Iain Lindsay nagykövet úr magyarul szaval a költészet napja tiszteletére

JUHÁSZ GYULA: How blond her hair was…

How blond her hair was, now I can’t remember

But I know it well how blond are the fields

If with rich ears finally comes the new summer

In the blondness her once again I feel

How deep blue her eyes were, I can’t remember

But if in the autumn open the skies

During the calm farewell in September

I can recall the colour of her eyes

How tender her voice was, I can’t remember

But when the spring comes, and the meadow sighs

Then I feel as if Anne’s soft, warm voice I heard

From a remote spring somewhere in the skies

(Kántás Balázs fordítása)

JUHÁSZ GYULA: Milyen volt…

Milyen volt szőkesége, nem tudom már,

De azt tudom, hogy szőkék a mezők,

Ha dús kalásszal jő a sárguló nyár

S e szőkeségben újra érzem őt.

Milyen volt szeme kékje, nem tudom már,

De ha kinyílnak ősszel az egek,

A szeptemberi bágyadt búcsuzónál

Szeme színére visszarévedek.

Milyen volt hangja selyme, sem tudom már,

De tavaszodván, ha sóhajt a rét,

Úgy érzem, Anna meleg szava szól át

Egy tavaszból, mely messze, mint az ég.

Gyula Juhász: No more can I recall

No more can I recall her blondness,

But the yellow fields of rich ears

Brought by summers so endless

Remindme once more of how she feels.

No more can I recall her eyes so blue,

But the clear lights of autumn skies

Brought by the blue September hue

Remind me once more of her eyes.

Nor can I recall her voice so mellow,

But when fields in the springtime sigh,

I hear Anna’s soft words echo

From a spring far as the sky.

Translated by: Judit Meződi

GYULA JUHÁSZ: THE PRECISE GOLD

The precise gold of her hair, I don’t remember,

I only know that meadows may be gold,

When cornfields ripen just before September

There’s something of her colouring in the fold.

The precise blue of her eyes I can’t recall,

But when the autumn skies break up and clear,

And all the languid leaves curl up and fall

I dream such blue and soon her eyes appear.

The silk of her voice is lost, I can’t quite place it,

But come the spring when grass begins to sigh

I hear Anna, her warm voice and can trace it

Back to another spring and distant sky.

(George Szirtes)