I Should Love To Be Loved

I am neither infant nor happy grandfather
Nor parent, nor lover
Of anyone, of anyone.
I am, as every man is, Majesty,
The North Pole, the Secret, the Stranger,
The will-o'-the-wisp in the distance, the will-o'-the-wisp in the distance.
But alas! I cannot remain this way.
I should like to show myself to the world,
So that someone sees me, so that someone sees me.

This is why I sing and I torment myself.
I should love to be loved.
I wish to be of someone, I wish to be of someone.

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Because You Love Me

Your eyes are mirrors
of blessed marvels,
for they have seen me;
you are the mistress,
the cunning woman
of the caress.
A thousand times blessed
are you as woman,
for you have seen me
and looked at me.
Because you love me
I also love you,
because you love me
you are the woman,
you are the fair.

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The Magyar Fallow

I walk on meadows run to weed,
on fields of burdock and mallow.
I know this rank and ancient ground -
this is the Magyar fallow.
I bow down to the sacred soil;
this virgin ground is gnawed I fear.
You skyward groping seedy weeds,
are there no flowers here?
While I look at the slumbering earth,
the twisting vines encircle me,
and scent of long dead flowers steep
my senses amorously.
Silence. I am dragged down and roofed
and lulled in burdock and in mallow.
A mocking wind goes whisking by
above the mighty fallow.

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Behold My Treasures, Darling

Behold my treasures, darling,
they are less than a Biblical farthing,
behold the fate of a true and faithful life,
look at my grey hairs departing.
I didn't wander afar
sadly I was proud to be a Magyar,
and I got a misery, woe, misfortune
and I have reaped troubles galore.
At loving I was pretty good
couldn't be outdone even by a God
as I conceived of it as a child.
Look at me now, in pain, blood, and fever defiled.
If you hadn't come mt way
my lamenting mouth would have nothing to say
behold the mockers of integrity
sending me into the coffin.
Behold me with your love, my darling,
it was you I found while fleeing,
and if there's a smile left in this loathsome world
you are the smile of my heart.
Behold my treasures, my darling,
they're less than the Biblical farthing,
let them be dark and youthful to you,
look at my grey hairs departing.

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In Front Of Good Prince Silence

I walk the forest in the moonlight
Whistle through my chattery teeth
Stalking behind me ten feet tall
Good Prince Silence
Mercy, I tremble, dare not turn.

Mercy, I tremble, dare not turn,
And dare not gaze up, up to the moon:
One false movement, one needless sound
Good Prince Silence
Would step on me and tread me down.

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Longing For Love

Neither the issue nor the sire,
neither fulfilment nor desire
am I for anyone,
am I for anyone.
I am as all men, the sunless sea,
the alien thule, mystery,
a fleeing wisp of light,
a fleeing wisp of light.
But I must look for friends and brothers;
I want to show myself to others
that seeing they will see,
that seeing they will see.
For this my lyric masochism;
I long to close the gaping schism,
and thus belong somewhere,
and thus belong somewhere.

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I Guard Your Eyes

With my old man's wrinkled hand,
with my old man's squinting eyes,
let me hold your lovely hand,
let me guard your lovely eyes.
Worlds have tumbled, through their fall
like a wild beast chased by fright
I came, and I on you did call
scared, I wait with you inside.
With my old man's wrinkled hand,
with my old man's squinting eyes,
let me hold your lovely hand,
let me guard your lovely eyes.
I do not know why, how long
can I thus remain for you -
but I hold your lovely hand
and I guard your lovely eyes.

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Life Terrifies Me

Holy ecstasy-swans on great glad Waters
Seize me, but in vain.
I hear the gaggling of sensible ganders,
Nothing can remain,
There is nothing to last.

I hear my future faltering sobs
When I'm still smiling,
And when dark ravens are cawing in my soul
A chirpy starling
Will cheerily chime in.

My longings frighten me. Fulfilment follows
And I'll feel defiled.
I dread contentment. Behind it storms the steed
Of passion, the Wild.
Oh, life terrifies me.

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The Lost Rider

We hear the blind and aimless galloping
Of an errant rider from the days gome by:
The shackled souls of sunken forests moan
As ancient marshes waken with a sigh.

Where here and there the thickets, coppices
Are choked in patches, densely in a strife,
The spectres of the ancient wintry tales
Are now awakened to a sudden life.

Here are the thickets, here the coppices.
Here are the dismal tunes of bygone choirs:
They have been hidden in a murky fog
Since martial times of our grim, gallant sires.

Dreary and haunted are the autumn days,
The people numbert less and always less;
And on the hill-surrounded swampy plain
November walks encloaked in foggy dress.

The naked plain begins quite suddenly
To nurture reeds and marsh of rotten trees,
Concealing its November foggy self
In gloomy mists of bygone centuries.

Nothing but blood, nothing but mystery,
Nothing but pressures, forefathers mystify;
Nothing but forests, marshes, reeds and canes,
Nothing but madmen of the days gone by.

The errant rider from the long ago
Follows the path along the recent swale;
There is mo light, there are no burning lamps,
There are no villages along the trail.

The villages are mutely slumbering,
Freezing they dream of bygones in their lair
As from the foggy thickets rush and fun
The bison, wolf and, ragingly, the bear.

We hear the blind and aimless galloping
Of an errant rider from the days gone by;
The shackled souls of sunken forests moan
As ancient marshes waken with a sigh.

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