Sziasztok, Jánó vagyok. Közép-Európa első világraszóló podcast csatornáját hallgatjátok Magyarországról. Ez a Budapest.fm. Hi, my name is Ray, and you're listening to the number one podcast station in Central Europe, Budapest.fm, podcasting to the world from Hungary. Folks, it's Friday night story time. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. All right, what's going on? How we doing? What's the good word? We are here for another edition of Talking with Willie. I'm your host, Willie, and if you would like to join me tonight on the video chat, on the live stream, you can come in and we can video together. Budapest.fm slash Willie. Watch on Instagram, watch on Facebook, watch on YouTube. Now let's pop open this bottle of Tokaji wine, late harvest, the Keshüi special edition. I just picked it up down the street on Ráday utca. Oh, I think I just cut my finger. What a way to begin. There's going to be blood everywhere on this white table. It's not too bad, actually. Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. This is a real adventurous stream already. Thank you very much, people. We got blood. We got blood. Warm up the tongue here. I've been popping on a Hungarian tongue twister all week. Are you okay? Fekete bika pata, kopog a patika, pepita küvén. Fekete bika pata, kopog a patika, pepita küvén. I could do that amazingly well just moments ago. We've got a great lineup of things for you today, folks. We've got William Tell, the story of a Swiss man who shot an apple off his son's head. Oh, that's a nice sound. We got some Ernest Hemingway stories. We're going to do a little bit of Hungarian poetry. Pour that in. Let's get our Friday night started off right. Cheers to you, everyone. Egészségedre. This is a sweet wine, and give it a little swirl, give it a little swirl. Oh, utterly delightful. Let's get the show on the road. Wow, the quality is amazing. Hello, Martin Feininger. Very nice to see you here. I see eight people in YouTube. I see eight people on Instagram. Louis in the building. We've got Gergely Piller. Egészségedre. Egészségedre to you too. We've got Fekete bika... Fekete Bika pata, kopog a patika, pepita küvény. Fekete Bika pata, kopog a patika, pepita küvény. Again, Martin Svaninger. You like sweet wines, says my aunt Emily. I do like sweet wine. It goes straight to the blood, keeps you up all night, but it is quite a treat. Hungary actually is well known for its white dessert sweet wine, furmint, tokaji aszú, lovely stuff. And here we have the first story of the day, William Tell, Tell Vilmos as the Hungarians like to call him. And William Tell is a story that comes from Switzerland, and it's a story about rebellion and standing up for what is right, and it's a real underdog story. And in addition, the name William is not too bad. The name Vilmos, if I don't say so myself. So we're going to read this story, and then we're going to discuss. And if you want to join the discussion, as I mentioned already, you can join in on the Facebook comments, on the YouTube comments, or on Budapest.fm slash Willie. Join the conversation, and we can be talking face to face, video chat style. Here we go. This book, this edition of William Tell, Tell Vilmos, it was written and illustrated—oh, Eddie's in the building. Busting loads on girls, how you doing?—it was written and illustrated by Leonard Everett Fisher, who's still living. He's still alive, 95, 96 years old, paints like a magician, and his paintings are featured in this book. So here we go, William Tell by Leonard Everett Fisher. Legend has it that early in the 14th century. When the Swiss were oppressed by Austrian Habsburg rulers, one man stood up to the tyrants. His name was William Tell. William Tell was appalled that his people were forced to kneel to the hat of their governor, and he refused to do so. His punishment was severe: an apple was placed on his son's head, and Tell was told to shoot it. If his arrow found its mark, the hat would be removed from the town square. If it did not, young Jemmy might die. So here we go. William Tell. Leonard Everett Fisher. In between each page, I'm going to show the illustrations here because they're quite marvelous. This man is a bit of a genius, Leonard Everett Fisher, a painter, a magician. High above Gessler Square, the town hall bell clanged furiously. It echoed through the mountains like a dozen bells ringing at once. People rushed to the square. A proclamation! cried the herald as he unrolled a long parchment. Know ye by all those present that from noon of this day forward, all citizens, including children ten years and older, must kneel before the hat of the royal governor, Herr Gessler. The hats will be mounted atop a pole in Gessler Square in the town of Altdorf, in the canton of Uri, under the jurisdiction of King Albert the First of the House of Habsburg. Failure to kneel will result in swift and severe punishment. Signed and sealed this first day of July in the year of our Lord 1307, as Erhardmsas hate. Here we got the illustrations, the paintings, the proclamation being read to the townspeople. And now we go in to the next page. A lot of people joining now. Welcome, welcome, welcome with Visualuke. He is cruel, that Herman Gessler, William Tell growled to his young son, Jemmy, a tyrant if there ever was one. Tell, a famous hunter and marksman, lived with his family in nearby Bürglen. He and Jemmy were passing through Altdorf on their way to the forest when they heard the proclamation. If I had my way, a woman whispered, it would be Herr Gessler at the end of the royal pole, not his hat. Shh, someone in the crowd warned. Just kneel and be still. No one spoke too loudly about anything in Altdorf, Bürglen, or any other town in Uri. Herr Gessler's spies were everywhere. A sneeze at the wrong time could bring ten days in jail. A little before noon, a small parade of officials and soldiers, led by Herr Gessler, left Altdorf's town hall. They marched to the center of the square, where they watched the raising of a pole with Gessler's hat on top. Careful, careful, you louts! snapped Herr Gessler as the pole was slowly placed upright. You will pay dearly if my hat falls to the ground. Here you can see Herr Gessler and his pole yelling at the townspeople. Kind of a dick, that Herr Gessler. That reading voice is epic. Thank you very much. Thank you very much. I appreciate that. As the town hall clock began to strike noon, Herr Gessler took his seat next to the pole. The first passerby knelt before his hat and hurried off. Aha! he said. Very good, very good indeed. Look at Herr Gessler. Look at this guy. Oh, he's a guy that just deserves a little bit of a punch in the face if you don't ask me. Hello, welcome, Tommy. Welcome to the stream. Nice to have you here. Welcome, Vicky Davis. Welcome, Call Me Bia. Welcome, Coachies. Utsas. Tees and Haram. Welcome, Instant Sonic. A lot of people joining us tonight. I appreciate that. All right, I'm going to show you this painting before we read the next page, because this painting is pretty cool. We got the painting of a pig, a painting of a pig and Herr Gessler, and what's going to happen next. People passed this way, that way, knelt, and then left the square as quickly as they could. None of them had the courage to look at Herr Gessler, whose scornful face was enough to frighten a farsighted deer. But before the town hall clock had finished delivering its booming twelve strokes of noon. A young man with a pig to deliver rushed by, and he forgot to kneel. Arrest that lawbreaker! screamed Gessler. Arrest his pig too! Soldiers swarmed all over the young man. They took away his pig and clapped him in chains as he begged for another chance. Never! Herr Gessler shouted after him. Fucking Herr Gessler. Painting, painting, painting, and we continue. Hello, Pete. Hello, Peta. Hello, Hoffi. No, not his pig. Thank you for your comments. Keep them coming. Facebook, YouTube, keep the comments