A megváltásról
Hogy van megváltás,
talán a legnehezebb, amit le lehet írni.
Ebbe a mondatba almafák ragadtak,
néhány sör, az utcafront zöldjei
nem feledtetik, hogy
mégis itt hagytál
a levegőn, szép lassan elrohadni.
Mégis szeretlek! – Te hibásan megkomponált összefüggés.
Beethoven süket fülei vagyok, leradírozott feszület,
a földre helyezett gyengeségeid
bennem a rózsaszín alkonyat.
Én
Súgom,
mérem,
rakom,
töröm össze
a magamról mintázott világot.
Mi volt eddig?
Hogy folyton csak rajtad keresztül
méregettem magam,
akinek a fénye messzire világít.
Nem találtam az utat hozzád,
csak néha tört rám az emlékezés,
csillagfényes éjszakákon.
Olyankor szomorú voltam.
Melankolikus.
Pánikbeteg.
És mégis,
így kreált új tereket az elme,
ahonnan elindulhatott vissza hozzád.
Elfelejtettem, lebontottam,
újrateremtettem azt, aki vagyok.
Szeretet, boldogság, bőség, vigasztalás,
és maga a semmi, ha megint megpróbállak birtokba venni.
Két vers
Csenger Kertai
Listen to the original read by the poet:
I first encountered Csenger Kertai’s poetry through music. A number of the poems from his most recent collection, Hogy nekem jó legyen (For My Good; Napkút Kiadó, 2021), have been set to song or accompaniment by Hungarian musicians; when I heard Cz.K. Sebő’s rendition of “Balaton,” I immediately ordered the book. Upon reading and rereading it, I found the poems humming with musical suggestion: in their organic rhythms, tempo changes, transitions, and contrasts. I try to recreate this in the translations. This requires listening to the words and their relationships, the rhythms of the lines, and the momentum of the whole.
For instance, “A megváltásról” (Redemption) begins, “Hogy van megváltás, / talán a legnehezebb, amit le lehet írni.” This would translate almost literally as “[The fact] that redemption exists / is perhaps the most difficult thing that can be described.” Since that would have turned the poem into an unwieldy tract, I instead translated it as “Redemption, or rather its existence, / may be the hardest thing to describe.” This conveys the poem’s idea that the real difficulty lies in describing not redemption itself, but its existence. This gentle distinction reminds me of a subtle chord shift in a song.
I am likewise drawn to the poems’ religious exploration. Kertai’s poetry is Christian in its worldview and filled with implicit questions: not just about where God is, or why the world is broken, but also about how we play and embody God (or fail to do so). The “I-You” relationships in his poems often carry something of the divine, on both ends of the divide. The roles can switch or mutate, and the exact identity of the “I” or “You” is not as important as the continual reciprocity and changes. Not all of the poems are religious in nature, but most have to do, in some way, with the contours of relation: the boundaries and crossings, the soul coming forward and retreating.
The poems have ease and grace, but they also tie intricate knots. I have spent hours thinking about a single word or testing out possibilities. This is why I translate in the first place, or part of the reason, so I am grateful for this project and look forward to its continuation.
For instance, “A megváltásról” (Redemption) begins, “Hogy van megváltás, / talán a legnehezebb, amit le lehet írni.” This would translate almost literally as “[The fact] that redemption exists / is perhaps the most difficult thing that can be described.” Since that would have turned the poem into an unwieldy tract, I instead translated it as “Redemption, or rather its existence, / may be the hardest thing to describe.” This conveys the poem’s idea that the real difficulty lies in describing not redemption itself, but its existence. This gentle distinction reminds me of a subtle chord shift in a song.
I am likewise drawn to the poems’ religious exploration. Kertai’s poetry is Christian in its worldview and filled with implicit questions: not just about where God is, or why the world is broken, but also about how we play and embody God (or fail to do so). The “I-You” relationships in his poems often carry something of the divine, on both ends of the divide. The roles can switch or mutate, and the exact identity of the “I” or “You” is not as important as the continual reciprocity and changes. Not all of the poems are religious in nature, but most have to do, in some way, with the contours of relation: the boundaries and crossings, the soul coming forward and retreating.
The poems have ease and grace, but they also tie intricate knots. I have spent hours thinking about a single word or testing out possibilities. This is why I translate in the first place, or part of the reason, so I am grateful for this project and look forward to its continuation.
Csenger Kertai (b. 1995) is a Hungarian poet and the author of two poetry collections, Mindig kivirágzik (It Always Blooms; Napkút Kiadó, 2019) and Hogy nekem jó legyen (For My Good; Napkút Kiadó, 2021). He studies aesthetics and Hungarian literature at the Eötvös Loránd University in Budapest. Since 2019, he has served as an editor of the arts journal Új Forrás, where he helped create a column featuring young writers. Five poems from his second collection have been set to music by Hungarian musicians; two of his poems, in Diana Senechal’s English translation, will appear in a forthcoming issue of Literary Imagination. Kertai gives frequent readings and interviews, many of which are combined with music. In March 2022, he will be one of the featured guests at an online event, hosted by the Association of Literary Scholars, Critics, and Writers (ALSCW), in honor of the Hungarian poet János Pilinszky (1921–1981). He is honored to have two of his translated poems appear in Asymptote.
Diana Senechal is the 2011 winner of the Hiett Prize in the Humanities and the author of two books of nonfiction as well as numerous poems, stories, essays, and translations. Her translation of Gyula Jenei’s poetry collection Mindig más (Always Different) will be published by Deep Vellum in February 2022. A member of the Council of the Association of Literary Scholars, Critics, and Writers (ALSCW), she frequently contributes to literary and cultural discussion. She taught for nine years in New York public schools. Since November 2017, she has been living in Szolnok, Hungary, and teaching at the Varga Katalin Gimnázium. In her free time she plays cello, memorizes poems in various languages, and takes long bike rides through the Hungarian countryside. For more about her work, see her website.
