Sziasztok, Jánó vagyok. Közép-Európa első világra szóló 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. Hello, hello, hello. Egészségedre, mindenkinek. Welcome back to another edition of Thursday Night Storytime. Csütötök éjszaka történetidő. Igen. Today we have some excellent stories lined up for you. We've got, to start off with, Jason and the Golden Fleece, a legend, a tale from ancient Greece, a story... Literally as old as time itself, or at least time as it's measured by the Western literary tradition. Next up, we're gonna have a chapter from potentially my favorite book of all time, The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. The chapter I've chosen this week is just the debaucherous onslaught of the Festival of San Fermín. You may know it as the Pamplona Running of the Bulls festival. And then finally, I've got some Hungarian poetry selected. We're gonna start off with Petőfi Sándor, Szeptember végén, as it is the end of September after all. So we've got some people on Instagram, we've got the people coming in on YouTube, we've got some people in Facebook. As always, feel free to chat me into the chat room. I can see your messages, and I hope that we can get some dialogue going. And if you feel brave enough, you can come on video with me. Ray's just popped up the link, www.budapest.fm/willie. We'll be here for the next hour, hour and a half, so feel free to pop in, pop out, shake it all about, and do your thing. And now, without further ado, Jason and the Golden Fleece. This is a tale from ancient Greece, and it's a tale that is just excellent. It's rewritten many, many different times by many authors, just as last week when we read a story about William Tell, Tell Vilmos, rewritten by my grandmother's friend Leonard Everett Fisher, 95-year-old artist. He has again rewritten Jason and the Golden Fleece, or he did it like 20 years ago, 30 years ago. But either way, it's coming to you now. And I'm gonna read this through, and then I'm gonna see who's here, see if anyone's in the chat. Feel free to pop some questions, comments, concerns, especially concerns, and yeah, we'll get some conversation going in between stories. So here we go. Jason and the Golden Fleece. Egeszsegedre. The ancient Greeks believed that gods and goddesses often visited them, disguised as humans or animals. Greek stories are filled with adventures of gods and goddesses, monsters, animals, heroes, and heroines. Here is a tale about a Greek hero, Jason of Iolcus. Jason's father, Aeson, should have been king of Iolcus, but the country had fallen into the hands of Jason's evil cousin, Pelias. When Jason grew up, he went to the palace. You have no right to the throne, he said to his cousin. It belongs to my father. King Pelias was sly. He liked being the king. Quickly, he thought of a plan for getting rid of Jason. Bring me the Golden Fleece, and your father shall have his kingdom back, Pelias said. It is in faraway Colchis, and it hangs from a tree in a secret grove guarded by a sleeping dragon. Turning to his chief advisor, the king whispered, Jason will never come back alive. I shall fetch the Golden Fleece and lay it at your feet. Jason declared he was ready for a great adventure. Jason ordered Argus, the boat builder, to construct a sturdy ship, the Argo. He then chose fifty of the strongest men of Greece to go with him on the dangerous voyage. They were all sons and grandsons of gods and goddesses. Among them were the twin brothers, Castor and Pollux, who could calm mountainous waves and soothe terrifying winds. He also chose the mighty Hercules, famous throughout Greece for his strength. With a hot sun above and a flat sea beneath, the Argonauts set sail for Colchis. Pushed eastward by a stiff breeze and stout oarsmen, the Argo sliced through the Aegean Sea. Soon, the island of Lemnos rose out of the pink dawn. The Argonauts went ashore for fresh water, food, and rest. They discovered that there were no men on the island. The women had rebelled and killed all but Theos, the old king. They had sent him adrift in a small boat. Now lonely, the women welcomed the Argonauts and gave them water, food, and fresh clothing. As the Argonauts left Lemnos, a water nymph floated with Hylas, Hercules' young servant. When Hylas reached for the lovely nymph, she pulled him into the water. Down and down she drew him until they reached the watery deep of her home. Hercules jumped into the sea after his servant. Hurry! cried Jason. We have to leave. Not