All posts in "Sad Poem"

“Ghost of a Birthday”, by J. W. Cassandra: This poem I wrote yesterday late in the evening and the feast would be today. I dedicate it to my beloved and missed forever younger brother and to his memory. Illustration: Google Images.

J. W. Cassandra: Törésvonal. Ezt a verset az országunkban ünnepelt költészet napján írtam, 2022. 04. 11-én. Bizonyos szempontból a Csak a visszhang marad című versemre rímel, avagy annak visszhangja. Ezért osztom meg őket egymás után. A 2 verset elválasztja az idő, de a lényegük összeköti őket. Mind angolul, mind magyarul megosztom itt. Illusztráció: Google Képek. (Fault Line, by J. W. Cassandra. This poem was written on the day of poetry celebrated in our country, on 11th April, 2022. From a certain aspect it’s the pair or answer for the echo of my poem Only the Echo Remains. That’s why I share it here right after it. The 2 poems are divided by time but their essence makes them bound. I share it both in English and in Hungarian here. Illustration: Google Images.)

Fault Line, by J. W. Cassandra. This poem was written on the day of poetry celebrated in our country, on 11th April, 2022. From a certain aspect it’s the pair or answer for the echo of my poem Only the Echo Remains. That’s why I share it here right after it. The 2 poems are divided by time but their essence makes them bound. I share it both in English and in Hungarian here. Illustration: wikipedia-es-Kintsugi.

J. W. Cassandra: Csak a visszhang marad. Ez régi versem,még 2010-ben írtam és 2020-ban fordítottam le. Az “Öntudatra ébredt Örökkévalóság” című kötetem “Eszmélő emlék” című ciklusába tartozik. A versszerkezet szabad, a visszhang ad sajátos ritmust és rímeket neki. A magyar változatban szójátékot alkottam, amit angolul nem lehet visszaadni, és amely a visszhang rímét adja. Szó szerint ‘fájdalom’ (‘pain’)és ‘dalom’ (‘my song’). Magyarul a 2 utolsó szótag azonos, amit angolul nem lehet jól lefordítani. Ezek lefordíthatatlanok angolra. A magyar változat előtt megosztottam az angolt is, itt lehet látni. Az angol szójátékot másként oldottam meg. Illusztráció: Martyn Cook, Pixabay. (Only the Echo Remains, by J. W. Cassandra. This is an old poem from me, written yet in 2010 and translated in 2021. It belongs to my volume 1, “Eternity, Awaken to Consciousness”, to cycle “Memory, Becoming Conscious”. The poem is built by a free structure, where the echo gives a strange rhyme and rhythm. In the Hungarian version I made a word-play what is beyond reproduction in English and what gives the rhyme of the echo. Literally it is ‘pain’ and ‘my song’. In Hungarian, 2 syllables of the word ‘pain’ that is ‘fájdalom’ are identical to word ‘my song’ that is ‘dalom’. These are beyond translation literally in English. Before the Hungarian version I shared the English one, as well, you can see it there. In English, I solved the word-play differently. Illustration by Martyn Cook, from Pixabay.)

Only the Echo Remains, by J. W. Cassandra. This is an old poem from me, written yet in 2010 and translated in 2021. It belongs to my volume 1, “Eternity, Awaken to Consciousness”, to cycle “Memory, Becoming Conscious”. The poem is built by a free structure, where the echo gives a strange rhyme. In the Hungarian version I made a word-play what is beyond reproduction in English and what gives the rhyme of the echo. Literally it is ‘pain’ and ‘my song’. In Hungarian, 2 syllables of the word ‘pain’ that is ‘fájdalom’ are identical to word ‘my song’ that is ‘dalom’. After the English version I’ll share the Hungarian one, as well, you’ll see it there. In English, I solved it differently. Illustration by Martyn Cook, from Pixabay.

J. W. Cassandra: Csönddel vertél: ezt a verset ma késő délután írtam, és a lányom győzött meg, hogy érdemes megosztanom. Tehát megosztom, bár nem igazán vagyok meggyőződve arról, hogy biztosan ezt kell tennem. Remélem, megérint benneteket! Mind angolul, mind magyarul közzé teszem. Illusztráció: Sabine van Erp, Pixabay. (You Beat Me with Silence, by J. W. Cassandra: this poem I wrote today late in the afternoon and my daughter persuaded me that it’s worth to share this poem. So, I share it however I’m not too persuaded that I should absolutely do so. I hope it can touch you. I share it both in English and in Hungarian. Illustration is by Sabine van Erp, from Pixabay.)

You Beat Me with Silence, by J. W. Cassandra: this poem I wrote today late in the afternoon and my daughter persuaded me that it’s worth to share this poem. So, I share it however I’m not too persuaded that I should absolutely do so. I hope it can touch you. I share it both in English and in Hungarian. Illustration is by Sabine van Erp, from Pixabay.

because when I talk you hear my voice not my words not my feelings not the emotion behind you hear my voice and the words ­you want to hear for that I feel ignored but…

There were times when I loved you so much my heart hurt. Hearts were tied in unbreakable knots…

abstract :/abstrakt/ :existing in thought or as an idea but not having a physical or concrete existence.

