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G. István László: The Fishmonger (Halárus in English)

Portre of G. István László

Halárus (Hungarian)

A halárus napja ez. Bóbitás fején
mint félreértett harci dísz billeg
a sapka, vevőjét félmozdulatra
felméri, találomra választ pontyot,
visszanőtt körme az akváriumlében
mindig újraázik – érezni kell
a hal fejét, az ezüst szemet
csak az érti meg, akinek
kezében bárd, szívében az ütés
már előreszánt, aki kíméletében
kegyetlen, elvégzi, amit a sors kimért.
Tudja, melyik ujjpercnél megy át
a szeg vajkönnyedén, és ollóval
úgy vág el szemhéjat, ahogy más
salátát, zellert – ritkítja a szót,
az embert, egyenesít, megküzd, ha sért.
Szívén semmi kéreg, képzelj fát, ha üt,
lobog a geszt, ahogy a hal utolsó
kortyért küzdeni kezd, levegőt
harap vízért.


The Fishmonger (English)

This then, is the age of the fishmonger, not the fisherman –
his cap tipped as a sergeant’s, unsteady on his quiffed head
as he sizes up punters, measuring their movements.

He reaches for a carp as easily as you or I
might dip our hand into a bucket of apples,
feels for the fish, his ingrown nail smarting in the salty water,

and lifts it out, understanding as only he can,
the foil disc of the silver eye, the wight of the blade,
the engine-stroke of his heart, finely tuned to this cruel kindness.

Understanding as only he can, the spot between the knuckles
where a nail might enter as if through butter,
how to slice flash as others cut celery,

how to pare his speech as he might men
were he hurt and pushed to fight.
But like a tree hit by lightening, there is no healing bark

about his struck heart and the wood and the trunk’s centre
pulses and grasps for growth like a fish
struggling for its last breath as if biting the air for water.


Source of the quotationSkirrid Hill, 2005, Seren, Wordsworth Trust

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