Attila József

Attila József

Hungarian poet
11 April 1905 — 3 December 1937

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You know the poet never lies,
he`s either truthful or he dies.

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I love you
like a room likes light,
like a soul its flame,
like the body peace.
I love you
like the dying love life.

Mankind is not yet grown, I`m saying.
But he aspires, and thus he`s wild.
His parents - thought, and love undying -
may they watch over their lost child.

The battle which our ancestors once fought
Through recollection is resolved in peace.

No field of victory, nor servile rope,
but a soft bed will be my end, I hope.
When, come what may, the inventory's done,
I died of life - I'm not the only one.

He only is a man, who knows
there is no mother and no father,
that death is only what he owes
and life's a bonus altogether.

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My heart sits on the twig of nothing,
its little body shivering, dumb.

Desire - and all concede it -
kills all who are not dead.
But happiness, you need it
as you need daily bread.

That which your heart disguises
open your eyes and see;
that which your eye surmises
let your heart wait to be.

All you arrive at in the end
is a sad, washed-out, sandy plain,
you gaze about, take it in, bend
a wise head, nod; hope is in vain.


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