coming. Don't want to break the spell of the story. Here we go. No sooner had the young man been dragged out of sight, howling for mercy, than a teenage boy chased by his older sister ran across the square. Come home this instant! cried his sister. No! replied the boy, and the two of them sailed right past Herr Gessler like the wind. They too forgot to kneel. Seize those two! Herr Gessler commanded. The boy and his sister were chained and hauled away. Look at the townspeople. Look at the commotion. Hello, Barbara Kovacs. Szia. Katarina Firez. Hello. A lot of hearts coming in. I love to see that. Love to see the hearts. All day long, men, women, and children ten years and older rushed through Gessler Square. They knelt before Herr Gessler's hat, some of them three, four, or more times. This is mean and stupid, William Tell said to Jemmy, as the two returned to the square. They were on their way home from the forest. Gessler may be the governor of Uri, but we are not his slaves and lackeys. I shall never kneel before him or his hats. Brave, brave Tell, Vilmos. Painting on the next page, Herr Gessler. Look at that painting. These illustrations, unbeatable. Szia, Balázs. Nice to see you here. Remember, for the people on Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube, we've got the professionally produced stream by Ray, high-def cameras, multiple angles. It's kind of nuts. I'm watching it now. But feel free to stay here as well. William Tell and Jemmy slowly walked past the pole. Herr Gessler was still in his chair, ready to pounce on anyone who did not kneel. You two there! William Tell, Jemmy Tell, he cried. How dare you walk by my hat and not kneel? You know the law. Kneel, I say. Kneel, you say. Walk on, I say. Neither I nor my son shall kneel before the hat of a bully. Ooh, you tell him, Vilmos. Look at Gessler. Look at fucking Gessler. Oh my God. The YouTube is looking good. Thanks a lot, Eddie. I see you're on both streams. That's impressive. Herr Gessler shook with rage. No one moved. It was as if the square had suddenly filled with wide-eyed marble statues. Arrest them! Herr Gessler roared. Throw them into the dungeon! Flog them! Tear out their nails! No, wait. I have a better idea. Hello, Gergu. I like that you're joining in the chat on YouTube. You're facilitating chat amongst the people on YouTube. You guys, feel free to talk amongst yourselves while I'm reading. We'll discuss afterwards. So you say I'm a bully, Herr Tell. The law is the law. But I shall show you what a fair and decent man I am. For your disobedience and disrespect, I order you to shoot a single arrow through an apple placed on the head of your son. You shall be allowed only one shot at sixty paces. Should you pierce the apple, I shall set you free. Furthermore, no one need ever kneel before my hat again. However, should the arrow fail to hit the apple, your son will either perish at your hand or be freed by mine. But you, Herr Tell, shall go to prison, where you shall rot forever. And my new law shall remain on the books. The crowd stirred. William Tell looked at Jemmy, his heart pounded in his chest. What if he should miss? He made up his mind that he was just going to shoot wide of the mark and go to prison rather than risk harming his son. That way, Jemmy would live and go free. But was Gessler to be trusted? he wondered. You must do this, father, Jemmy pleaded. For all the people, I am not afraid. You are the best marksman in Uri. The best marksman in Uri. What a title that would be. Here we have it. The famous scene is approaching. William Tell, Wilhelm Tell, Tell Wilhelm, with his crossbow and with his apple. William Tell took a moment to decide. All right, Jemmy, I shall do it, he said. A wicked grin covered Herr Gessler's face. One of Gessler's soldiers positioned Jemmy against a wide tree. Another soldier placed the red apple on his head. Sixty paces away, William Tell fitted his crossbow with an arrow. Hidden in his cloak was a second arrow. The crowd moved back. Herr Gessler leaned forward in his chair. Hungry Scouser Stevie Maka joining the chat. Love to see that. William Tell took his time. He squinted down the path his arrow would take. He looked hard at the apple on Jemmy's head. He held the crossbow straight and steady in front of him and lined up the arrow with the center of the apple. William Tell let the arrow fly. It tore the apple in two. Ha ha! Let's go! Look at Jemmy. Doesn't even bat an eye. Doesn't even bat an eye. The crowd cheered. Jemmy smiled, Herr Gessler slumped in his chair. As William Tell and his son bowed before the happy throng, their hidden arrow fell to the ground. Herr Gessler bolted from his chair. You were allowed only one shot, Herr Tell. For what purpose did you need another arrow? The second arrow was for you, Herr Gessler. Had the first arrow harmed my son, I would have sent the second through your evil heart. Assassin! cried Gessler. Seize him! The law stands. The people shall kneel before my hat on the pole. William Tell, wrapped in chains, was led away. A week later, a chorus of bells clanged through the mountains. The people of Altdorf, Bürglen, and all the other towns of Uri were greeted with startling news. Herrmann Gessler was dead. William Tell had escaped his captors. Free of his chains, he had jumped from a storm-tossed boat, heading for the prison on Lake Lucerne. Gessler himself had led a troop of soldiers in search of him. Armed with a bow and arrows made from a young tree in the forest, William Tell had waited for Herr Gessler. As the troop had galloped down a narrow trail, William Tell had sent a single arrow through Gessler's heart. The people were rid of a cruel tyrant. William Tell. Came home a hero forevermore. Okay, wow. Well, that was some story, the first one in the books. William Tell, Tell Vilmos, as told by Leonard Everett Fisher, and as retold by me. So, folks, if you want to join in the chat, I see Danny Oltz coming in on Instagram, some other people coming in on YouTube, some other people coming in on Facebook. We've got Gergely Corona, we've got Horvath Balazs. Let's see if we got anyone on the old YouTube page here. I don't know how to get the YouTube up, but I'm trying so I can talk to you guys. Here we go, I got it. All right, cool. So basically, what I'd like to discuss with that particular story, William Tell, Tell Vilmos, is the idea of rebellion and standing up for what you believe to be right. Because we have this guy called Hergessler, and he's like the evil villain. And as Benjamin Szilagyi says, Ismered a Tell Vilmos? Nitant. Nitant. I don't know what nitant is. Benjamin Szilagyi, do you want to tell me what nitant means? Mit jelent nitant? Mit jelent nitant? But as we have the evil Hergessler, and he's a Habsburg, so actually Hergessler would have been a stand-in later in time, during like the 19th century, for example. Peldaul, ezer kilencszáz, nem, ezer nyolcszáz, negyvennyolc. Oh, Benjamin Szilagyi, thank you very much. Opera ouverture. Opera ouverture. Oh. Benjamin, would you like to join me on video? If you'd like to join me on video, you can feel free. All you got to do is head to budapest.fm/willie, and you can just press join the conversation, and Ray, the producer, will get you live on video. That goes for anyone else. But back to the conversation. William Tell, he's this Swiss hero, and the idea of William Tell began to symbolize standing up to the Habsburgs. For example, in 1848, when you had the Hungarians rebelling against the Habsburgs, and many people throughout Europe rebelling against the Habsburgs, this myth, this story of William Tell, which took place in the 14th century, in 1307, in the medieval times, it came to really represent and symbolize this idea of standing up for what is right and standing up against your enemies. Because Herr Gessler—I mean, nobody likes Herr Gessler. Herr Gessler, he's this evil, good-for-nothing son of a bitch tyrant who wants to