Dániel Varró ( 1977 - )
The youngest poet of this collection is a native of Budapest. He is now a pupil of the University of Budapest at the faculty of Hungarian and English Literature. He had earned his first poetical success already at the age of twelve with an epic trilogy Bunny, Bunny's Love and Bunny's Evening alluding to the famous trilogy of János Arany: Toldi, Toldi' s Love and Toldi's Evening. At sixteen he started to publish in the most known literary magazines where his poems where praised for their masterly use of rhyme, rhythm and wordcraft. His first volume of poetry Pot Azure ( Bögre azúr) which appeared in 1997 was such a success, that - unusual in this field - a new edition had to be published.
FROM NÉMETVÖLGYI STREET
TO AJTÓSI DÜRER ROW
public transport rhymes
Old Németvölgyi Street, my permanent abode,
all trees and windows, winding windy road,
with chilly work-ethic, in crawling, heavy gloom,
Big Macs, good morning mates, it’s Tuesday, I presume.
The tram-car is a flirty girl, plays hard-to-get,
she makes me run, then shuts the door on me. Regret!
The pantograph is waving at me: Hiya, cheers!
Her jangle rings like dizzy springtime in my ears.
So there I stand and shiver like a lonesome plane tree;
I say, the next affair had better be complaint-free;
Meanwhile I’m deep in transcendental trepidation.
Hooray, at last we’re going to the Southern Station.
Now take the tube. It’s running late? It never is.
I’m soon seduced by underworldy reveries
and glide beneath the Danube, the Astoria,
the bovver-boys don’t travel here. (Euphoria.)
I’m puked up by the Eastern Station, space-age Jonah,
the kebab-men whet giant knives to slice the doner.
A freezing wind runs up and down the queuing chaps.
It’s very late, but I can make it, still. Perhaps.
Oh, foolish ticketholder, me! Oh, holy Moses!
My hopes could not last very long. It was so clear
that nine times will the asphalt grow sweet-scented roses
before a number seven bus would first appear.
The poet and that sluggish crate have much to share:
his life’s a traffic jam, he’s always overdue,
he sighs and foul exhaust emissions fill the air,
he won’t arrive. Nowhere. Never. And both are blue.