Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Szabolcs Várady

CHAIRS ABOVE THE DANUBE

The two chairs were not unhandsome
in their way. Shame about the springs
protruding and the filthy covers.
But chairs are chairs are chairs,
and these would do.
And so we carried them, mostly on our heads,
from Orlay Street, across what once was known
as Franz Joseph, now Liberty Bridge, right down
to Ráday Street 2, where P then lived
(as his poems of the time will testify).

A chair, or even two, can prove quite useful
in all kinds of ways. Two poets on the bridge
bearing chairs on their heads – one could imagine
a picture with that title. I’d like it to be
a realistic picture not one of those
visionary things. The two chairs,
it should be clearly understood, are not to be construed
as haloes round our heads. About the middle of the bridge –
without wanting to make a point of it –
we sat down on them. The springs of one chair
stuck out particularly. I can’t remember
which of us had it. No matter, what happened later
can’t be explained by that. It was a pleasant
summer evening. We lit a cigarette,
enjoying the comfort of our circumstances,
which were a little unusual.

                                   The chairs survived
for a while doing respectable service: they were
the chairs at P’s place. But naturally one wants
to improve one’s lot: so they gave the chairs
to an upholsterer. Then they changed addresses,
the first time because they had to, the next
because they hated the flat. We tend
to meet less often nowadays. Much has happened since.
G left A (P’s wife) and M (the wife of B)
broke up with me, then the second M
(G’s wife) abandoned G and came to live
at my place (the Bs too separated
in the meantime), P tried suicide
and spends most of the time in institutions,
not to speak of changes in world politics,
in any case we’ve nowhere to sit down.

STOELEN BOVEN DE DONAU

Die twee stoelen waren op hun manier
niet eens echt lelijk. Jammer dat de veren
eruit staken en de bekleding
zo hopeloos vies was. Maar stoelen waren het,
en niet eens zulke slechte. Voor dat huis, wat wil je?
Wij droegen ze dus, voornamelijk op ons hoofd,
uit de Orlay-straat over de voormalige
Frans-Jozef-, nu Vrijheidsbrug,
naar de Ráday-straat twee, waar P. woonde
in die tijd (lees zijn lyriek maar).

Een stoel is voor van alles te gebruiken,
en twee al helemaal. ‘Twee dichters op de brug
met stoelen op hun hoofd’ – het zou de titel
van een schilderij kunnen zijn. Een objectieve
weergave hopelijk, zonder enige
symbolische betekenis. Die twee stoelen,
dat moet men goed begrijpen, zijn in geen geval
een aureool boven ons hoofd. Midden op de brug
gingen we – niet om ook maar iets te bewijzen –
erop zitten. Vooral bij één stoel
staken de veren eruit.  Ik weet niet meer wie
daarop zat. Het maakt ook niet uit, al het latere kun je daar
toch niet op terugvoeren. Het was een aangename
zomeravond. We staken een sigaret op
en genoten van deze om zo te zeggen
ongebruikelijke vorm van gerieflijkheid.

                         De stoelen deden daarna
een tijdlang trouw dienst: ze waren
de stoelen bij de familie P. Maar mensen verlangen
altijd naar iets beters dan wat er is – de stoelen
gingen naar de stoffeerder. Ook de woning
werd geruild, de eerste uit noodzaak, de tweede
omdat die niet beviel. Tegenwoordig
komen we minder vaak bij hen samen. Daarbij spelen
een aantal dingen een rol. G. heeft A. (de vrouw van P.)
verlaten, daarna heeft M. (de vrouw van B.)
gebroken met mij, vervolgens is de andere M. (de vrouw van G.)
van G. gescheiden en bij mij ingetrokken (intussen is B.
ook bij zijn vrouw weggegaan), P. deed een zelfmoordpoging
en woont sindsdien min of meer in een inrichting,
nog afgezien van de veranderingen in de wereld –
en trouwens, er is toch niets om op te zitten.

SZÉKEK A DUNA FÖLÖTT

Az a két szék a maga módján
nem is volt csúnya. Kár, hogy a rugó
kiállt belőlük, és hogy a kárpit
olyan reménytelenül koszos volt.
De széknek székek, sőt. Abba a lakásba?
Vittük tehát, jobbára a fejünkön,
az Orlay utcából az egykori
Ferenc József, ma Szabadság hídon át
a Ráday utca 2-be, ahol P. lakott
az idő tájt (nyomait lírája őrzi).

