• Язык:
    Венгерский (Magyarul)
Источник:
  • Baka István Alapítvány

A kínai versek-ciklusból: A természet

Природа

A kis tavacska épp olyan nyugodt,
Akár a csésze, mely vízzel teli.
A bambusz kunyhókhoz hasonlatos,
Fák lombja — háztetõknek tengere.

S a hegyes sziklák, mint a pagodák,
Magaslanak a virágok között.
Jó arra gondolnom, hogy az örök
Természet mitõlünk tanul.


Другие переводы:

  • Английский
    Майя Журавель
    Nature
  • Итальянский
    Амедео Анелли
    La Natura
  • Немецкий
    Эрик Бёрнер
    Die Natur

А вот еще:

It Wasn’t Living

It wasn’t living, I wasted / half my life / - and then, Lord, You came to me / like this, in an impossible dream. / / I see light on Mount Tabor / and my heart hurts / with love for the land and the sea / and the whole tree-dark dream of existence, / / My heart hurts tha...

Did I Murder My Father

Did I murder my father, murder my mother, / in some other life ? / Yes, oh immortal, eternal God, yes! or how / could I deserve this disgrace of suffering? / / I lead a life as peaceful as death, / everything I do belongs to someone else, nothing / to me-except a languid, worthless, /...

The Dark-Blue Star

Your tormenting, wonderful, / inevitable beauty / ripped me out of my thin, / miserable, puling life, / / And I died. And I saw / a flame no one ever saw / before; my eyes went black, but I saw / a dark-blue star. / / A song: soft, then loud, then soft: / body and soul meltin...

I Can’t Forget

No, I can’t ever forget / your child’s mouth, your girl’s glance, / bold - I dream of you, / I speak, I think of you - always - like rhythm. / / I feel vast oceans / heaving as the moon yaws, / and whole galaxies, burning, / swinging as they have always swung, will...

The Dream

My nightmare woke me, groaning / with the most intense pain. / My dream: that you loved someone else / and he had hurt you. / / I ran out of bed / like a murderer from the guillotine, / and saw how the streetlights / shone dim, like animals’ eyes. / / Oh, no one, no one /...

She Who Scatters Stars

You’re not always proud, aloof; / you don’t always refuse me. / / You come to me, sometimes, / quietly, quietly, quietly, like in a dream. / / The hair above your forehead is heavy, full. / I’m never allowed to kiss it. / / And your wide eyes / are lit by a m...