The crocodile sleeps with a yawning mouth.
Between his teeth, one can see into the deep, into the abdominal cavity.
The otter, as if entering a wet cave, swims into it.
The jaws are made of stone, a solid opening.
One which never closes, which is kept open by surprise.
The otter doesn’t need a lamp, a cable, a rivet, a carabiner,
it doesn’t need a helmet, a battery, a warm change of clothes.
It doesn’t pull gloves onto its paws, needs no boots for its feet.
The otter doesn’t know a fisherman’s knot, nor a clove hitch.
It has never seen a sit harness.
It rubs its body with clay. This is its only preparation.
The otter isn’t threatened by the cold,
there’s no danger of rockfall, nor a flood.
When it plunges into the deep, it doesn’t tell anyone.
Determination is enough. Such an act is never too late.
The otter goes to seek revenge, to chew apart
the crocodile from the inside, explore its every cavity.
It’s as if the otter is in the earth’s stomach,
in death’s grip, for three days.
The crocodile lets out one last cry in pain,
its mouth remains wide, and our otter swims out triumphantly.
Death! Did you jeer? Where’s your victory?
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.