Egy szék is, hát még kettő, alkalmas
lehet sok mindenre. “Két költő a hídon,
fejükön székekkel” – elképzelhető egy
kép ezzel a címmel. Remélem, tárgyilagos
kép volna, nem valamiféle
átszellemítés. Az a két szék,
fontos, hogy ezt megértsük, semmiképp sem
glória a fejünkön. A híd közepe táján
– de nem azért, hogy bármit is bizonyítsunk –
leültünk rájuk. Különösen az egyik-
ből állt ki a rugó, nem tudom, melyikünknek
jutott az. Mindegy, aligha lehetne erre
a későbbieket visszavezetni. Kellemes
nyári este volt. Rágyújtottunk,
élveztük a lakályosságnak ezt a,
mondhatni, szokatlan formáját.

                                        A székek aztán
egy darabig szolgáltak becsületesen: ők voltak a
székek P.-éknél. Hanem az ember
jobbra vágyik, mint ami van: a székeket
beadták egy kárpitoshoz. A lakást is
elcserélték, az elsőt kényszerből, a másodikat,
mert nem szerették. Manapság
ritkábban jövünk össze náluk. Sok minden
közrejátszik. G. elhagyta A.-t
(P. feleségét), aztán M. (B. felesége)
szakított velem, majd G.-től elvált a másik
M. (G. felesége) és hozzám jött (közben B.-ék
is különváltak), P. öngyilkos lett és azóta
félig-meddig szanatóriumban lakik,
nem beszélve a világhelyzet változásairól,
és különben is: nincs hova leülni.
Close

CHAIRS ABOVE THE DANUBE

The two chairs were not unhandsome
in their way. Shame about the springs
protruding and the filthy covers.
But chairs are chairs are chairs,
and these would do.
And so we carried them, mostly on our heads,
from Orlay Street, across what once was known
as Franz Joseph, now Liberty Bridge, right down
to Ráday Street 2, where P then lived
(as his poems of the time will testify).

A chair, or even two, can prove quite useful
in all kinds of ways. Two poets on the bridge
bearing chairs on their heads – one could imagine
a picture with that title. I’d like it to be
a realistic picture not one of those
visionary things. The two chairs,
it should be clearly understood, are not to be construed
as haloes round our heads. About the middle of the bridge –
without wanting to make a point of it –
we sat down on them. The springs of one chair
stuck out particularly. I can’t remember
which of us had it. No matter, what happened later
can’t be explained by that. It was a pleasant
summer evening. We lit a cigarette,
enjoying the comfort of our circumstances,
which were a little unusual.

                                   The chairs survived
for a while doing respectable service: they were
the chairs at P’s place. But naturally one wants
to improve one’s lot: so they gave the chairs
to an upholsterer. Then they changed addresses,
the first time because they had to, the next
because they hated the flat. We tend
to meet less often nowadays. Much has happened since.
G left A (P’s wife) and M (the wife of B)
broke up with me, then the second M
(G’s wife) abandoned G and came to live
at my place (the Bs too separated
in the meantime), P tried suicide
and spends most of the time in institutions,
not to speak of changes in world politics,
in any case we’ve nowhere to sit down.

CHAIRS ABOVE THE DANUBE

The two chairs were not unhandsome
in their way. Shame about the springs
protruding and the filthy covers.
But chairs are chairs are chairs,
and these would do.
And so we carried them, mostly on our heads,
from Orlay Street, across what once was known
as Franz Joseph, now Liberty Bridge, right down
to Ráday Street 2, where P then lived
(as his poems of the time will testify).

A chair, or even two, can prove quite useful
in all kinds of ways. Two poets on the bridge
bearing chairs on their heads – one could imagine
a picture with that title. I’d like it to be
a realistic picture not one of those
visionary things. The two chairs,
it should be clearly understood, are not to be construed
as haloes round our heads. About the middle of the bridge –
without wanting to make a point of it –
we sat down on them. The springs of one chair
stuck out particularly. I can’t remember
which of us had it. No matter, what happened later
can’t be explained by that. It was a pleasant
summer evening. We lit a cigarette,
enjoying the comfort of our circumstances,
which were a little unusual.

                                   The chairs survived
for a while doing respectable service: they were
the chairs at P’s place. But naturally one wants
to improve one’s lot: so they gave the chairs
to an upholsterer. Then they changed addresses,
the first time because they had to, the next
because they hated the flat. We tend
to meet less often nowadays. Much has happened since.
G left A (P’s wife) and M (the wife of B)
broke up with me, then the second M
(G’s wife) abandoned G and came to live
at my place (the Bs too separated
in the meantime), P tried suicide
and spends most of the time in institutions,
not to speak of changes in world politics,
in any case we’ve nowhere to sit down.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère