaliforniban, majd sztndjjal Oxfordban tanult. 1935 s 1942 kztt Cleanth Brooksszal egytt szerkesztette a Southern Review cm folyiratot, a New Criticism nven ismertt vlt irnyzat folyiratt, tovbb tbb, azta klasszikuss vlt knyvet, szveggyjtemnyt. All the King's Men cm regnyrt (1946) Pulitzer-djat kapott, utbb Oscar-djas film kszlt belle. 1986-ban lett az els amerikai koszors klt".

Small Ethernity The time comes when you count the names--whether Dim or flaming in the heads dark, or whether

In stone cut, time-crumbling or moss-glutted You count the names to reconstruct yourself. But a face remembered may blur, even as you stare At a headstone. Or sometimes a face, as though from air, Will stare at you with a boyish smiole--but, not Stone-moored, blows away like dandelion fuzz. It is very disturbing. It is as though you were The idiot boy who ventures out on pond-ice Too thin, and hears here--hears there--the creak And crackling spread. That is the sound Reality Makes as it gives beneath your metaphysical Poundage. Memory dies. Or lies. Time Is a wind that never shifts air. Pray only That, in the midst of selfishness, some Small act of careless kindness, half-unconscious, some Unwitting smile or brush of lips, may glow In some other minds dark thats lost your name, but stumbles Upon that momentary Eternity.

Kis rkkvalsg Jn az id, hogy megszmold mind a neveket Tudat-jben lngolk vagy homlyosak, mindegy S id portja, kbe vstk vagy moha fedi ket. Megszmolod a neveket, hogy magad jraalkosd. Am az arc emlke halvnyulhat, bmulj Srkre br. Olykor egy arc, akrha lgbl, Bmul kisfis mosollyal de nem Kbe-karcolt: mint pitypang bbitja, szerteszll. Nyugtalant. Mintha te volnl az idita Fi, aki kimerszkedik a t tlvkony Jegre s hallja innt, hallja onnt, terjed A pattogs. A Valsg hangja ez, Ahogy metafizikai csatangolsaid alatt Bereped. Az emlk meghal. Vagy csal. Az id Oly szl, irnya nem vltoz. Imdkozz, Hogy az nssg kzepett valami Feleltlen kedvessg, flig-ntudatlan, valami nkntelen mosoly, ajkak rezdlse flragyoghat Egy msik elme jjelben, mely neved feledte mr,

De belebotlik ebbe a pillanatnyi rkkvalsgba. Ferencz Gyz fordtsa

Another Dimension Over meadows of Brittany, the lark Flames sunward, divulging, in tinseled fragments from That height, song. Song is lost In the blue depth of sky, but We know it is there at an altitude where only Gods ear may hear. Dividing fields, long hedges, in white Bloom powdered, gently slope to the Blue of sea that glitters in joy of its being. Once I lay on the grass and looked upward To feel myself redeemed into That world which had no meaning but itself, As I, lying there, had only the present, no future or past. Yes who was the man who on the midnight street corner, Alone, once stood, while sea-fog Put out last lights, electric or heavenly? Who knows that history is the other name for death? Who, from the sweated pillow, wakes to know How truth can lie? Who knows that jealousy, Like a chinch-bug under the greenest turf, thrives? Who learned that kindness can be the last cruelty? I have shut my eyes and seen the lark flare upward. All was as real as when my eyes were open. I have felt earth breathe beneath my shoulder blades. I have strained to hear, sun-high, that Platonic song. It may be that some men, dying, have heard it.

Az id halla Bretagne rtjei fltt a pacsirta Lobog a nap fel, szrja, csillmlsknt e Magasbl, nekt. Az nek elvsz Az g kk mlyn, de mi Tudjuk, ott van fnn, annyira fnn, hogy Isten fle hallhatja csupn.

Mezket osztva, svnyek fehr virggal Hintve, szelden ereszkednek a tenger Kkje fel, mely tndkl, hogy van, az rmtl. A fben hevervn flnztem egyszer, S reztem, visszavltdom e vilgba, Melynek nincs jelentse, csak maga, ahogy Nekem, fekvn ott, jelenem volt csak, se jvm, se mltam. Igen ki volt az az ember, aki jfli utcasarkon, Egykor, magnyosan ott llt, mg a tengeri kd Kioltogatta a vgs gi vagy villany fnyeket? Ki tudja, a trtnelem msik nv csak a hallra? s aki, izzadt prnn, felriad, rzi: Hazudhat az igazsg? Aki tudja: a fltkenysg, Mint ganajtr, a legzldebb gyep alatt is tenyszik? Ki rti mr, a kedvessg a vgs kegyetlensg lehet? Lehunytam a szemem s lttam, fl, fl lobog a pacsirta. Minden oly vals volt, mintha a szemem nyitva lenne. reztem, ott llegzik a fld a lapockm mellett. Erlkdtem, hadd hallanm nap-magasban azt a platni dalt. Hogy hallottk is nmelyek, haldokolva, meghihet. Tandori Dezs