Istvan TURCZI / Translated into Bahasa Melayu by Siti Ruqaiyah  HASHIM 

ISTVAN TURCZI

Istvan Turci is a widely published poet, fiction writer and translator. A Phd holder, he is a professor lecturing in creative writing and contemporary literature in Hungary and Eastern Europe. Founder and editor of Parnassus Poetry Journal and Parnassus Books poetry series publishing the writings of today’s most active poets, as well as poetry translated from other languages. He is General Secretary of Hungarian Writer’s Association . He is the 2nd Vice President of World Congress of Poets and published 12 volumes of poetry, 4 novels and some books of translation from English, American, Australian and Finnish literature and writers. His work has been acknowledged by prizes like International Poetry Award in Warsaw 2004, Knight’s Cross of the Hungarian Republic (2004) Jozsef Attila Prize (2006), Golden Ribbon of Mongolian Cultural Academy (2006), Honorary Literary Doctorate of World Congress of Poets (2008), Poet Laureate of the Hungarian Republic (2012), Prima Primissima Award (2014).

 

THE LAW OF THE CONSERVATION WITH MUM

Mum cracks nuts all day. She places each nut on the old silver ball bearing from a truck she uses as an ashtray, and cracks. Tchaikovsky would be proud of her. She divides the good and bad ones, punctiliously. She’s shelled bags of them by now: this is how she pays the local doctor, the masseuse, and lately at the market, too. If not cracking nuts, she’s in constant motion: she cooks, and when she’s done that, she talks to the plants, all the while watching the birds’ flight to know whether it’s worth going to town. Her eyes like the green of the Lord’s Supper. Together we watch as the wings of the colours all blend with the dusk light into the trees. The little battles in our heads are all settled, and we just listen, listen, as time flows back in our silence. The centre of everything can be created anywhere. As her two hands clasp my face.

 

PERATURAN MENGEKALKAN KEHADIRAN IBU

Ibu memecahkan kacang setiap hari. Setiap biji diletakkan dalam bekas abu rokok lama yang diperbuat dari bebola besi perak dari enjin sebuah trak lama. Dan dia memecahkan kacang tersebut. Konduktor muzik Tchaikoskvy pasti bangga mendengar bunyi yang ibu hasilkan. Isi kacang yang baik dipisahkan daripada yang busuknya dengan tepat sekali. Hingga kini sudah banyak beg dia membuang kulit kacang begitu: dan beginilah caranya dia membayar bil doktor, tukang urut dan kebelakangan ini membeli barang di pasar juga. Jika tidak memecahkan kacang, ibu sentiasa tidak duduk diam: dia memasak, lepas itu dia akan bercakap dengan pokok-pokoknya, sambil memerhatikan burung terbang untuk mengagak hari hujan dan berbaloi atau tidaknya jika pergi ke pekan. Matanya hijau seperti sayuran di jamuan terakhir Nabi Isa. Kami sama-sama merenung langit hingga warna sayap burung yang sedang terbang ke atas pokok menjadi sekata dengan warna jingga waktu senja. Semua perselisihan kecil dalam kepala kami selesai, dan kami mendengar dan terus mendengar, bila waktu merangkak perlahan ketika kami tidak bersuara. Natijah segala yang berlaku boleh direka di mana saja, bila ibu melekapkan kedua tapak tangannya ke muka ku.

 

ONLY SHADOWS GUARD

Only shadows guard, if sometimes I wake up in the night. Darkness for me is no enemy. I was born near the cemetery; if I looked out the window, my angle of view was enclosed by two tall stone crosses, covered with ivy, behind the fence of the house opposite. Countless times did I cut across the graves of Almási Street cemetery in unprotected calm. I must have been eight, if that. Sometimes in the early morning mist, sometimes under the tender yellow veil of the premature dusk. I knew the places of the graves by heart; I greeted those I knew. It was the angel of experience, who knew no shame, who guided me. I enjoyed not being afraid: at least that’s what I pretended to myself, and the therapy worked. When I wake up in the night, I’m reminded I have memories, and for a minute or two I know for sure what I did and whom I met in my dream life.

 

HANYA BAYANG YANG MENGAWASINYA

Hanya bayang-bayang yang mengawasianya, begitu bisik hati ku bila kadang-kadang aku terjaga di tengah malam. Kegelapan bukan musuh ku. Aku dilahirkan dekat tanah perkuburan. Jika aku melihat keluar tingkap, sudut pandangan ku adalah di antara dua keping salib batu tinggi, yang ditutupi jalaran pokok ivy, di belakang pagar rumah yang bersetentang dengan rumah ku. Aku selalu memintas jalan dengan melalui kawasan perkuburan Jalan Almasi itu dengan penuh ketenangan. Agaknya aku berumur lapan tahun ketika itu. Kadang-kadang di dalam kabus pagi, kadang-kadang di waktu lembayung senja baru bermula aku lalu di situ. Aku sudah hafal dengan kubur-kubur di situ; mereka yang ku kenali akan ku tegur.Yang memandu ku adalah malaikat pengalaman yang tidak tahu malu sedikit pun.Aku seronok kerana tidak takut. Sekurang-kurangnya begitulah cara aku menipu diri ku sendiri, dan terapi begitu cukup menjadi. Bila aku terjaga di tengah malam, aku teringat yang aku mempunyai memori, dan untuk seketika aku amat pasti apa yang aku lakukan dan siapa yang ku temui dalam dunia mimpi ku.

 


Translated into Bahasa Melayu by Siti Ruqaiyah  HASHIM 
FROM: NEWS FROM STRASBOURG ANTHOLOGY

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