until I find Hylas! Hercules yelled. He refused to quit searching. Jason ordered the Argo to sail on, leaving his mighty oarsman stranded in the Aegean Sea. After several days of hard sailing, the Argonauts landed on another island for a night's rest. There they met Phineus, a starving old man who could predict the future. Once, his predictions had angered Zeus, who did not like anyone to see the future but himself. He punished Phineus by sending nasty, foul-smelling harpies to eat his meals. Jason pitied the old man. He ordered two of the Argonauts, sons of the North Wind, Castor and Pollux, to slay the monsters. They stood guard as the shrieking harpies swooped down to devour Phineus's dinner. But before the harpies could act, they ate the old man's meal. Carried by their father, the North Wind, the two Argonauts caught the monsters. They were about to kill them when Zeus appeared, saved his hounds, and ended Phineus's punishment. Old Phineus then feasted as he had never feasted before. He warned the Argonauts. He warned the Argonauts of many dangers ahead, like the Symplegades, the crashing rocks guarding the entrance to the Black Sea. You will not see them at first, he cautioned. They are hidden in the mist. Two huge rocks, ready to roll together and crush your ship between them. How shall we sail through them? Jason asked the old man. Send a dove between the rocks, he replied. If the dove makes it through, so will you. But you must be quick. There will be little time. As the Argo and her crew reached the Symplegades, two great rocks loomed out of the mist and closed in on them. Quickly, Jason released the dove. It lost only a few tail feathers as it made it through the rocks safely. The Argos oarsmen rowed their vessel into the narrow passage. The rocks smashed shut behind them, nipping a few planks from the ship's stern. The slightly damaged ship lurched into the gently rolling Black Sea and continued on her way. Yo esteits, mate. Yo esteits mindenkinek. Üdvözljük, welcome, welcome, we are in the middle of a tale. Jason and the Argonauts, they've just made it through the Symplegades, heeding the warning of Phineas, and they're on their way to Colchis, which, if you are not aware, Colchis is on the Black Sea, and it's the modern-day country of Georgia. And Jason is hunting for the Golden Fleece. He's hunting for the Golden Fleece so he can go back to Iolkos, the island where he's from in Greece, and claim the throne for his father. From his evil cousin, and if he can get this fleece, allegedly the evil cousin's going to give back the throne. So here he is with the Greek heroes. He's got Hercules, although they left him back in the dust. A few others, Castor, Pollux, all sort of demigods, semi-gods, and the like. And they are getting and arriving to Colchis eventually. And now we shall continue the tale. Oh, an excellent ferment. 2017. Kate the Zetes and Hate. On the other side of the rocks, the air was hot and still. The Argo's sail hung limp, exhausted. The crew slumped over their oars as the ship drifted eastward. Soon they passed the land of the Amazons. Old Phineas had told Jason about this race of warrior goddesses. They are daughters of Ares, the god of war, he had warned. Beware, if you fight them, few of you will survive. Do nothing foolish. The Argonauts pulled on their oars as the huge sail caught a sharp breeze. The Argo quickly slipped past the green hills and sandy beaches as the shouting warrior women watched them go. Finally, the Argonauts arrived in Colchis, and Jason went to see the king. I have come for the golden fleece, he declared. King Aetes was not about to give up his carefully guarded treasure. He challenged Jason to complete four impossible tasks. You shall have your golden fleece only after you yoke two fire-breathing bulls and plow a field. You must sow the furrows with dragon teeth, from which will sprout an army that you must defeat. Alone. Medea, the king's daughter, was a sorceress. As soon as she saw Jason, she fell instantly in love with him and would do anything to help him. I will give you a magic lotion that will protect you, she told him, but you must agree to marry me. The love-struck Jason agreed. Jason covered himself with Medea's magic lotion and faced the two snorting bulls. Their flaming nostrils heated the air as they trotted around the field, kicking up a thunderous cloud of dust. They wheeled and charged, their flames reaching out and searing Jason's skin. Sidestepping one