Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Szabolcs Várady

THE DELIGHT OF DEADLOCK

Lines of verse shift only within the head,
as one voice fades, it moves out of the way,
but where’s the way, and where’s he who would take it?

We were listening to the birds out in the garden,
and on the island, the ocean all around us,
there was a voice – but whose, I still don’t know.

Why does it come between us? Snow, ever more snow,
and who knows what it covers, surely
once it turns to slush, then, maybe then – go easy.

Something is tugging at me again. I walk around
stiff-shouldered. The time of reckoning will come.
Does this and that add up? To what? disaster?

But time rejoices with its castrated heart,
in blind radiance – the delight of deadlock –
stands still, and stops – let’s leave it at that for now.

BLIJMOEDIGHEID VAN HET DODE PUNT

De verzen malen in het hoofd alleen,
een stem houdt op en maakt de weg zo vrij,
maar waar is de weg en waar is wie hem zou volgen?

We luisterden naar de vogels in de tuin
en op het eiland, om ons heen de zee,
maar er was een stem – ik weet nog steeds niet waar vandaan.

Waarom is dit tussen ons? Sneeuw ligt op sneeuw,
en niemand weet wat eronder ligt, ja straks
als alles blubber wordt, ja dan – kalm aan.

Vandaag trekt er weer iets. Met stijve schouders
loop ik rond. Binnenkort wordt er afgerekend.
Iets gaat – naar wens of naar de filistijnen?

Maar de tijd juicht met uitgesneden hart
in blinde straling, blijmoedigheid van het dode punt,
hij staat, staat stil – hier laten we het nu bij.

HOLTPONT DERŰJE

Csak fejben forognak a verssorok,
elmúlik egy hang, félreáll az útból,
de hol az út, és hol, aki menne rajta?

Hallgattuk a madarakat a kertben,
és a szigeten, körülöttünk a tenger,
de volt egy hang – a gazdáját ma se tudom.

Miért ez köztünk? Hó és újra hó,
és ki tudja, mi van alatta, bezzeg
ha lucsokká romlik, majd, majd – csak csínján.

Ma megint húz valami. Merev vállal
járkálok. El kell számolni maholnap.
Tevődik ez s az – helyre-e? tönkre-e?

De az idő kimetszett szívvel ujjong,
vak sugárzásban, a holtpont derűje:
áll, megáll – maradjunk ennyiben most.
Close

THE DELIGHT OF DEADLOCK

Lines of verse shift only within the head,
as one voice fades, it moves out of the way,
but where’s the way, and where’s he who would take it?

We were listening to the birds out in the garden,
and on the island, the ocean all around us,
there was a voice – but whose, I still don’t know.

Why does it come between us? Snow, ever more snow,
and who knows what it covers, surely
once it turns to slush, then, maybe then – go easy.

Something is tugging at me again. I walk around
stiff-shouldered. The time of reckoning will come.
Does this and that add up? To what? disaster?

But time rejoices with its castrated heart,
in blind radiance – the delight of deadlock –
stands still, and stops – let’s leave it at that for now.

THE DELIGHT OF DEADLOCK

Lines of verse shift only within the head,
as one voice fades, it moves out of the way,
but where’s the way, and where’s he who would take it?

We were listening to the birds out in the garden,
and on the island, the ocean all around us,
there was a voice – but whose, I still don’t know.

Why does it come between us? Snow, ever more snow,
and who knows what it covers, surely
once it turns to slush, then, maybe then – go easy.

Something is tugging at me again. I walk around
stiff-shouldered. The time of reckoning will come.
Does this and that add up? To what? disaster?

But time rejoices with its castrated heart,
in blind radiance – the delight of deadlock –
stands still, and stops – let’s leave it at that for now.
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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
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