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Muir, Edwin: A harc (The combat in Hungarian)

Portre of Muir, Edwin

The combat (English)

It was not meant for human eyes,

That combat on the shabby patch

Of clods and trampled turf that lies

Somewhere beneath the sodden skies

For eye of toad or adder to catch.

 

And having seen it I accuse

The crested animal in his pride,

Arrayed in all the royal hues

Which hide the claws he well can use

To tear the heart out of the side.

 

Body of leopard, eagle's head

And whetted beak, and lion's mane,

And frost-grey hedge of feathers spread

Behind -- he seemed of all things bred.

I shall not see his like again.

 

As for his enemy there came in

A soft round beast as brown as clay;

All rent and patched his wretched skin;

A battered bag he might have been,

Some old used thing to throw away.

 

Yet he awaited face to face

The furious beast and the swift attack.

Soon over and done. That was no place

Or time for chivalry or for grace.

The fury had him on his back.

 

And two small paws like hands flew out

To right and left as the trees stood by.

One would have said beyond a doubt

That was the very end of the bout,

But that the creature would not die.

 

For ere the death-stroke he was gone,

Writhed, whirled, into his den,

Safe somehow there. The fight was done,

And he had lost who had all but won.

But oh his deadly fury then.

 

A while the place lay blank, forlorn,

Drowsing as in relief from pain.

The cricket chirped, the grating thorn

Stirred, and a little sound was born.

The champions took their posts again.

 

And all began. The stealthy paw

Slashed out and in. Could nothing save

These rags and tatters from the claw?

Nothing. And yet I never saw

A beast so helpless and so brave.

 

And now, while the trees stand watching, still

The unequal battle rages there.

The killing beast that cannot kill

Swells and swells in his fury till

You'd almost think it was despair.



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

A harc (Hungarian)

Nem ember-mulatságra forrt

e harc a rossz rögön a rét

tiprott gyepén, mely valahol

kitűnt a lucskos ég alól

kígyók, békák látványaképp.

 

De láttam, s vádolom veszett

gőgjéért azt az állatot,

a királyi-mód színeset,

mely sok szín karmot rejteget,

mellkasból szívet szaggatót.

 

Leopárd-test, sas-koponya,

kifent csőr, oroszlánsörény,

jégszürke farktollak sora:

szemre mindenik faj fia –

ilyet többé nem látok én.

 

Ellenfele lágytestű vad,

agyagszínű puha golyó,

rossz bőre foltos és szakadt,

mint ócska zsák, csupa cafat,

nyűtt holmi, eldobni való.

 

De szemtől-szembe várja, hogy

a gyors, vad madár belecsíp.

S jön s végez. Nincs idő, se mód

kegyelemre. Nem lovagok.

Dühében fölhemperedik.

 

S két mancs kicsap, mint kis kezek,

jobbra-balra, a fák iránt.

Semmi kétség – azt hiheted

ez volt az utolsó menet,

ám a kis lény bírja tovább.

 

A vég-csapástól elszökik,

villan s a vackába pörög,

hol bizton van. A harc szűnik,

és aki csaknem nyert: veszít. –

De óh, azt a szörnyű dühöt!

 

Egy perc: a tájon csönd, magány;

zsong, mint ha oszlatják a kínt.

Tücsök cirpel, lengő katáng

zirren, majd nesz hallik, parány,

s a küzdők fölállnak megint.

 

Újul a harc. Karom forog

s villan ki-be. Nincs semmi se,

mi megmenti e rongycsomót.

Nincs! – Bár nem volt még elhagyott

vad ennél merészebb sose.

 

S míg a fasor egy figyelem,

tombol a felemás csata.

Az ölő ölni képtelen,

dühtől dagad és – úgy hiszem –

dühe már a kétség maga.



Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotationhttp://irc.sunchat.hu/vers/

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