bull, Jason drove the other to his knees and kept him there. The first bull turned and charged again. Its bronze hooves pounded the hard ground. Jason grabbed him and drove him to his knees as well. With lightning speed, he yoked them both. Next, Jason grooved furrow after furrow, covering the field with straight, shallow trenches. He sowed them with some dragon's teeth that Medea had given him. Within minutes, hundreds of soldiers rose out of the newly sown fields. They headed for Jason. Aha! cried Aeetes. Now he's done for. The stone, Medea said to herself. Throw the stone. She had slipped a magic stone to Jason among the dragon's teeth. Toss it in their midst, and you will not be harmed, she had whispered to him earlier. Jason tossed the stone at the oncoming soldiers. They stopped, and they fought each other until none were left alive. Jason had won. He had proven himself with the help of Medea's magic. Medea led Jason to the grove where the dragon guarded the golden fleece. The dragon roared, belching smoke and cinders as they approached. Medea cast a spell over the monster, putting it to sleep. Jason seized the fleece and raced with Medea to the beach where the Argo and her crew were waiting. They boarded the ship and set sail for Greece. King Aetes was enraged. He sent Medea's brother, Absirtus, after the ship. But Absirtus and his crew were no match for the Argo. They perished at sea. The Argo cut across the Black Sea and again escaped the crashing rocks of the Symplegades. Once past Lemnos, she ran into violent storms that drove herself to the coast of Crete. There, as the Argonauts tried to hold the Argo steady, a giant made of bronze attacked them. He hurled huge boulders at the ship. Then he waded into the deep water to destroy the Argo with his bronze hands. But he sank and he drowned because he was made of bronze. The danger was over, and the Argo headed north for home. Jason returned triumphantly to Iolcus with the golden fleece. He had met King Pelias's challenge. Jason's father, Aeson, could now regain the throne. But while Jason had been away, King Pelias had made life so unbearable for Aeson that Aeson had killed himself. Jason's mother, Perimede, had died of grief soon after. Torn by sorrow, Jason turned to Medea for help. I shall trick Pelias into drinking a magic potion, she promised. And when he is asleep, I shall persuade his daughters to murder him. I shall tell them that if they kill him, he'll come back to life as a young man. Medea's plan worked, and Pelias was murdered by his daughters. Afterwards, they were furious that they had been tricked. Jason and Medea fled to Corinth, where they married and had two sons. They were happy for a while. But then Jason fell in love with Glauce, daughter of King Creon of Corinth. More than anything, he wanted to marry her, so he had Medea banished from the city. Jason blamed his change of heart on Aphrodite, goddess of love. You and Aphrodite used magic to make me fall in love with you, he told Medea. But now I love Glauce. If it were not for my help, protested Medea, you would not have been able to seize the Golden Fleece. Maddened by Jason's betrayal, Medea prepared a dazzling cloak for Jason's bride. When Glauce put it on, her flesh began to burn. She died in agony. Next, Medea murdered her own children, fearing that if they lived, Jason would torment and banish them too. Jason angrily set out to slay Medea. She escaped in a chariot drawn by winged dragons. Jason was left with no family or friends. For the rest of his life, he wandered all over Greece, alone and homeless. The end. Well, there you have it, Jason and the Golden Fleece. Kind of a little bit of a twist ending there, if you will. I'm not sure if it was the twist that we were looking for. Perhaps a little bit dark. But the whole story is heroic and magnificent, and it kind of shows you, in my opinion, what I find interesting about this is that the Greek legends and the Greek myths, they're just as heroic and triumphant as perhaps our Marvel movies or our Disney films or our modern-day legends and tales. But they also have the reality involved in them that things don't always work out so well after that moment of triumph or after that moment of heroism. And it's sort of like a cautionary tale in a way that everything can be going really well, but then all of a sudden, love like that snaps into darkness and everything ends in horrible tragedy. And the Greeks and the Romans, for that matter, they were sort