03. 12. 2015. 13:38

Poison (poems)

"I chose this title because it's ambiguous. Just like my poems. Poison is murderous... Danger is an important part of (my) poetry. A sober poem is dull." – 23 poems by Kinga Fabó have been published in an English-Indonesian bilingual edition.

Poison – I chose this title because its ambiguous. Just like my poems. Poison is murderous. But "Poison" is also a brand, the name of a perfume. The scent evaporates, it disappears into nothingness. But although it cannot be seen, its threatening presence is felt everywhere. Sensory salvation by different kinds of danger, and vice-versa. Danger is an important part of (my) poetry. A sober poem is dull. (From Kinga Fabó's Introduction)

Poison

I don't know what it is but very ill-
intended. Surely a woman must belong to it.
And something like a laughter.

I am rotating the city on me,
rotating my beauty. That's that!
Many keys, small keyholes whirling.

Gazes cannot be all in vain. And the answer?
Merely a jeer.
The vase hugs and kills me, can't breathe.

Now my features – even with the best intentions –
cannot be called beautiful.
And her? The girl? Her trendy perfume

is Poison. For me a real poison indeed.
And the vase?
It hugs and kills me.

But what am I to do without?

(Translated by Kinga Fabó)


The Ears

As if my ears were a shrine, a crowd
appears, appears before them. Lucky
I have nice big ears. 
Deep and hollow.
The hip and breast sizes are coming.

Here comes the lonely one. She wants my husband.
Here comes the housewife. She's married, frigid.
When she doesn't come, she learns languages,
travels.
The lesbian? Doesn't come at all. Though

I would seduce her. If nothing comes of it, my
ears would perk themselves. (Big as they are.)
Feminine women I don't invite on principle.
Nor any men. I go
to them.

But all they want is my ears.
And the mouths? Nonstop talkers.
And my ears? My ears are mute.
I change only my earrings from time to time.
My ears are mine.

(Translated by Michael Castro and Gábor G. Gyukics)

 

Do It Carefully

White hotel. Where sin is absent. And
so is guilty conscience.
You languish.

You're decadent.
Cheat on me Mondays.
Mondays

I like.

(Translated by Michael Castro and Gábor G. Gyukics)

 

The Transfiguration of the Word

Open, the sea appeared asleep.
Carrying its waves.
A pulse under the muted winter scene.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

A nun-spot on the hot little body.
A color on the broken glass.
A gesture that was once closed.
Lovely as the sea stood up.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

I wanted to remain an object.
But, no, immortality is not mine.
I am too strong to defend myself.
Waiting for punishment.

This and the same happened together.
Silently, I sat in the glass.
Only the spot wandered on the naked scene.
Sounds did not continue.

Only an omitted gesture.
Happiness like an unmoving dancer.
Beatings on naked, bony back.

And the sea will no longer be immortal.

(Translated by Zsuzsanna Ozsváth and Martha Satz)


Charms, Discounted

Pungent, yellow – seven rays.
Hits the eyes.
Piercing stench. It is being sterilized.

"Act natural!" Secondhand clothes
by the kilo.
Across the Chinese market and below

led by the coloured smell of poverty.
The rubber. A condom failure.
Use, toss, and let there be

heady odorous-orgy.
Wealth – is in unconscious pleasure.
Holding out another measure.

A flashy skirt – perhaps. But as the eye
runs down the thighs it’s clear,
my tights were bought last year.

A ladder in the fabric. As though
it were the brand. A streak remains,
a stitch unravelled by your gaze.

(Translated by Owen Good, finishing touches by Kinga Fabó)

 

Kinga Fabó: Racun / Poison
Bilingual edition
Translated into Indonesian by Narudin Pituin
TB Publishers, 2015

Tags: Kinga Fabó