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Robinson, Edwin Arlington: Walt Whitman (Walt Whitman in Hungarian)

Portre of Robinson, Edwin Arlington
Portre of Tellér Gyula

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Walt Whitman (English)

The master-songs are ended, and the man

That sang them is a name. And so is God

A name; and so is love, and life, and death,

And everything. But we, who are too blind

To read what we have written, or what faith

Has written for us, do not understand:

We only blink, and wonder.

 

Last night it was the song that was the man,

But now it is the man that is the song.

We do not hear him very much to-day:

His piercing and eternal cadence rings

Too pure for us --- too powerfully pure,

Too lovingly triumphant, and too large;

But there are some that hear him, and they know

That he shall sing to-morrow for all men,

And that all time shall listen.

 

The master-songs are ended? Rather say

No songs are ended that are ever sung,

And that no names are dead names. When we write

Men's letters on proud marble or on sand,

We write them there forever.



Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotationhttp://www.poemhunter.com

Walt Whitman (Hungarian)

Oda a mester-dal, az énekes

már puszta név. És név az isten is;

s a szerelem, az élet és halál

mind puszta szó. Vakok vagyunk

olvasni önnön verseinket, s amit

a hűség írt, nem birjuk érteni:

pislogva bámulunk csak.

 

Múlt éjjel a dal volt a férfi, és

ma csak a dal zenél,

s bizony alig-alig hogy halljuk őt:

metsző, örök kadenciája túl

tiszta nekünk – túlontúl árható,

túl diadalmas és lenyűgöző.

De van, ki hallja már, és tudja is,

hogy holnap mindeneknek ő dalol,

s minden kor felfigyel rá.

 

A mester-dal oda?! – Inkább igaz,

hogy dalnak vége nem szakad soha,

s a név se pusztul el. Véssük akár

büszke márványra vagy homokra is:

megmaradunk mindörökké.



Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotationhttp://feherilles.blogspot.hu

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