Allons! the road is before us! It is safe -- I have tried it -- my own feet have tried it well -- be not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd! Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd! Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher! Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
Camerado, I give you my hand! I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
Author Site
This anthology of Hungarian poetry translated into English presents some interesting and evocative examples of Hungarian poetry, ranging from anonymous folk poetry of early kingdoms to 20th century pieces by still-living poets. I can’t speak to how the translations compare to the originals, but I will say that they were a pleasure to read and employed metering and rhyme to maintain some of the feel of the originals. This book introduced me to many poets with whom I was only familiar from names on subway stations, city squares, and parks, having traveled extensively in Hungary (plus a few of whom I’m sure I’ve never heard. Note: poetry is huge in Hungary, but because the Hungarian language is not broadly spoken, it remains largely a secret to outsiders.)
That said, the anthology is not so broad ranging as one might expect from its subtitle. The nineteenth and twentieth century selections take up the bulk of the volume. It does make sense that there is a much larger (and more likely to have survived) selection from recent times. However, there also aren’t as many poets included as one might expect. Ostensibly, one reason for this is that Veszely doesn’t shy away from including lengthier pieces. Whereas an anthology like this would often favor short pieces and / or excerpts (and, thus, might include more voices,) this one contains many multi-page poems. That said, while most of the biggest names seem accounted for (e.g. Vorosmarty, Csokonai Vitez, Arany, Petofi, Jozsef Attila, etc.,) there are conspicuous absences of prominent and important poets (and, perhaps, of categories of poets as well.)
Short bios of each of the contributing poets make this an introduction to many interesting figures scarcely known to non-Hungarians, as well as it is a sampling of their poetry. Each of the four sections also has some background historical information. This history is useful because there is a lot of nationalistic / jingoistic poetry in this volume, particularly among the nineteenth century poets (as was the style of the day.)
I should point out that some will find this book excessively nationalistic. (A book titled for the state can be expected to have some superpatriotic pieces, but this goes a bit beyond that.) For my part, I was not troubled by the poetry content, knowing that nineteenth century Hungarian poetry was notoriously nationalistic. Also, once one gets into the twentieth century poetry it gains much more diversity of content, e.g. nature, art, etc. My own concern about nationalism was more about the Part Four introduction, which paints Hungary as an innocent little lamb, always being victimized. Taking history from this introduction, one might think that Hungary was forced into the Axis and struggled to get free of it from the onset. This view would be more defensible if the invasion of Nazi Germany to firm up the Hungarian alliance had occurred in, say, 1941, instead of the spring of 1944 (when everyone knew the Third Riech was on its death bed.) In point of fact, Hungary’s leadership seem to have had their own ambitions (not to mention their own rampant antisemitism) going into this alliance.
I enjoyed these translations immensely, and felt I learned about the poets and the times in which they lived. That said, while I did like that Veszely included some longer pieces in full, it might have been nice to see a bit more diversity in the selection as well.
Allons! through struggles and wars! The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.
Have the past struggles succeeded? What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature? Now understand me well -- it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.
My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, He going with me must go well arm'd, He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.
Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless, To undergo much, tramps for days, rests of nights, To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to, Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys, To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it, To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it, To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you, To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither, To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet no abstracting one particle of it, To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens, To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through, To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts, To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you, To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.
All parts away for the progress of souls, All religion, all solid things, arts, governments -- all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.
Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.
Forever alive, forever forward, Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied, Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go, But I know that they go toward the best -- toward something great.
Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth! You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.
Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen! It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.
Behold through you as bad as the rest, Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and trimm'd faces, Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.
No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession, Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes, Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors, In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly, Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere, Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones, Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers, Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.
Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them! They too are on the road -- they are the swift and majestic men -- they are the greatest women, Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas, Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land, Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings, Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers, Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore, Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children, Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins, Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it, Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases, Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days, Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well- grain'd manhood, Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content, Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood, Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.
Listen! I will be honest with you, I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes, These are the days that must happen to you: You shall not heap up what is call'd riches, You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, You but arrive at the city to which you were destin'd, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call'd by an irresistible call to depart, You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you, What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach'd hands toward you.
Allons! the inducements shall be greater, We will sail pathless and wild seas, We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.
Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements, Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity; Allons! from all formules! From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.
The stale cadaver blocks up the passage-- the burial waits no longer.
Allons! yet take warning! He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance, None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health, Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself, Only those may come who come in sweet and determin'd bodies, No diseas'd person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.
(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, We convince by our presence.)
Allons! whoever you are come travel with me! Traveling with me you find what never tires.
The earth never tires, The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first, Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.
Allons! we must not stop here, However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here, However shelter'd this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here, However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while.
Publisher Site – Pushkin Press Classics
Release Date: May 27, 2025
This is an upcoming English translation of a 1991 novella from Brazilian author, Hilda Hilst, from what has been called her “obscene cycle.” It is mostly an epistolary novella in which a man, Karl, writes his sister, Cordelia, informing her about his recent sexual adventures and attempting to coax a confession out of her about her own activities long in the past. We never see any replies from Cordelia. (And that is part of what makes the book fascinating.) The only indication of her responses that we get are Karl’s references to Cordelia’s comments from her last letter in his present letter. However, we can’t necessarily be certain that even those occasional suggestions of dialog represent the truth.
To understand why one might have doubt, one must be aware of what else is going on in this book. There is one other narrative voice, and that is of Stamatius. Stamatius is in socio-economic terms the opposite of Karl. Karl being of the gentlemanly class — his behavior and letters to his sister notwithstanding — and Stamatius is a starving artist (a writer, to be precise.) The two men speak of each other, though always in deprecating terms. However, there’s reason to think the two men might be one. Stamatius, while condemning Karl’s sex obsession, also mostly engages in tales of his own sexual adventures as well as presenting those of others. In fact, the end of this novella is a collection of short vignettes of the nature one might see in a smutty letter magazine, only better (and sometimes poetically) written.
By the author’s own description, this novella is intentionally pornographic. While the same thing is said of Hilst’s The Obscene Madame D I did not find that book particularly graphic or sex-centric. This book, however, is quite graphic and if one took away references to sexual activities nothing of substance would remain. (Not true of The Obscene Madame D.)
I found this book to be intriguing, despite the fact that it is quite sloppily arranged (presumably on purpose,) but it does present some splendid use of language (at least in this translation — the original is in Brazilian Portuguese) and character psychology.
I’d recommend this book for readers of literary fiction who don’t mind plotlessness and pornographicness.
The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness, I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times, Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.
Here rises the fluid and attaching character, The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman, (The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.)
Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old, From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments, Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 