just tromp all over the people of Uri, the region in Switzerland that William Tell comes from, for no good reason. And I would like to know, what do you guys think? What do you think about William Tell? Do you think that it's a story that is true, or do you think it's more of a myth? Do you think it's something that's really been sort of taken through the sands of time and molded and meshed and painted by romantic authors, as so often things are, and made into this vision of William Tell, of Tell Vilmos, with the apple and the sun on his head? It's a big debate. Was William Tell real, or was he not? There was a guy called Chudi—I think his name was like T-S-C-H-U-D—and if I know how Swiss Germans pronounce it, something like Chudi. But he was a poet and author in the 15th century, and 150 years after the fact, he was the one that really made Tell Vilmos, William Tell, into the story that it is today. Who knows? Does he know there was actually an apple on a guy's head? Or perhaps he did. Perhaps this is a folk history that was actually a real fact. As Eddie, What's Good, just said on the YouTube chat, it definitely happened. And I tend to agree with you, Eddie. I tend to agree that it definitely happened because, for instance, what does it really mean if something happens in the first place? I mean, imagine there's a million other things that did happen and no one ever talks about them. Did that actually happen? What is truth? What is reality? Myths and legends, they're the things that persevere and last in society. And it's all about perception and how things look to the eye of the beholder. So, from a philosophical perspective, I think it definitely did happen too. Hey, Eddie, if you want to join on the video chat, feel free. Click the link. It's up on the page budapest.fm/willie. Rage has flashed it up there. Head to that link. Just press the red button. Join the conversation. Get in deep with Willie. Come join me, Eddie. Come join me. We're about to transition now into the next story, which is going to be a Hemingway story. So if anyone wants to join the chat, we'll talk about William Tell for about one, two more minutes, and then we're going to go to Hemingway. Hemingway is one of my favorite authors, and I'm pretty pumped to read what Ernest has to say. All right, folks. William Tell, William Tell. I mean, goddamn, hair gessler, he's such a son of a bitch. I think the real hero of the story, if I had to say, was the little boy at the beginning who just runs away, because that— Guy felt the brunt of Herr Gesler's wrath. And that's really, you know, you can talk about William Tell as this hero, but it really depends on the perspective and how you look at things. Because you can just as easily see William Tell perhaps as the villain if you're looking at the perspective of the Habsburgs. Since— Oh, what's going on? Look who we got here. Hey, what's up, buddy? How you doing, Ed? What's going on? I'm just laying on the couch enjoying the story, man. Like, your reading voice is so good. I appreciate that. How's the new place? Thanks. My dogs are attacking me. Can you hear me? Yeah, I have you on the TV and on my phone, so I'm trying to, like, pick one. Trying to pick one. Babe, look, I'm on TV. Eddie's on TV right now. Oh my God. Eddie, you might be on like six screens at once because you're pumping through Ray's camera, you're pumping through Ray's computer. I think we just had a camera battery malfunction, actually, as you called. Coincidence? I think not. But we're switching that right now, and we're gonna get you back on the split screen. How's Martha, the praying mantis that you've been working with? Oh, Martha, she's inside right now. Apparently it's getting too cold for her. So, do you guys want to see Martha? Babe, they want to see Martha. All right, hold on. Let me try to switch my camera to the other side. Hold on one second, Eddie, because Ray is just switching through the camera. We got a little bit of a technical malfunction. So once we get that camera switched off, we can show Martha to the world. She can make her big debut to what's going on here. Alexa said that she really misses you guys, by the way, and we have to meet soon. Oh, we miss her too. We gotta see you guys ASAP. ASAP, ASAP. You guys got to come over to the new place, and we got to go to your new place. We have to have like a dual housewarming. All right, we got the camera switched in. The batteries switched over. Oh, look, people, look. We got Eddie, we got Maria, two previous guests on Talking with Willie, and there is Martha. Look at Martha. Martha, Martha. How is that bug so obedient? You want her on your shoulder? I've never had Martha on me before. Hang out with Martha. Oh, I got Martha on me. That is amazing. That is truly, truly amazing. Look at this, people. Yeah, this is Maria's new pet. Wow. Came into our lives, and now we take care of her. We bring her in from the cold. I didn't realize quite how domesticated like a praying mantis could be. It's quite exceptional. Maria is doing research. Apparently there's not a lot of studies done on these things, and Maria is going to publish a scientific paper. Well, that would be cool. Interactions. It's like, have you seen My Octopus Teacher on Netflix? Yeah, that's amazing. My Octopus Teacher, great documentary. I really love that movie. So this is gonna be like... But yeah, like earlier when you were getting real deep, I think getting deep with Willie is gonna—I think that's a cool new offshoot you should try. Getting deep with Willie? That sounds like something that you would be the producer of. I got deep with Willie last night. What are you sipping on there? Oh, just a little, little soda. Nice. What's that? I can't see you. You can't see me? Because you're on your phone, right? All right. Well, folks, that was Eddie, a little interlude. You see the magic of the live stream. We got animals, we got praying mantises, we got a whole new species joining us on the Talking with Willie, Getting Deep with Willie livestream experience. So now, without further ado, we're gonna transition into a story that is by one of my favorite authors in the world, Ernest Hemingway. Ernest Hemingway was really a guy that I sort of found, I don't know, maybe when I moved over to Europe and I started to write a little bit more seriously and think of myself as sort of this expat writer, I really related to Ernest Hemingway in some ways because he was the penultimate expat writer living in France, in Paris in the early 1920s and coming into global and national recognition as one of the best writers of all time. And this story, which I've chosen for you all today, is called... Hills like white elephants. And Hills Like White Elephants, in addition to having a phenomenal, phenomenal, phenomenal title, is a story that is really hard to peg because it's kind of a story about nothing, but it's also a story about something. And that something is going to be for you to figure out. I'm going to read this straight through, and we'll talk about it after. Sia Marton joining the chat on Instagram. People are in on Instagram, YouTube, Facebook. We'll talk afterwards. I'll see you here. If you want to join the video like Eddie and Marta and Maria just did, you can join afterwards. But let's read this straight through. Hills Like White Elephants. And there's a little bit of a twist. If anyone can figure it out and you want to join in and you want to analyze this text for me, this is a story, The Hills Like White Elephants, Hills Like White Elephants, that has been debated and talked about since it was published. I think Ernest Hemingway published it in 1925, potentially before he even published The Sun Also Rises, his kind of breakout novel in his original collection of short stories. And Hills Like White Elephants was the one story that stood out for a lot of people. James Joyce, the famous Irish author who wrote Dubliners, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Ulysses, known