debris of a letter

Danilo Kis, Danilo Kis, Danilo Kis
Little* Dany,
to your death I might add
my own little dying: my opus magnum
( a bunch of small bullshits,
to be honest),
for you have, you old scribbler,
already added to the pile 
just in time
with a shovel full
on top of mine
future death:
“DEATH IN PARIS” -
great title for a novel,
almost as good as  “...in Venice”!
But in Budapest?!
In this country that resembles a toilet someone forgot to  flush?!
You tell me...
You say nothing. Neither shall I.
But if you knew that it really did happen down south:
I am sure: you would have died laughing.
But you, with eyes that were to see death
you saw right through us
and ran away
ran from here, ran from there, ran from everywhere.
For me it's already too late.

P.S.
I hear bad things about you by the way.
Playing cards with Trotsky?
Well, you used to know best, just how much of a jinx he was.
Let him cheat sometimes.

(György Petri: Debris of a Letter) 

* Kis in Hungarian means little, small, tiny 


(reconstructed from a Serbian translation by Árpád Vickó)

bye.

PETRI GYÖRGY: Búcsúzás

Ég veletek, barátaim, vége a dal-
nak. Engem most már vár a ravatal.
Lehettem volna jobb, szorgalmasabb,
de sajnos ennyire futotta csak.
Kár, hogy így van, jó volna élni még,
másrészt, belátom, ennyi is elég,
nincs rá okom – nem elégedetlenkedem:
tartalmas és szép volt az életem.
S mint bársonyon smaragdok, jáspisok,
drága hónapok ékköve ragyog
még káprázó, boldog szemem előtt,
ajándék minden reggel, délelőtt,
kiélvezem a maradék időt,
mint ínyenc a húsos cubákokat
– csontig lerágom végnapjaimat.

 Farewell

Farewell, my friends, let's finish this song-

off. I am now waiting for the hearse. 

I could have been better, more productive 

but, unfortunately, I managed this far only. 

It sucks, would have been good to have lived more 

on the other hand, I realized, this much was enough, 

I have no reason to be - unsatisfied     

I had a rich and beautiful life. 

And like velvet  emeralds, jaspers, 

 precious months like jewels shine

 still bewildered  and  before my happy eyes, 

a gift is every morning, each day before the noon

I devour the remaining time, 

like a gourmet shank bone with meat  on

- the boney sticks of my final days.

( fordította nekem )

ps. Petri wrote a wonderful farewell poem in memory of his good friend Danilo Kis - I only have it in translation into Serbian - " Krhotina pisma ( Debris of a Letter)", if anyone knows where I can find the original -message  through my profile please.. .