of up front about this. Sort of a cynical way to live. But nonetheless, the story, the story, the story is just magnificent. The way that Jason bravely sets out to redeem this golden fleece, this golden talisman. I mean, this is something that's repeated throughout history in the Christian tradition, in the Judeo-Christian tradition, hunting for the Holy Grail. If you look at even comedies like Monty Python and the Holy Grail, this adventure story. And here we have the prototype of it going out and hunting. For something magnificent, something marvelous. Whoever's in the chat, if you're in YouTube, if you're in Facebook, feel free to pop some comments in there, join the conversation, www.budapest.fm/willie. We are gonna go on to some Ernest Hemingway in just a moment. If anyone has any questions, any comments, I see Mate, Egessegedre to you as well, Egészségedre, mindenkinek. Maybe we'll do a—oh, excuse me—a Hungarian poem in between here. As it is the end of September, we can read Petőfi Sándor, Szeptember végén, which means the end of September, September 30th, Szeptember végén. And here we are. Még nyílnak a völgyben a kerti virágok, Még zöldell a nyárfa az ablak alatt, De látod amottan a téli világot? Már hó takará el a bérci tetőt. Még ifjú szívemben a lángsugarú nyár, S még benne virít az egész kikelet, De íme sötétét hajam üszke vegyül már, A tél dere már megüté fejemet. Elhull a virág, elillan amlik az élet. Ül, hitvesem, ül az ölembe ide, ki most fejedet kebelemre tevedd le. Holnap nem omolsz-e sírom fülebe? Ó mondd, ha elhűl halok, el tetemimre künnyezve borítáz-e szemfedelet, s rabra hát e maidan egy ifjú szerelme, hogy elhagyod érte az én nevemet? Ha eldobod egykor az űzve hív fátyolt, fefámra süttéd lobogóul akaszt, én feljövök érte a síri világból, az éj küzepén, s oda leviszem azt. Letörleni véle könnyűimet érted, ki künnyeden elfeledéd hívedet, s e szebeit bekötözni kitéged, még akkor is, ott is, örökre szeret. September végen. Petőfi Sándor, Harledo. I think I need to improve the rhythm a little bit more, eh? All right, I'm gonna try to go through one more time. September végen. Oh, hello everyone on Instagram. How's it going? Megnyílnak a völgyben a kerti virágok, megszűnt a nyárfa az ablak előtt. Te látod a motána téli világot, már hó takara, el a béci tetőt, még ifjú szívemben a láng sugarú nyár, s még benne virít az egész kikelet, de ime sötét hajam, őszbe vegyül már. A tél dere már megüté fejemet, elhull a virág, eliramlik az élet, ül hitvesem, ül az ölembe ide, ki most fejedet kebellemre tevéd le, holnap nem омосе, sírom fölibe, ó mondd, ha előbb halok el, tetememre, künnyezve borítsad e szemfödelet, s rabirátsz-e majd, ha nem ifjú szerelmem, hogy elhagyod érte az én nevemet; ha eldobod egykor az özvegyi fátyolt, fejfámra sötét lobogóul akaszd, én feljövök érte a síri világból, az éj közepéncs oda leviszem azt; letörleni véle könnyüimet érted, ki könnyedén elfeledéd hivedet, s e szebeit bekötözni, ki téged még a korís ótís örökre szeret. September végén, the end of September. Petőfi Sándor. So I'm gonna read that once now in English, try to make sense of it. We got this dual book translation here called The Lost Rider, a bilingual anthology, and this is the— Translation by George Sirtes. Sziasztok, a zene egy kicsivel lehetne halkabb a hangodnál. Alexa, could you help us translate that? Ah, okay. She says that the music could be a little bit less loud. Köszönöm szépen. Okay. Petőfi Sándor, End of September. This is the English translation. Below in the valley, the flowers are resplendent. Outside by the window, the poplars still glow. But see where the winter, already ascendant, has covered the far distant hilltops with snow. My heart is still bathed in the fierce sun of passion. All spring is in bloom there by spring breezes tossed. But look how my hair turns hoary and ashen. It's raven black touched by the premature frost. The petals are falling and life is declining. Come sit in my lap, my beloved, my own. You with your head in my bosom repining. Tomorrow perhaps will you mourn me alone. Tell me the truth. Should I die, will your sorrow extend to the day when new lovers prepare? Your hearts for forsaking, insisting you borrow their name and abandon the one we now share. If once you should cast off the black veil of mourning, let it stream like a flag from the cross where I lie. And I will arise from the place of sojourning to claim it and take it where life is put by. Employing it there to dry traces of