as like the master of letters in Europe and the world, really, James Joyce called this his favorite ever short story. Egészségedre, mindig kinek, egészségedre. Cheers. We've got one sip and then we're diving straight into it. Kind of fitting because there's a lot of drinking in this story as well. We're doing this one on the iPad, so no illustrations. Paint the picture in your mind. The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees, and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station, there was a warm shadow of the building and a curtain made of strings of bamboo beads hung across the open door into the bar to keep out flies. The American and the girl with him sat at a table in the shade outside the building. It was very hot, and the express from Barcelona would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went on to Madrid. What should we drink? the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table. It’s pretty hot, the man said. Let’s drink beer. Dos cervezas, the man said into the curtain. Big ones? a woman asked from the doorway. Yes, two big ones. The woman brought two glasses of beer and two felt pads. She put the felt pads and the beer glasses on the table and looked at the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the line of the hills. They were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry. They look like white elephants, she said. I’ve never seen one. The man drank his beer. No, you wouldn't have. I might have, the man said. Just because you say I wouldn't have doesn't prove anything. The girl looked at the bead curtain. They've painted something on it, she said. What does it say? Anis del Toro. It's a drink. Could we try it? The man called, Listen, through the curtain. The woman came out from the bar. Four reales. We want two Anis del Toro. With water? Do you want it with water? I don't know, the girl said. Is it good with water? It's all right. You want them with water? asked the woman. Yes, with water. It tastes like licorice, the girl said, and put the glass down. That's the way with everything. Yes, said the girl. Everything tastes of licorice. Especially all the things you've waited so long for, like absinthe. Oh, cut it out. You started it, the girl said. I was being amused. I was having a fine time. All right. I was trying. Well, let's try to have a fine time, then. All right, I was trying. I said the mountains look like white elephants. Wasn't that bright? That was bright. I wanted to try this new drink. That's all we do, isn't it? Look at things and try new drinks. I guess so. The girl looked across the hills. They're lovely hills, she said. They don't really look like white elephants. I just meant the coloring of their skin through the trees. Should we have another drink? All right. The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table. The beer is nice and cool, the man said. It's lovely, the girl said. It's really an awfully simple operation, Jig, the man said. It's not really an operation at all. The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on. I know you wouldn't mind it, Jig. It's really not anything. It's just to let the air in. The girl did not say anything. I'll go with you and I'll stay with you all the time. They just let the air in, and then it's all perfectly natural. Then what will we do afterward? We'll be fine afterward, just like we were before. What makes you think so? That's the only thing that bothers us. It's the only thing that's made us unhappy. The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out, and took hold of two of the strings of beads. And you think then we'll be all right and we'll be happy? I know we will. You don't have to be afraid. I've known lots of people that have done it. So have I, said the girl. And afterward they were all so happy. Well, the man said, if you don't want to, you don't have to. I wouldn't have you do it if you didn't want to. But I know it's perfectly simple. And do you really want to? I think it's the best thing to do. But I don't want you to do it if you don't really want to. And if I do it, you'll be happy and things will be like they were, and you'll love me? I love you now. You know I love you. I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say things are like white elephants and you'll like it. I'll love it. I love it now but I just can't think about it. You know how I get when I worry. If I do it, you won't ever worry? I won't worry about that because it's perfectly simple. Then I'll do it. Because I don't care about me. What do you mean? I don't care about me. Well, I care about you. Oh yes, but I don't care about me and I'll do it and then everything will be fine. I don't want you to do it if you feel that way. The girl stood up and walked to the end of the station. Across on the other side were fields of grain and trees along the banks of the Ebro. Far away, beyond the river, were mountains. The shadow of a cloud moved across the field of grain and she saw the river through the trees. And we could have all this, she said. And we could have everything and every day we make it more impossible. What did you say? I said we could have everything. We can have everything. No, we can’t. We can have the whole world. No, we can’t. We can go everywhere. No, we can’t. It isn’t ours anymore. It’s ours. No, it isn’t. And once they take it away, you never get it back. But they haven’t taken it away. We’ll wait and see. Come on back in the shade, he said. You mustn’t feel that way. I don’t feel any way, the girl said. I just know things. I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to do, nor that isn’t good for me, she said. I know. Could we have another beer? All right, but you’ve got to realize— I realize, the girl said. Can’t we maybe stop talking? They sat down at the table, and the girl looked across at the hills on the dry side of the valley, and the man looked at her and at the table. You’ve got to realize, he said, that I don’t want you to do it if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly willing to go through with it if it means anything to you. Doesn’t it mean anything to you? We could get along. Of course it does, but I don’t want anybody but you. I don’t want anyone else. And I know it’s perfectly simple. Yes, you know it’s perfectly simple. It’s all right for you to say that, but I do know it. Would you do something for me now? I’d do anything for you. Would you please, please, please, please, please, please, please stop talking? He did not say anything. But looked at the bags against the wall of the station. There were labels on them from all the hotels where they had spent nights. But I don't want you to, he said. I don't care anything about it. I'll scream, the girl said. The woman came out through the curtains with two glasses of beer and put them down on the damp felt pads. The train comes in five minutes, she said. What did she say? asked the girl. That the train is coming in five minutes. The girl smiled brightly at the woman to thank her. I'd better take the bags over to the other side of the station, the man said. She smiled at him. All right, then come back and we'll finish the beer. He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the station to the other tracks. He looked up the tracks but could not see the train. Coming back, he walked through the barroom where people waiting for the train were drinking. He drank in a niece at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for the train. He went out through the bead curtain. She was sitting at the table and smiled at him. Do you feel better? he asked. I feel fine, she said. There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine. And that's the story, and that is the story. So.
