Macar sair Attila József’in olum yildonumu (3 Aralik 1937)
Su dunyada duseceksen yollara,
Iyisi mi yedi kez dogmaya bak
Bir kez, yangin cikan bir evde dog,
Bir kez, buzdan soguk sellerde,
Bir kez, azgin deliler arasinda,
Bir kez, olgun bir bugday tarlasinda,
Bir kez de kimsesiz bir manastirda,
Bir agizdan aglayan alti bebek, yetmez:
Sen kendin yedinci olmaya bak.
Canini kurtarmak icin dovuseceksen,
Karsisinda yedi kisi gormeli dusmanin,
Biri, pazar gunu dinlenen bir isci olmali,
Biri, pazartesi sabahi ise baslayan,
Biri, para dusunmeden bir sey ogreten,
Biri, bogularak yuzme ogrenen,
Biri, koca bir ormanin tohumu olan,
Biri de yigit atalarinin korudugu bir torun,
Ama onlarin bu hunerleri de yetmez,
Sen kendin yedinci olmaya bak.
Bir kadin mi bulacaksin kendine,
Yedi erkek birden dusmeli o kadinin pesine,
Biri, guzel sozlere kanan,
Biri, basinin caresine bakan,
Biri, kendini hayalci sanan,
Biri, eteginin altindan kadini oksayan,
Biri, hicbir numarayi yutmayan,
Biri, kadinin dusurdugu mendile basan;
Sinek gibi vizildasinlar kadinin cevresinde,
Sen kendin yedinci olmaya bak.
Yazmak geliyorsa elinden,
Yedi kisi birden yazmali siirini,
Biri, mermerden bir koy kuran,
Biri, uykusundayken dogan,
Biri, gogun haritasini cizen,
Biri, adi sozcuklerle anilan,
Biri, ruhunu yetkinlestiren,
Biri, diri fareleri kesip bicen,
Ikisi yigit, dordu akilli;
Sen kendin yedinci olmaya bak.
Ve her sey yazildigi gibi olursa,
Yedi kisi icin oleceksin,
Bir, besigi sallanip emzirilen,
Bir, diri genc bir memeyi kavrayan,
Bir, bos tabaklari firlatip atan,
Bir, kazansin diye yoksula omuz veren,
Bir, yikilincaya kadar calisan,
Bir sadece durup aya bakan kisi için.
Dunya mezar tasin olacak;
Sen kendin yedinci olmaya bak.
If you set out in this world,
better be born seven times.
Once, in a house on fire,
once, in a freezing flood,
once, in a wild madhouse,
once, in a field of ripe wheat,
once, in an empty cloister,
and once among pigs in sty.
Six babes crying, not enough:
you yourself must be the seventh.
When you must fight to survive,
let your enemy see seven.
One, away from work on Sunday,
one, starting his work on Monday,
one, who teaches without payment,
one, who learned to swim by drowning,
one, who is the seed of a forest,
and one, whom wild forefathers protect,
but all their tricks are not enough:
you yourself must be the seventh.
If you want to find a woman,
let seven men go for her.
One, who gives heart for words,
one, who takes care of himself,
one, who claims to be a dreamer,
one, who through her skirt can feel her,
one, who knows the hooks and snaps,
one, who steps upon her scarf:
let them buzz like flies around her.
You yourself must be the seventh.
If you write and can afford it,
let seven men write your poem.
One, who builds a marble village,
one, who was born in his sleep,
one, who charts the sky and knows it,
one, whom words call by his name,
one, who perfected his soul,
one, who dissects living rats.
Two are brave and four are wise;
You yourself must be the seventh.
And if all went as was written,
you will die for seven men.
One, who is rocked and suckled,
one, who grabs a hard young breast,
one, who throws down empty dishes,
one, who helps the poor win;
one, who worked till he goes to pieces,
one, who just stares at the moon.
The world will be your tombstone:
you yourself must be the seventh.
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