Post 51.

How was..

Another one of my favourites of the Hungarian poet Gyula Juhász, in my own translation.

How blond she was, I don’t know anymore,
But I know that blond are the fields,
When the golden summer comes, wealthy in grain
In this gold I can feel her again.

How blue her eyes were, I don’t know anymore,
But if the autumn skies brighten,
At the weary September goodbye
I recall the colour of her eye.

How soft her voice was, I don’t know anymore,
But in springtime, when the meadow sighs,
I hear the warm words of Anna, it seems,
Sounding from a spring far away, like celestial heights.

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