By Endre Ady
Lost and ancient, the horseman rides,
Blind the trot of the horse’s feet,
Of the forest that was, of the reeds that waved
The fettered spirits start at their beat.
Where the trees of the silent past
Brooded still in the chequered shade,
On a sudden the shapes of a winter’s tale
Leap to life in the listening glade.
Here dense and solemn the forest stands,
Here the song of the years of old,
Since the days of our forefathers, fighters sad,
Lives in the deaf mist’s silent hold.
Spectral autumn is with us now,
Men are few, and their numbers wane,
In his cloak of eddying mist-wrack treads
Grey November the hill-girt plain.
Suddenly, strangely the plain anew
Clothes with rushes and woodlands green
Its limbs of November, its limbs of fog
And hides in the mist of the years that have been.
Only bloodshed and mystery,
Footprints ancestral in ancient ways,
Only the forest, only the reeds,
Only the madmen of vanished days.
Lost and ancient the traveller rides,
Through new grown brushwood upon his way,
No light shines forth, and no lamp burns,
Unseen the villages of today.
Villages unseen, shuddering,
Dream of the past and dumbly sleep.
From the mist and the forest, the ancient, the dark,
The wolf, the bear and the great elk leap.
Lost and ancient, the horseman rides,
Blind the trot of the horse’s feet,
Of the forest that was, of the reeds that waved
The fettered spirits start at their beat.
(Translated from the Hungarian language by J.C.W.Horne)
* * *
Indeed, this epic that borrows the title to the bilingual anthology I mentioned before (thank you again, my dear Gergő) seems to capture the essence or soul of the Hungarians. Gergely and Balasz might want to express their opinion here. And here I have to thank Gergely again for he presented me the work of Endre Ady before.
The reason of my post is related mostly to the imagery of Ady’s poem. Besides the historical background of it, it seems that geography plays a major role in the choice of that same imagery. I remind you that Hungary has no border with the sea. A Portuguese poet would most likely substitute the horse for a ship and the horseman for a sailor. There would be no forests and plains, but there would be beaches and waves. And there would be definitely mist and fog. I’m still looking out for a good example to match with my (is it?) idea, linking this imagery to our countries geography, which is part of our souls. If not for other reasons, because our soul -- and those who lived abroad will subscribe my words for sure -- will long to feel back the land that gave us birth.
