Parc for a roll-around

nice old shiver

A shiver like a warm hand on cold legs
Like a book saying death out loud
Holes of no colours, gaps of no length
Pictures shivering digital and crisp
Ice-frozen in the I

les fenêtres font le voyage

I had to finish the year off with some words for my three countries of adoption... adopted in travel, one rooted in words and images, countries as travels rooted in themselves.

les fenêtres font le voyage

des fenêtres pour bus, pour des images en déroute
des têtes pour stimulus, pour des voyages, du doute
une contine de soirée bien perdue dans mon sac
déjà lui bien caché au grenier de vieilles pâques

Windows of the freeborn men

at the bottom of my glass, no drop
alone, breath fills the gap, dreams
never giving a tip to their endings
I feel her hand, and an easter bell
sings again

hol az ablak?

Kis ajtóm, kis világom, gyerekem nézd meg oda
a színes, a szinészvilág, kint az igazi mozi
Az út az ablakon, ha a szemeid jönnek ideig
mint a husvét amit elveszett a tata, régen a katona

a régi Renault - East as a beginning

How many times have we seen someone say
Abroad, as broad a road as frontiers are thick
How far, how far have we seen someone walk
Along and inside the parks of the strange
Broadway capitals.

How long will it be for our legs to tremble
and fear to bring excitement to our doorstep
Excitement to be pored back into our new neighbour's cup
One thin, fragile, but recognisable cup
Where eyes lie.

The old Renault in the main park
Standing like a flagstone at the corner of eyes
Doorstep to past anecdotes, souvenir now so dually
Pronounced

into the railwork
turned flat grey pusta
turned river Danube
turned black mountains
turned high-circling roads

soon at your doorstep
a junkyard of left-overs
the scattering of memory
and the loss of tragic colours.