Gogarty, Oliver: A Hay Hotel (The Hay Hotel in Hungarian)

There is a window stuffed with hay
Like Herbage in an oven cast;
And there we came at break of day
To soothe ourselves with light repast:
And men who worked before the mast
And drunken girls delectable;
A future symbol of our past
You'll maybe, find the Hay Hotel.

Where are the great Kip Bullies gone,
The Bookies and outrageous whores
Whom we so gaily rode upon
When youth was mine and youth was yours:
Tyrone Street of the crowded doors
And Faithful Place so infidel?
It matters little who explores
He'll only find the Hay Hotel.

Dick Lynan was a likely lad,
His back was straight; has he gone down?
And for a pal Jem Plant he had
Whose navel was like half a crown.
They were the talk of all Meck town;
And Norah Seymour loved them well;
Of all their haunts of lost renown
There's only left the Hay Hotel.

Fresh Nellie's gone and Mrs Mack,
May Oblong's gone and Number Five,
Where you could get so good a back
And drinks were so superlative;
Of all their nights, O Man Alive!
There is not left any oyster shell
Where greens are gone the greys will thrive;
There's only left the Hay Hotel.

There's nothing left but ruin now
Where once the crazy cabfuls roared;
Where new-come sailors turned the prow
And Love-logged cattle-dealers snored:
The room where old Luke Inoin whored,
The stain on which John Elwood fell;
Some things are better unencored:
There's only left the Hay Hotel.

Where is Piano Mary say,
Who dwelt where Hell's Gates leave the street,
And all the tunes she used to play
Along your spine beneath the sheet?
She was a morsel passing sweet
And warmer than the gates of hell
Who tunes her now between the feet
Go ask them at the Hay Hotel.

L’envoi

Nay never ask this week, fair Lord.
If, where they are now, all goes well,
So much depends on bed and board
They give them in the Hay Hotel.

The names of its brothel-keepers, bullies, and frequenters were typical of a city which, like Vienna, had forged for itself a distinct identity. There were certainly not Irish nor wholly English names. Dublin names, euphonious and romantic. Nora Seymour, Piano Mary, Dick Lynam, Becky Cunnian, Teasey Ward, May Oblong, Mrs. Mack, Jem Plant, Maggie Arnott and Liverpool Kate. - Oliver St. J. Gogarty (As I was going down Sackville Street)

Egy ablakban széna-halom,
mint kemencében venyige,
oda jártunk mind hajnalon
könnyű kora-reggelire:
volt sok piás, csinos bige,
sok melós, ki hajnalba' kel,
multunkról nem vall semmi se
majdan, csupán a Hay Hotel.

Hol a Kipsből a sok strigó,
bukisok s az oltári szajhák,
kiken volt lovagolni jó,
míg miénk volt a fiatalság,
Tyrone Street, kis csukák, nagy harcsák,
Faithful Place, hová tűntek el?
A többit bárhogy is kutassák,
nem maradt, csak a Hay Hotel.

Dick Lyman volt ám a legény,
szálfa termet - ő is legörbedt?
Haverja Jem Plant volt, szegény,
a tallér-köldökű - a szőke
Norah Seymour szerette őket,
tudták ezt mind távol s közel;
eltünt sok ház, hol lődörögtek,
egy kivétel a Hay Hotel.

Friss Nelly, Mrs. Mack oda,
May Oblong s az N. utca 5,
hol oly gulyás volt, hogy csoda,
s jó ital mindenek fölött;
ennyi éj, s eltűnt, mint a köd,
nem maradt egy pezsgős kehely,
zöld helyébe a szürke jött,
és maradt csak a Hay Hotel.

Csupa rom, hol hajdan sereg
tivornyás banda harsogott,
újonc matróz tört üveget,
élvhajhász tőzsér hortyogott,
hol Luke Erwin ölelt lotyót,
s a lépcsőt Elwood nyalta fel;
van egy s más, mit feledni jobb -
maradt csupán a Hay Hotel.

Hol van Zongorás Mary, mondd,
ki Hell's Gate-nél lakott, s a vad
melódiák, mit hátadon
játszott a takaró alatt?
Édes volt, tüzes csöpp falat,
pokol-kapu úgy nem tüzel.
Lába közt ki játszik ma? Csak
egy felelhet, a Hay Hotel.

Ajánlás

Herceg, ne kérdezd, nem szabad,
akárhol vannak, jó a hely,
ha oly kosztot és ágyat ad,
mint hajdanán a Hay Hotel.