I've read this story many times, and I happen to know what the insinuation that Hemingway is making. I happen to know what's it about and the sort of key that turns the lock in your head, and you're like, what is this conversation that this man and this woman are having? I see some people in the Instagram. I see Yosef Juhas and John Smith, maybe Kovacianosh. John Smith says, Egeshegedre. Juhas, Yosef says, Protza. Other people on the Instagram chat, YouTube, Facebook. If you want to discuss this story, The Hills or just hills like white elephants, with me, feel free to type in the chat. Come on the video, and I'm going to analyze it a little bit now. If you haven't figured it out already, this story, Hills Like White Elephants, is about an abortion. That is the conversation that the man and the woman are having. The woman and the man, they're sitting there in the Ebro, and I think the Ebro is in Spain, if I'm not mistaken, somewhere arid, in Spain or in Italy. Can't believe I can't remember that. But either way, the Ebro is a valley, it's a river, and there's mountains surrounding it. And the man and the woman, they're waiting for the train. They're having a beer at this little cafe, this little bar, and they start to get into this argument. They start to talk about the fact that there's a simple operation that you can do, and it's going to be so easy, and you can just do it, and there's going to be no problems. And the woman is getting increasingly and increasingly and increasingly frustrated. And she's talking about these white elephants. That's the name of the story, Hills Like White Elephants. And it sounds, in your head, you're thinking, what are these white elephants? What are these white elephants? Thank you very much, Genthman Lisa. So well presented. I really appreciate that. Thank you for the kind words. That's very nice. But the white elephants are sort of this, like, made-up thing, because elephants, as we know, are not white. And later on in the story, the girl says that. She's like, I wasn't really being serious. I was just making this kind of pointless observation because you're sitting here driving me goddamn crazy trying to talk about an abortion, which is terrifying me to the very core of my being, confusing me because I'm sitting here with a man who I thought I loved and who I thought loved me, and he wants me to have an abortion because I guess this pregnancy is not happening at exactly a convenient time. Perhaps this isn't even his wife or his girlfriend. It's just a mistress that they are gallivanting around Europe with. Who knows? They talk about at one point in the story how there's a lot of hotel tags on their bags, so they've clearly gone for this sort of grand tour. Perhaps this is the end of the trip after two months of frolicking together and sleeping and drinking, she got pregnant, and now the man's saying, Don't worry about the abortion. It's just a little bit of air that they let in. And if you don't want to do it, you don't have to do it. But I think that you should do it. I really think you should do it because it's simple and you're being hysterical. And the girl starts to get increasingly frustrated, and she just wants to drink and make these observations about pointless, farcical things that don't really exist, because her life right now, it feels like this train that is hurtling towards the station and there's five minutes to go and she has to make a decision about the abortion. With this man, who perhaps is not everything he's all cracked up to be. But then perhaps if you look at it from the male perspective, maybe that's the whole point with abortion, is that it's really a female issue, and the male perspective as maybe Hemingway, you know, he gets all this sort of flak, Hemingway, for being this hyper-masculine writer who lives in like a retrograde time before women's rights really came into their own. But at the same time, Hemingway, he's a really sensitive guy, and he makes these incredibly lucid insights. Like to write a story like this with all the insinuation that he does, and to really grasp the way that these personalities and these characters are dealing with this complicated situation of abortion, it's quite impressive. I think he was 25 when he wrote this. I mean, perhaps he had an experience himself that he was relating to. I'm not so sure. Most good writers, they do take their own lives and relate to them. But either way, when we see this question come up 80, 90 years later about abortion and men making the decision about female bodies, it shows you that this is an issue that is timeless and has been around forever. And it's really a frustrating issue that can, as we see in this story, lead to tension and the coiling, and the way the dialogue is written is just so masterful. If we go back to the beginning of the text, the first lines of dialogue after this seemingly nice portrait that Hemingway is painting, a lot of times in his stories he talks about, oh, let's see, gentlemen, Lisa, especially at the time Hemingway wrote this. That is very true. At the time that Hemingway wrote this. Abortion was just as controversial an issue as it is now. The first lines of the story, and we're going to talk about this one for about two, three more minutes, and then we'll move on to some Hungarian poetry, which I'm quite excited about. The first two lines of dialogue: What should we drink? the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table. It's pretty hot, the man said. So instantly, right off the bat, you're getting this tension between the two characters because they're talking about two different things. The girl's talking about drinking, and the man is talking about the weather, and he doesn't even answer her question. So you can see this tension coiling, coiling, coiling throughout the story, the way the dialogue is written. And then by the end of it, by the end of the story, they're in an all-out fight. And then there's a rising tension, and then this sort of, like, afterwards, you're left with this feeling of like, let's just get on this train and get out of here, and we can talk about this later. So quite an interesting tale, a really masterful job by Hemingway. Hills like white elephants. Didn't they make abortions illegal in some U.S. states? Well, that's true. That's true. They did make abortions illegal, basically illegal for all intents and purposes, in Texas most notably of all. Oh, Maria Gjuric, I'm drinking a beer too. Egészségedre. Very nice story, and you are a great actor. Thank you very much, Maria. In Texas, they just passed this very controversial law about abortions because they basically said that after six weeks, if you get an abortion, you can be sued for $10,000. Not only if you give an abortion, but if you provide an abortion, if you're the doctor. Even technically, I think, if you take a woman from her house to the hospital in a cab. You can get sued for aiding and abetting in the abortion. I mean, I would like to see that tested in court. But either way, the point is that six weeks in, that ostensibly bans a woman from ever even getting an abortion. Because after six weeks, most women don't even know that they're pregnant. So if you don't find out that you're pregnant until seven weeks after you get pregnant, you're already outside the statute of limitations in Texas, the Lone Star State. Someone said that that's what their Yelp review is: one star. I don't know. I've never been to Texas. It sounds like a pretty cool place, but the laws there are just disgusting. And not to mention the fact that this whole idea of a bounty system. I mean, we hear the conservatives, the Republicans, all throughout coronavirus talking about how there's people on the liberal side snitching about these regulations, about this thing and that thing. Give me a break. The most hypocritical people in the world, especially the politicians. This is all about snitching and putting a law that encourages bounty hunting against your own citizens for public health issues is just, well, as we can see from the way the woman is getting worked up in the