Krisztina Tóth

Poems

Translated by David Hill

 

On the Nature of Love
A szeretet természetéről

Harbour suspicions as you watch closed eyes.
The water glugs beneath the ice, extras
act out the dream, and through the mouth's entrance/
exit an aerial procession slides;

recurring words, years reckoned in street signs,
buses that go zigzagging eastwards-westwards
across the nights, and on disordered bedclothes
the blinding signals drawn by motorist's lights ...

... You've not been here. You lie here now, but that is
soon to be just a recollection. Therefore
intensively interrogate the hand which

recently moved as yours: you cannot ever
be sure who owns the body lying latticed
by shadows from the drapes, the stranger.

 

On the Nature of Pain,
A fájdalom természetéről

which, fundamentally, cannot be fathomed.
Some don't say anything, but-in a bad case-
just stare dementedly while rocking that way
and this way to an inner rhythm;

while others stand up, knock a chair, and leave un-
steadily, they don't turn around (in fact they
do, but not physically), and just their back stays,
caught in the picture frame, long after quivering;

they don't ask for a light, ignite themselves, nor plan
some daring feat involving rope and rails;
they walk across the bridge and just look down ...

... How should I have reacted? Glacially still,
reached down into my bag and drawn
a gun on you, like in the films?