Hungarian Literature

Geza Csath

So I’ll post a new translation soon. I am very glad that the one that I shared was a success! In the meantime, a while ago I read the diary of Geza Csath, who was a very interesting figure in Hungarian literature during the turn of the century. His diary is dark snapshot of a life that just kept plummeting and plummeting downward.  The whole thing ends very tragically. When I was done reading it, I penned these few lines as a response and I figured I’d share them here with all my readers out in blog-world. Now I’m not claiming that they’re good or terribly insightful, especially I consider myself more a translator of poetry more than a poet myself, but mine nonetheless:

I once read the memoirs of a Hungarian doctor,

His life spiraled out of control before our eyes.

The ins and outs sprawled before me,

a black abyss lay in front of both of us.

His journey ended neatly in red when the pages stopped,

Mine continued to crawl sluggishly forward in varying shades of beige.




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