hills like white elephants, quite infuriating. So now we move on to perhaps the last reading of the night, which is the Hungarian poetry, which I'm quite excited for. And it's one of my favorite Hungarian poems. It's a ballad of sorts, and it's called A Walesi Bárdok, The Bards of Wales. So we're going to read this straight through in Hungarian, and then maybe I'll read the English too if there's time, or at least I'll just talk about what the story is, read a little bit of the English. Fekete, pikapata, kopoga, patika, pepita, küvé. Gotta get the Hungarian voice warmed up. Boloni Balázs. Hi. Szia, Boloni Balázs. You guys can still see on the Instagram, it's pinned Budapest.fm slash Willie if you want to join in on the video. Feel free. So now we go to A Velsi Bardok, The Bards of Wales by Arany János, a.k.a. Johnny Gold. Edvard király, angol király, léptet fakó lován, had látom, úgy mond, mennyi tér A velsi tartomány. Van-e ott folyó és földje jó, legelőin fű kövér? Használt-e a meggyűnt tüzés, a partos honfivér? Sanép, az istent, a nép, ha oly boldog-e rájt, mint akarom, s mint a barom, megyen igaba hajt? Felség! valóban koronád legszebb gyémántja Velsz, földed folyót, legelni jót, hegy-völgyet benne lelsz. Sanép, az istent, a nép, oly boldog, rajta síre. Künn hui, mint hallgatva mint megannyi puszta sír. Edvard király, angol király léptett fakó lován, körötte csend, a meredment, és néma tartomány. Montgomery vár neve, hol az nap este szállt. Montgomery vár ura, vendégli a királyt. Vadászat haladt, s mély a falat, szem szának ingere, sűrű gyöphort, száz szolga hord, hogy nézni is tere. S mind, ami kelt, e szép sziget, e telti telt terem, s mind, ami bor, pezsegve forr, túl messzi tengeren. Ti urak, ti urak, hát senki sem kocsint értem pohárt? Ti urak, ti urak, ti velszebek, ne éljen Eduard. Vadászat haladt, s mély az ég alatt, szem szának kellemes, az látokén, de ördögit, de lül mindennemes. Ti urak, ti urak, hitván e bek, ne éljen Eduard, hol van, ki zengje tetteim, e lű, egy velszi bárd. Egy másra néz a sok vitéz, a vendég velsz urak, orczáikon, mint felelem, sápadt elharag. Szó ben szakad, hang fennakad, lehelet megszegik, ajtó megül fehér galamb, üszvád emelkedik. It van király, ki tetteidet, e zengi mond az agg. S fegyver csörög, hála hörög, a mint húrjába csap. Fengve csörög, háló hörög, a nap vertoba szál. Verssagra, gyúl az évad, te tetted ezt, király. Levágva, népünk ezrei, halomba mint kereszt, hogy sírva talloz, aki él, király, te tetted ezt. Magyar el, ej, igen kemény, parancsoló Edward, haladjabb, énnek kell nekünk, se bellep egy ifju bart. Ah, Lagyán, kell az esti szél, mirfor üböl felé, szűzek siralma, üzvégyek, panasza nyűgbe lé. Ne szűlj rabot, te szűz anya, ne soptasd csecsemőd, s inta király, s ellepte meg a magyar menüt. Te vakmerőn, s hivantlanul, elűal harmadik, kobzana dal, magyara val, ez ige háratik. Elhút csatabán, áderek, no had meg Eduárd, neved ki dicső hítene, nem el oly versi bárd. Emleke sír a lanton még, no had meg Eduárd, áttok feje reminden dal, melyet zeng versi bárd. Meglátom én, s parancsodát, király, rentene test. Magyará, ki ellen szegül, minden vesz énnekest. Szolgái szét száguldódnak, ország szerént tova, mond gomori így esett a híres lakoma, s edvar király, angol király vágtatva kólován, körütte csend, ég fűt színt az ég, a versi tartomán. Ütszáz bizony, dalolva ment, langsírba velszi vár, de edsse bírta mondani, hogy eljön Eduárd. Haha, mi zúg, mi éjdal? London utcáin ez. Felkütte tém a lord majort, ha bosszant bármi mes. A néma csend, ledszánya bent, se künn nem haltlatik, fejere szól, kis szót emel, király nem állhatik. Haha, elüs síp, dob zene, harsogjon harsona, fülembe zúgja atkait, a velszi lákoma. De túlzenén, túl sípdobon riadó kürt dünat, utcáz énekli hangosan, a vertanuk dalát. Ezen nyotszáz utvanhét, by Arany János, The Bards of Wales. A velszi bardok. Mad Max, accent always on the first syllable. I think that's my problem, Mad Max, because I read the Hungarian poetry a little bit like the English poetry, like a ballad should be read. So I've read this performance done in Hungarian, and I'm a little bit, you know, too like da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da, but it's supposed to be, I think, like, meglátom, wait, meglátom, én. S parancsot adt: Király, rettenetes, rettenetes. Magyará, ki jelenségül minden vers énekest. Nem tudom, nem tudom. Igazából azt hiszem, ez a vers nagyon-nagyon jó vers, mert érdekes és gyönyörű igazából, mert Arany János írt ez a vers, amikor Habsburg király, Habsburg császár, nem tudom, de persze tudom, József Ferenc, Ferenc József, amikor ő jött Magyarországra, és mindenki kell írni nagyon szép verset Ferenc Józsefnek, és Arany János nem akartja azt, nem akart, nem azt akarja, hogy írja az a vers, de nem legális írni egy rossz verset a Habsburg császárnak, és Arany János írt A walesi bárd, mert a walesi bárd volt a történet, a walesi történet, a walesi történet, és a történet, azt hiszem, tizenháromedik század, mert a walesi császár, a walesi király, a angol király, Edward király jött Walesre, Walesbe, jött Walesbe, és a bardok. A velsi bardok, utszász velsi bardok, irtak. A nagyon-nagyon rossz vers, Edward Királynak. És Edward király mint a Tel Vilmos geller, nem az elfelejtettem, baszd meg. De, de, de a velsi bardok írtak nagyon rossz vers Edward királynak, és most Edward király, he burned, he burned, lengsieba, he burned the bards of Wales. He burned them in fire, and they died. And now Arany János, he wrote this poem as sort of a martyrization, and in English language, to be a martyr is to be sort of this person that is well regarded or well respected because they died for a just cause, just as Taliesin was willing to do. And the bards of Wales actually did. They were martyrized, and they turned into this sign of resistance. And it's good that we sort of ended with this poem, actually, and started with Taliesin, because both of these works of literature were used to inspire rebellion in 1848, ezen nyolcszáznegyvennyolc, for the ultimate failed but very heroic war of independence that happened in Hungary as well as the rest of Europe. But this was sort of the first crack in the dam of the Habsburg power that came to a screeching and flooding halt in World War One. But that is a tale for another time. Okay, well, I see Franz Josef didn't get the joke from Mad Max. Mad Max, do you want to join me on the video? You're more than welcome to Mad Max. If you want to come in on the video, you just head to budapest.fm/willie, and we can discuss the bards of Wales. That was amazing, says Debretsma. Johnny Gold would be proud of you. That's very nice that you say that, Debretsma. Arany János buske of me. How do you say of me in Hungarian? Arany János would be proud of me? I don't know how to say that, but I appreciate that. That's very, very nice. If anyone, any takers for a final chat with me on the video chat, Ray has just put the Join the Conversation button on the bottom of the page, www.budapest.fm/willie. Before we go, I would like to read one more Hungarian poem, Buske Lenerád. It's a lot shorter, and it's called Mama by Attila József. József Attila. And József Attila was a much more, like, depressive figure than Arany János, but he was a majestic poet in his own right, very deep, as Eddie said, getting deep with Willie. This poem is about his mom, and, yeah, I love my mom. So we'll end with that. And I don't know, I mean, I could do this all night. I could keep reading, but we all got stuff to do. This has been a very, very enjoyable experience. I love the fact that you guys are communicating with me, joining in on the chat. We had Eddie joining on a video. I think that this format of reading and discussing and talking, we can really make some special things happen this year with everyone together. Where is this mama? Mama, mama, mama. I couldn't find it the other day, just flipping through Luca, Terekezed, Képtal, Kultúra. He's got so much