Thursday, 11 September 2025

Five Poems by Attila Nyilas - Translated from Hungarian - English by Gabor G Gyukics

 






Attila Nyilas 

 

Magic Spell 

For Patroclus 

If he dies first, 

you'll still be alive. 

 

If you die first, 

he’ll stay alive. 

 

If you die together, 

you’ll do it happily. 

 

The invulnerable one 

who has a friend. 

 

 

Metachrosis 

 

I'm interested in the moment 

when the pine tree becomes a Christmas tree. 

The transformation. 

Fully decorated, 

not yet carved into the base. 

It happens in between. 

 

At the blood-draw, in the dentist's chair 

and during similar situations, 

I think about my premature daughter, 

the first time I saw her, 

to gain strength, 

when they stuck a needle in her tiny head, 

or at a family gathering 

with her forehead peeking out from under the scarf 

leaning against my friend's, her godfather's sister’s 

naked arm as she  

fell asleep on a swing bed, 

which happened when she was one and a half, 

on her first conscious Christmas Eve: 

 

I was busy with something 

next to the pine tree with some scattered ornaments 

already set up with a base in place. 

We hadn't been so careful about secrecy, 

and perhaps my mother-in-law's supervision had slipped, 

suddenly Móci appeared next to me, 

with a tone of surprise in his voice, 

doubt, hope, unexpected joy, 

asked me the question: 

"Christmas tree?" 

And the transformation took place.

 

 

Pontage 

 

I've heard so much here and there, 

what they gave up to have a child. 

- Mom dropped out of high school, 

Dad left technical college 

(Some pages were crossed out in his index, 

with a note saying it was invalid), 

and they ate a lot of bread and dripping. 

Then I decided that for my own sake 

I won’t give up anything for my children. 

So, I wouldn't blame them later, 

or anyone else. 

That's how it went. 

I breathed freely. 

- I remember one time when 

I came home from a night of drinking, 

my wife, who was already awake, greeted me: 

"Poor you, you must be very tired!" 

I have given up many things, 

but not for my children, 

but for my poetry career, 

I was trying to achieve some serious results, 

It wasn't their fault if I failed. 

On the other hand, I took nothing from them, 

I fed them, gave them 

my money, my time, 

my attention, my energy, 

but it wasn't surrender for me, 

It was fulfillment.

 

 

Capitulation 

 

I planned a blitzkrieg, 

I managed to advance, 

but the fierce resistance 

slowed my attack, 

and, as is so often the case 

the front lines stalled, 

the resulting stalemate warfare  

came with too many casualties, 

my heartland, where I felt secure 

was weakening, 

while hoping for a miracle weapon 

step by step I was pushed back, 

so far that I couldn't even hold  

the borders of my homeland, 

the invading army 

surrounded my city, 

so I began to hum, 

there would be no victory, 

I wanted it to be, but it failed to be 

then I realized 

the enemy was in my house 

I searched for poison and revolvers 

but to no avail, 

finally, to the stranger who 

I wanted to cast into hell,  

I had to unconditionally surrender.

 

 

Itinerary 

 

There are regularities. 

I wear a hat in the fall and spring, 

in winter I wear a cap, in summer I'm bare-headed 

I taste the rum first, 

then I pour it into my coffee - 

after my former professor from Transylvania 

I call this mixture mother's milk. 

I always start with a glass of beer, 

only order a pint the second time, 

unless I switch to wine. 

I play chess with a literary friend  

on Tuesdays every second week 

and then (or before) we go to the  

Cirko Geyser cinema to see a movie. 

I keep the first chestnut feast, 

I drink mulled wine (when 

 it's available at my hangout for the first time). 

- sometimes the two coincide -, 

I celebrate the first snow, 

if the occasion arises. 

The casino is due around my birthday. 

On the fifteenth of March, traditionally 

I'll take a carnation to the statue of Petőfi, 

That's how I got involved in the first demonstration of my life. 

On our wedding day, my wife and I 

go to the church with one steeple, 

to the cake shop that made our wedding cake, 

to our wedding place on the Romai Beach in Budapest, 

and bring home a pebble. 

I live in a castle of habits. 

 

Translated by gabor g gyukics









 

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