Jonah’s Prayer, by Mihály Babits: this is the original poem. It was written in 1939 as a continuation of the Jonah’s Book, a paraphrase of the story in the Bible, in 1938. Mihály Babits (26th Nov., 1883, town Szekszárd – 4th Aug., 1941., Budapest) at that time suffered cancer of larynx and this poem is his last song. Its genre is a prayer. His dramatic self-confession and supplication to God named in the poem as Lord, or simply He, he rises his voice once more against war, for defending human values. This poem is a closing to the Jonah’s Book, it confirms the message: we have to assume role of prophet, for individual fate is dwarfed by the great wholeness, but it is the individual namely the prophet who is able to manifest God’s will for the sake of the great wholeness. Lord is equal to provider Creator, the Whale symbolizes death. On the illustration you can see the poet’s photo from 1935 and his signature. Illustration is from wikipedia. The grievous actuality, that we all know, motivated me to translate and share the poem. (Babits Mihály: Jónás imája: az eredeti vers. 1939-ben írta a Jónás könyve folytatásaként és lezárásaként. Az előbbi a bibliai történet parafrázisa, 1938-ban jelent meg. Babits Mihály (1883. nov. 26. Szekszárd – 1941. aug. 4., Budapest) abban az időben már gégerákban szenvedett, s ez a vers a hattyúdala. Műfaja ima. Drámai fohászában és önvallomásában, amelyben Istent Gazdának nevezi, vagy Ő-ként aposztrofálja, még egyszer fölemeli hangját a háború ellen, a humanitás érdekei védelmében. Ez a vers a Jónás könyve lezárása, amely megerősíti annak üzenetét: magunkra kell vállalnunk a prófétaságot, mert az egyéni sors eltörpül a nagy egész mellett, mégis az egyén, azaz a próféta az, aki képes Isten akaratát kinyilvánítani a nagy egész érdekében. A Gazda azonos a gondoskodó Teremtővel, a Cethal a halált szimbolizálja. Az illusztráción a költő képe látható 1935-ből és az aláírása. Eredete: wikipedia. Szomorú aktualitás, amelyet mind ismerünk, késztetett arra, hogy lefordítsam és megosszam a verset.)

Hopelessly, detail, by Attila József (11/04. 1905. Budapest – 03/12. 1937. Balatonszárszó). A translation of the poem by J. W. Cassandra. This poem is one of my greatest favourites from my very childhood. The poet’s infinite loneliness appears seemingly in the picture of branch of nothingness. He rises this loneliness even into cosmic horizons as the stars are gathering around his lonely heart. They approach this aching heart but do nothing just are watching him. As far as I remember, I’ve imagined every time a branch with a red heart huddling up, trembling, and the stars around her, with falling tears, with tears of compassion: shining in golden lights, falling around him as a great river or sea. And I would like to add that even today litterateurs debate whether he died accidentally under the train in Balatonszárszó (our greatest lake in the western part of Hungary), or he committed suicide. The former is supported by opinion of the poet’s younger sister, Etelka or Etus, she ever had claimed that the poet was playing a stupid play among the wagons. Others support the latter opinion since his infinite loneliness was known for everybody in his time. He was only 35 years old passing away. But his poetry is one of the greatest of that of Hungary. Illustration I got from this link: httpscdn.quotesgram.comimg7041002315083-a-journey-under-a-starry-night I hope you will like the poem. Sorry, in the English version I made a typo happenly: I wrote to the date of birth 1933 instead of 1905. Certainly, he was born in 1905. Sorry for the mistake.

Hopelessly, detail, by Attila József (11/04. 1933 Budapest – 03/12. 1937. Balatonszárszó). A translation of the poem by J. W. Cassandra. This poem is one of my greatest favourites from my very childhood. The poet’s infinite loneliness appears seemingly in the picture of branch of nothingness. He rises this loneliness even into cosmic horizons as the stars are gathering around his lonely heart. They approach this aching heart but do nothing just are watching him. As far as I remember, I’ve imagined every time a branch with a red heart huddling up, trembling, and the stars around her, with falling tears, with tears of compassion: shining in golden lights, falling around him as a great river or sea. And I would like to add that even today litterateurs debate whether he died accidentally under the train in Balatonszárszó (our greatest lake in the western part of Hungary), or he committed suicide. The former is supported by opinion of the poet’s younger sister, Etelka or Etus, she ever had claimed that the poet was playing a stupid play among the wagons. Others support the latter opinion since his infinite loneliness was known for everybody in his time. He was only 35 years old passing away. But his poetry is one of the greatest of that of Hungary. Illustration I got from this link: httpscdn.quotesgram.comimg7041002315083-a-journey-under-a-starry-night I hope you will like the poem.

We all try to forget bad memories. Sometimes we want to run away from those pain but no matter how much we try we come across those bitter past somehow. It’s not that easy to forget all those sadness. Every wounds heal but those scars never let us forget the pain.