stuff, so much stuff. Oh no, József Attila. Maybe there's an index? Is there an index? József Attila, Ar utasó vers, József Attila. Okay, wow, he wrote a lot of, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot of poems. Okay, here we go, alphabetized. That's great that they do that. Mama, page 302. Háromszor kettő. Our last poem of the night, and then we ride off into painting. Egész segedtekre, mindenkinek. Egész segedtekre. Már egy hete csak a mamára gondolok mindig. All right, like my Hungarian teacher said, that's one sentence. Start this over. Mama, József Attila. Már egy hete csak a mamára gondolok mindig. Meg-megalvad nyirkos gondolkozásom az üleden, ment a padlásra, ment serényen. Én még őszinte ember voltam, ordítottam, toporzékoltam. Hagyja a dagadt ruhát másra, engem vigyen föl a padlásra. Csak ment és teregetett némán, nem szidott, nem is nézett énrám, s a ruhák fényesen, suhogva, keringtek, szálltak a magosba. Nem nyafog, neked most már kesű, most látom milyen óriás ő, szürke haja lebben az égen, kékítőt old az ég vizében. That is the whole poem, Mama. Your passion about Hungarian-Hungarian poetry is really impressive and inspiring. From Gentman Lisa. Ah, nagyon köszönöm. I appreciate that. Oh, some more people joining in on Instagram now. How much time? József Attila a legjobb magyar költő. That means, from Claire Milschin, József Attila is the best Hungarian poet. Mi egy jól beszélsz már magyarul. Ez az akcentus. I think that means that I spoke very good Hungarian and I have a very, very strong accent. Yeah, I agree. I do have a strong accent. Thank you very much, Blazje. Do we have time for one more? All right, we're going to do one more. We have some people joining in. I think people like this Hungarian poetry section. If you see at the bottom of the screen there on YouTube—it's so confusing. Oh, oh my God. Join the conversation, www.budapestfm slash Willie. Hey, guys. Hey, Norby. What's going on? How you doing? The conversation is popping off in the chat room. Facebook, YouTube, that's where the professional production happens. Join the conversation, www.budapest.fm slash Willie. If you guys go to that link that's at the bottom of the screen right now, you type it into your browser, there's going to be a red button and it says, Join the conversation, and then we can talk together via video. We can meet, lehet találkozni és beszélgetni. So if you want to do that, you'll be sent to the waiting room and Ray will let you in and we can chat. So I'm gonna read one more poem, and I need your help. Tényleg kell a segíteni, mert tudom, I know how to read it. Ah, Paprika Design. Hi, Willie. I'm watching you from the Gold Coast, Australia. Thank you for your amazing content. Thank you, Paprika Design. That's really cool. If you want to come join me on the chat from Gold Coast, Australia, I know you guys got lockdown right now. Although Gold Coast, that's up there by Bondi Beach area, maybe it's not quite as severe right now. So I love the Gold Coast. Surfer's paradise, right? Too bad I am anxious, says Martin Svininger. I can understand that. Being on video can be a little bit intimidating sometimes. But, you know, not really, says Paprika Design. Paprika Design, not really. I'm assuming that you're talking about in relation to the lockdown. I think it's probably pretty chill on the Gold Coast, or it's not really, the lockdown is pretty severe. I know I've been keeping adrift of the Australian stuff. It sounds crazy. I'm in Queensland, no lockdown here. That's right, Queensland. I remember Queensland. I flew into Australia. I lived there for six months, actually, in Sydney on Bondi Beach. And my first move that I did upon landing after like a 24-hour flight was I went to Queensland. I went to the Gold Coast. Szia, Willie. Szia, Luxika. Szia, szia, szia. Most beszélgetünk, beszélgetünk együtt. I'm Hungarian too. Cool. Magyar, magyar. And I went to the Gold Coast. It was my first trip, Bondi Beach, amazing, amazing, amazing, beautiful place. And my friend was there with me, his name was Sam, and we were living in Australia for six months together. Studying. And, hey Willie, say that word, says Eddie. Are you talking about penultimate, penultimate, penultimate? Nice paintings in the background. Who is the author? Who is the author? Oh yeah, she made that? Oh, cool. Maria, who's in the chat, made that painting. Emma Lovett on Instagram, find her. Norby, I'm doing fine at the moment, thank you. I'm happy because of the weekend. And how are you, Kendyo Uram? I'm very well, nagyon jól. The next poem, I think, is going to be Eddie Andre. And Eddie Andre, Maria Gyurics, hearts, thank you. Oh, Eddie says, say the longest word in Hungarian. Paprika design, gotta go to work for now. Good old penalty rates for weekend shifts. Keep up the good work. Szimbora. Köszönöm szépen, köszönöm szépen. Ászívemből, from my heart, thank you. It's so cool to have someone from Australia joining in the chat. That's like, wow, bizarre and awesome and spectacular. Good luck at work. Jó szerencsét, jó munka, azt hiszem, jó lesz. The story ends in Australia as that person segues out, and then we go into Eddie Andre, with me having a fantastic time with Sam, and I booked the flights. We were going to go to Gold Coast and then fly to Sydney, and it was February, and I think it was like February 23rd to February 26th. February 26th rolls around, we're getting ready to go to the airport. I made the flight booking for March 26th, so we had an extra night in Australia, which was, you know. We had an extra six months in Australia, but we also had an extra night in the Gold Coast. Do I know Austral Tom by Martin Spininger? I've heard of Austral Tom, actually. He's like an Australian lover of the Hungarian accent. Everyone always sends me his name. Maybe we need to get him on the live stream. That would be a lot of fun, actually. Two English speakers chatting in Hungarian. I think he's a little bit more experienced than me, but that would be fun, a little test of our skills. Oh, Balazs J. What did you just say here now? Well, I think we're talking about the other regions of Hungary, and Felvidék—you know, they call me Felvidéki Vilmos because Nagy, nagy, nagy, nagymama, és nagy, nagy, nagy, nagypapa meant Felvidékból, Amerikaig ezer nyolcszáz nyolcvankettő. Igazából, igazából, igazából. Tudom, nagyon, nagyon jó. És furcsa, de nem tudtam, hogy a Budapestre ezelőtt nem tudtam, nem tudtam, de egy nap nagymama, nem nagymama, igen, nagymama küldött az üzenetet nekem, és az üzenetet azt mondta, igazából, nagy, nagy, nagy, nagypapám és nagy, nagy, nagy, nagymamám ment Felvidékból Amerikaig ezer nyolcszáz nyolcvankettő, és most itt vagyok, és most tudom, megszentségtelen íthetetlenség, esküdési ítéket, megszentségteleníthetetlenség esküdési ítéket, és... Fekete bika. Fekete bika pata kopog a patika pepita küvén. Fekete bika. Why can't I ever say it on the live stream? I was just, like, wrapping this off before. Maybe one more sip of wine, Egri Segudrá. We're gonna say the tongue twister, and then we're gonna go into the final poem. Útolsó vers. Fekete bika. Fekete bika pata. Fekete bika pata. Fekete bika pata kopog. Fekete bika pata kopog a patika pepita küvén. All right, here we go. How about we go to—oh, can we do two more? Two more? This one's quick, right? Nemzeti dal. Petőfi Sándor, Nemzeti dal, és utána Ady Endre. Ady Endre. And then we're done, I swear to it. Those just used to be a part of Hungary, unfortunately. What's the background music? Egri Segudrá. Egri Segudrá to you too, dear. What's the background music? Can I have a link, says Elud Balázs. Well, Ray, my producer, he's got the background music. I'm not sure if he can send that to you. Do we have a name for that? Is it just like—it's like a deep sample of something. I'll try to get a handle on that and send it to you personally afterwards, Elud Balázs, because I agree, it's tremendous music. I don't know where