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KINGA FABÓ

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 6/15/2015 |




JAILER

Every season has its turn.
They come, come, come, it’s so stern.
It kills me it’s always the same.
They never change their order.
They don’t ask my permission.

Every season tortures me.
They come, come, come, no mercy.
I’m ground, ground, and ground
like a merry-go-round
by this unceasing energy –

keeping me on path. Broken
on the wheel so forsaken
- more and more dead more alive –
I keep spinning around
with them in the depth of time.

(Translated by: N. Ullrich Katalin)


HALF CIRCLES (ANGOL)
1.
Our face is nailed down.
Our heart’s place is enshrouded by silence.
The song painted on the wall falls down.
...
2.
My face is dug up by sorrow.
The vein in my arm gets thin.
Milk tastes green in my mouth.
3.
The earth is cold:
its patches have fallen off.
Human-knot shivers on its wall.

(Katalin N. Ullrich)


IT GOES TO THE GRAVE WITH THE BEARER OF THE SECRET,

WHILE MOTIONS FREEZE IN THE DEPTHS OF HIS BODY


As if oozing from the edges of
fissures.
Couldn't get beyond the stains.


Sitting in a soft garden, in a semi-circle.
In the tiny crack between truth
and falsity.

(Translated by Michael Castro and Gábor G. Gyukics)


[KINGA FABÓ]


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