Attila Jozsef (1905-1937)
Translated by Michael Castro & Gabor G. Gyukics
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.
Let it be, not to be,
Let it be, not to be
let's say: Edith.
Invisible, yellow little chicken
pecking the stars now.
Maybe dawn is breaking, maybe Budapest is on fire,
maybe make-up is melting
on the face of a sweating giantess.
Cars murmur, shutters trundle,
seas thunder, people flood.
That obnoxious house at the corner makes me angry
it's like tinea on the face of a child.
Where I have just arrived
either this morning is unknown, or this railway station is unknown.
I have no luggage.
I've forgotten somethingI wish I could remember.
It's just as strange as this railway station,
that there is nothing at all.
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