he found it. The guy's a wizard. Nemzeti dal, the national song, Sándor Petőfi, and then Ady Endre, Ady Endre. And then we're going into Paintek éjszaka. Otherwise, we could get in trouble. We could be here all night. Okay. Petőfi Sándor, Nemzeti dal. Tapra magyar, hí a haza, Itt az idő, most vagy soha! Rabok legyünk vagy szabadok? Ez a kérdés, válasszatok! A magyarok istenére Esküszünk, esküszünk, Hogy rabok tovább nem leszünk! Rabok voltunk mostanáig, Kárhozottak; kárhozottak, Ősapáink, kik szabadon Éltek-haltak Szolgaföldben nem nyughatnak. A magyarok istenére Esküszünk, esküszünk, Hogy rabok tovább nem leszünk! Sehonnai bitang ember, Ki most, ha kell, halni nem mer, Kinek drágább rongy élete, Mint a haza becsülete. A magyarok istenére Esküszünk, esküszünk, Hogy rabok tovább nem leszünk! Fényesebb a láncnál a kard, Jobban ékesíti a kart; És mi mégis láncot hordtunk! Ide veled, régi kardunk! A magyarok istenére Esküszünk, esküszünk, Hogy rabok tovább nem leszünk! A magyar név megint szép lesz, Méltó régi, nagy híréhez; Mit rákentek a századok, Lemosuk a gyalázatot! A magyarok istenére Esküszünk, esküszünk, Hogy rabok tovább nem leszünk! Holszer járink, domborulnak, ünökaink, leborulnak, és áldó imádság melett mondják e szent neveinket. A magyarok istenére esküszünk, esküszünk, hogy rabok tovább nem leszünk. 1848. március 13. Hola, hola. All these poets are the names of streets I live near. That's because you live in the nice part of town, Eddie. They have these nice poetic names. Actually, you know what? They have poetic names everywhere. That's one of the things I love about Hungary, is that the streets and the statues and the buildings are filled with the names of poets. The last poem. The last poem. Utolsó. I love the communication. I love you guys chatting to me. It's just, it's nice to know that I'm not here speaking into the void. I mean, maybe I am anyways, but at least you're watching me do it. The last poet, Eddie Andre. I believe, I think he was a little bit earlier than Hemingway, living in Paris, but he also lived in Paris as an expat, a very romantic figure. He has this sort of like dark complexion and these hauntingly enchanting eyes that are sort of just filled with, I don't know if it's sorrow or knowledge or passion or loss or joy or grief or a little bit of all of those things and more, because that's what all the great poets have, is they have this sort of mysticism in their eyes. And here we go. Eddie Andre, Eddie Andre, Andre Eddie. It's one of those names that confuses you because the Hungarians, they do that first name, last name thing. And Eddie Andre, Eddie Andre. You just, you don't know if it's which one is which. Szép Ernő nem, Gyula Juhász nem, Gyula Juhász nem, Babits Mihály, another great author. He used to have a statue across the street from me. I would go and talk to him sometimes. Always had a nice collection of pigeons on his head. Babits Mihály. Where are you, Eddie Andre? This is in chronological order. Ha, that's why I'm saying his name wrong. Ady Endre. That's what I'm saying. Endre Ady, Ady Endre. The Lost Rider. And this is the name of this poetry bilingual anthology. Thank you to Carmen and Rosie, one of the best gifts I ever received. Last poem. Here we go. The Lost Rider. I'm going to try to read this one a little bit slower because sometimes I think I go a little bit too quick. Fak ügetése tálani, eltévedt, hajdani lovasnak, volt erdők és ó nádasok, láncot, lelkei riadoznak, hol fotokban imitámot, üs, sűrűből bozót, rekedt meg, most hirtelen téli mesék, remei, kieleve nednék. Itt van a sűrű, a bozót, itt van a régi tompa nóta, mély a süket, ködben lápot, vitéz bus, nyágya pánk óta. Kísértetes, nálunk az ősz, s fogytjak kozott számú az ember, s a domb kerítéses síkon, küld gubabán jár a november. Erdővel, náddal, pőre sík, bennü tetti hirtelen újra novemberes. Ködös magát, nőt századok küldé be, bújva. Csupa vézés, csupa titok, csupa nyomások, csupa ősök, csupa edük, és nádasok, csupa hajdani, esszel ősök, hajdani eltévedt utas, vág néki új, hínárú útnak, de nincsen fény, nincs lámpa láng, és hírük sincsen a faluknak. Álusznak, némán a faluk, mutat álmod van, dideregve, s a köd bozottból kirohán, ordas bölény s nászmegű medve, vak ügetését hallani, hajdani eltévedt lovasnak, volt erdők, ó, és sonádosok, láncot lelkei riadoznak. 1914, right before World War One. Maria says, You reading Hungarian poem sounds like someone casting a spell, and now I can't unhear that. Yeah, let's see what I conjure up with this one. I'm gonna read that just in English, and then... Discuss briefly and then we really got to go. Endre Ády, The Lost Rider. This is someone's translation. Let's see who translated this. J.C.W. Horn. Anyone who uses three initials in their name is a little bit of a hot dog. What was the biggest cultural shock when you come to Hungary? How you like it so far? Looks like you love it. I think that's a little bit of an understatement. The biggest cultural shock? There were many. There were many, many, many cultural shocks. But what's the biggest? No Gatorade. No. I mean, the people just approach things a little bit differently, and I think that it was hard for me to understand what was different about it until I spoke a little bit more of the language, maybe. Because that for me, I mean, not for everyone. Other people, they see the world a little bit differently. But for me, language is like this sort of like, you know, when Bruce Wayne has his glasses on as Batman and he's seeing all the visual stuff of the world, like that. Language sort of unlocks this extra sense for me, and I felt like I was blind. But then again, not really, because I also enjoyed that sort of pitter-patter of the Hungarian language, which I didn't understand, and then you can really focus on your own thoughts a little bit more. So the question was about cultural shocks, and perhaps before I spoke the language, there were a lot more cultural shocks for me. But then again, now that I understand what people are talking about, it's almost more shocking in a way. Here we have Endre Ády, The Lost Rider, in English. Someone, J.C.W. Horn's translation, whoever the hell that is. Lost in ancient, the horseman rides. Blind the trot of the horses' feet, of the forest that was, of the reeds that waved, the fettered spirits start at their beats. Where the trees of the silent past brooded still in the checkered shade, on a sudden the shapes of a winter's tale leaped 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 death-mist's silent hold. Spectral autumn is with us now, men are few and their numbers wane, in his cloak of eddying mist, racked treads, gray November the hillgirt 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 and ancient ways. Only the forest, only the reeds, only the madman of vanished days. Lost in ancient, the traveler 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 in ancient, the horseman rides, blind the trot of the horses' feet, of the forest that was, of the reeds that waved, the fettered spirits start. Their beats. Egészségetekre. Mindenkinek heart from Igor Krstovic, a.k.a. Barking Bob from Serbia, another live streamer. We gotta get you in here, Barking Bob, to do a little bit of a dual live streaming action. I think that could be a lot of fun. Get your followers in here, a little bit of Serbia, a little bit of Balkans in the mix. That was the first place I ever lived in Europe was the Balkans. Love the Balkans. Would love to go there with you one day. Anyway, folks, we've just been casting spells, reading books: William Tell, Jozsef Attila, Eddie Andre, Petőfi Sándor, Arany János, Ernest Hemingway. That book shutdown, I love it. Elüd Balázs, have a great night. Jó éjszakát mindenkinek. Good night. Shabbat shalom. I wish you all the best, and we will be here, I think probably next week at the same time, the same place. Thank you to Ray. Thank you to Budapest.fm. Jó estét, and I'll see you soon.
