They lost the key to the bedroom,
and thus, they barricade the door
so the kids won’t peer in.
At first, they pull away sleepily.
Then one hand travels,
searching beneath the sheets,
and both bodies quiver like a harp
before they fall into each other greedily.
They tear at each other now too, twenty years later,
Orpheus cannot play music routinely,
but the rhythm is in his blood,
he knows exactly when and where to grab the instrument:
but the heat tosses him like the trees that fall from the earth,
like a submissive and skittering wild animal.
Whatever he touches becomes an instrument,
and he can’t not touch himself.
Eurydice likes to switch between poses,
to turn over the instruments.
Meanwhile the door creaks to the children’s room:
they must pick up the pace and stifle out the sounds.
How can something be vivacissimo, tutta la forza
and yet sotto voce, all at once?
We launched this project with the support of the Kult Minor - Fund for the Support of National Minority Culture. Its aim is to translate contemporary Hungarian poetry in Slovakia into English. We want to create a virtual anthology of contemporary Hungarian poetry in Slovakia.