József Attila - Mama
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MAMA
Már egy hete csak a mamára
gondolok mindíg, meg-megállva.
Nyikorgó kosárral ölében,
ment a padlásra, ment serényen.
Én még őszinte ember voltam,
ordítottam, toporzékoltam.
Hagyja a dagadt ruhát másra.
Engem vigyen föl a padlásra.
Csak ment és teregetett némán,
nem szidott, nem is nézett énrám
s a ruhák fényesen, suhogva,
keringtek, szálltak a magosba.
Nem nyafognék, de most már késő,
most látom, milyen óriás ő -
szürke haja lebben az égen,
kékítőt old az ég vizében.
Mother.
For a week now, again and again,
Thoughts of my mother have racked my brain.
Gripping a basket of washing fast,
On, and up to the attic she passed.
And I was frank and released my feeling
In stamps and yells to bring down the ceiling.
Let someone else have the bulging jackets,
Let her take me with her up to the attic.
She just, giving me no look or thrashing,
Went on, and in silence spread out the washing,
And the kneaded clothes, rustling brightly,
Were twisting and billowing up lightly.
I should not have cried but it's too late for this.
Now I can see what a giant she is.
Across the sky her grey hair flickers through;
In the sky's waters she is dissolving blue.
1934
Translated by Vernon Watkins
another translation by Zsuzsanna Ozsváth and Frederick Turner
MAMA
On Mama now my thoughts have dawdled
all of a week. Clothes-basket cradled
creaked on her hip; she'd climb the stairway
up to the drying-attic's airway.
Then, for I was an honest fellow,
how I would shriek and stamp and bellow!
That swollen laundry needs no mother.
Take me, and leave it to another.
But still she drudged so quietly,
nor scolded me nor looked upon me,
and the hung clothes would glow and billow
high up above, with swoop and wallow.
It's too late now to still my bother;
what a giant was my mother--
over the sky her grey hair flutters,
her bluing tints the heaven's waters.
(1934)
Gyönyörű vers! De nem kellett volna ezt így eldarálni...
Ez a csibészes verzió.
Ki ez a színész vagy ki???
Moravetz Levente
jó lett :} !
fos