Translated
by John Batki
I am fatherless, motherless,
godless and countryless,
have no cradle, no funeral shroud,
and no lover to kiss me proud.
For the third day I have had
no food, not a piece of bread.
My strength is my twenty years--
I will sell these twenty years.
And if no one heeds my cry,
the devil may choose to buy.
My heart's pure, I'll burn and loot,
if I must, I'll even shoot.
They will catch me and string me up,
with the good earth cover me up,
and death-bringing grass will start
growing from my beautiful, pure heart.
I am fatherless, motherless,
godless and countryless,
have no cradle, no funeral shroud,
and no lover to kiss me proud.
For the third day I have had
no food, not a piece of bread.
My strength is my twenty years--
I will sell these twenty years.
And if no one heeds my cry,
the devil may choose to buy.
My heart's pure, I'll burn and loot,
if I must, I'll even shoot.
They will catch me and string me up,
with the good earth cover me up,
and death-bringing grass will start
growing from my beautiful, pure heart.
(Attila
Jozsef is recognized as one of the
greatest poets of the 20th century. Attila had a painful existence: his
childhood was marked by poverty and tragedy, and his adulthood was plagued by
depression and psychological instability. At the age of 32, Attila committed
suicide by throwing himself under the wheels of a freight train.
But
I do not want to focus on his death; rather, I would like to focus on the way
that he is still living, and that is through his powerful poetry. Every
Hungarian is well-acquainted with his life and his poems, and most of them seem
to know one or two of his poems by heart, having been required to memorize his
verse as part of their education. The above is one of them. The poem is just raw, deeply personal, sad and
revolutionary in its theme and style.)
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