KYSO Flash
Knock-Your-Socks-Off Art and Literature
Issue 2: Winter 2015
Translations: Poetry
107 words [R]

Silver Pirouettes (Sonnet 12)

by György Faludy
Translated from Hungarian by Paul Sohar

Your ankles grow deep-blue shadows for space,
the universe has you for its vault.
Palm trees sprout deep-green explosions behind
your shoulders. And the clock has stalled.

Your face is my reliable sundial,
the light in the window dances its ballet,
my May is jasmine in your armpit;
our nearest neighbor is the Milky Way.

Furniture swings with us like a circus trapeze
without the weight. Sometimes I look back:
dust lashes the five continents and seas,

but on your divine empire the sun never sets;
what we have here is melodious, oceanic peace
and up there the moon’s silver pirouettes.

    (Malta, 1966)


A tér mélykék árnyéknak nőtt bokádhoz
s a mindenség határa is te vagy.
A pálmák mélyzöld, dermedt robbanások
vállad mögött. S az óra elakadt.

Az ablakban a fény balettje táncol,
a nap járását arcodról tudom,
a májust hónod jázminillatából;
szomszédunk nincs, csak túl a Tejúton.

A bútorok, mint súlytalan trapézek
hintáznak köztünk. Olykor visszanézek:
az öt világrészt piszkos por veri,

és nincs, csak lényed isteni hatalma,
meg lenn a tenger csacsogó nyugalma
s fenn a hold ezüst piruettjei.

    (Málta, 1966)

—Previously published in Ragazine (May 2013); republished here by translator’s permission

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

Gyorgy Faludy, 95, Hungarian Poet and Figure in Resistance, Dies, a Reuters article in The New York Times (4 September 2006)

George Faludy got married at 91 and said goodbye to Eric, an article by Barbara Amiel in The Telegraph (12 August 2002)

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