| The holiday is an occasion. An opportunity to slow down a bit, look behind us, think about our rush this year, take stock of the past year and recall what happened. Let's think again about what we won, what and even more so who or whom we lost.
Many of us left this year as well. There are also those whose extraordinary individuality still persists, whose absence will perhaps only become apparent a little later. Here are a few lines from one of them:
Marcell Jankovics: Snowing
He became lazy.
Lom. He entered the dust, As if he was carried by a crowned shrub,
As if the rose stalk breathed,
As if he was carried by a defiant thistle.
Now the blanket is fluttering,
Where did they pick a song-bearing clove,
Or plant a hundred wooden crosses,
Sow a seed in an ancient clod,
Or a cannon thundering through a forest...
...And outside the snow falls equally...
The painter says: Nice reflections!
The farmer says: Good for sowing!
My son cheers up: Good on the sled!
Only I sigh: Oh, I'm sorry!
Shut up! shut up and don't say anything bad!
As the flakes fall, fall,
And smooth into a veil of oblivion,
Every hour falls on my soul like this,
Frozen memories to freeze...
And outside the snow falls equally...
The past is gentle, but it revolts when asked,
Although yesterday was a long century...
Me as a soul returning home
I always see it there next to today,
And what is gone is the beautiful, the good...
And even though I'm still drinking the wine of yesterday,
Ah, everything seems to be moving away,
And even though my soul sometimes burns like a candle,
I'm myself from the old world...
And outside, the snow falls equally...
(Cover image: image: Gábor Tóth/Vasarnap.hu)
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