weeping for a lover who could so lightly forget, and blind and bind up the wounds and the hearts in your keeping, which loved you before and will worship you yet. Wow. So I believe that Petőfi Sándor is sort of comparing here the seasons changing and the end of the fall coming and into winter to love after death, and whether this idea of love continues on into the afterlife or something of that nature. Does anyone else have some help that they could provide me? Maybe if you're on the stream, could you provide me with some sort of commentary on what you think the poem is meaning? Does any Hungarians have any help there? Just put it in the chat if you have any questions or if you have any commentary, any thoughts about this poem. Széva, says John Smith. Kovács János, nem. This was super. Ah, köszönöm szépen, Csuhi. Köszönöm szépen. Azt hiszem, nagyon jó vers nekem, mert most nem lehet hallani a zenét. Now he can't hear the music. So, you know, we got the music going, we got the music falling, but the music, the real music here is the music of Petőfi Sándor, and he's such a profound poet. I've always found, for me, nekem, töltened Petőfi Sándor, töltened Nagyon, nagyon érdekes, mert nagyon bátor, nagyon vitéz katona, és nagyon-nagyon okos, talán legokosabb magyar költő, és nagyon-nagyon fiatal, amikor ő meghalt. Mert ő nemcsak költő, de is katona, és 1848-1849 perce a háború, a szabadságharc, Ausztrianak, és Petőfi Sándor szomorú de meghalt. De csak, azt hiszem nem tudom, de Huszonhét, huszonnyolc, talán huszonhat, és már legírta magyar költő. És nagyon-nagyon jó, nagyon érdekes, nagyon bátor, nagyon vitéz, és azt hiszem óvasok egy verset, egy más. Szeptember végén, magyarul. És utána kérlek, írnak nekem. Jó. Például mit költő, ki szeretnél hallani jövő Petőfi Sándor utána? Talán Ady Endre, talán nem tudom, Balassi Bálint, Balassi Bálint, nem tudom. Írnak nekem. Petőfi Sándor utolsó, utolsó idő, szeptember végén. Még nyílnak a völgyben a kerti virágok, Még zöldell a nyárfa az ablak előtt, De látod amottan a téli világot? Már hó takará el a bérci tetőt. Még ifjú szívemben a lángsugár rúnyár, S még benne virít az egész kikelet, De íme sötét hajam őszbe vegyül már, A tél dere már megüté fejemet. Elhull a virág, eliramlik az élet, Ül, hitvesem, ül az ölembe ide! Ki most fejedet, kebelemre tevedd le, holnap nem omolsz-e sírom földebe, ó mondd, ha elhűl, hálok-e tetememre, künnyezve borításse, szemfüdelet, s rábírhat-e majdan egy ifjú szerelme, hogy elhagyjod érte az én nevemet? Ha eldobod egykor az űzve gyűjt fátyolt, fejfámra sötét lobogóul akasszd, én feljövök érted a síri világból, az éj küzepén, s oda leviszem azt, letörleni vele könnyűimet érted, ki künnyedén elfeledéd hívedet, s iszív sebeit bekötözni kideged, még akkor is, ott is, örökre szeret. 1847. So this was right before the war of independence and right before Petőfi Sándor died. And it's kind of, I don't know, nagyon érdekes to think that he was sort of, in a way, predicting his own death here, as many great poets do. So Egészségedre, Petőfi Sándor, Egészségedre, mindenkinek. And here's to heading into the winter with some positivity and some hope. Let's see, we have a few comments coming in. Quiet Raving, hello. Yo, alive, köszi. Ah, thank you. Köszönöm szépen. Tip. Legközelebbre verüres Sándor, Pilinszky János, József Attila. Okay, we could do some of that. We could do some of that for sure. I was going to read some Ernest Hemingway, but if people want to hear some more Hungarian poetry, it seems like we got a room full of Hungarian poetry fanatics, maybe we can just go do some more of that. I love poetry. I'm learning. And again, guys, if you're in the chat room, keep the comments coming, questions, recommendations, whichever poets you would like to hear. But also, just remember that you can join in the video, budapest.fm/willie. Ray is going to keep putting the link right there. Join the conversation right below me, and feel free. Click it, come in, and we can chat face to face. Could be fun. Could be lots of fun, actually. I hope that you do. Thank you for all your comments. Thank you for your participation. Egészségedre, Judit. To you too. Adriendre Szabó Lőrinc, Tóth Árpád, is jöhet. All right, let's see who we have in here. In this book, we have a few different poets. We've got Balassi Bálint, Zrínyi Miklós, Faludi Ferenc, Batsányi János, Vaszekhes Mihály, Csokonai Vitéz Mihály, Berzsenyi Dániel, Kölcsey Ferenc, Arany János, Vörösmarty Mihály, Arany János petőfi Sándor. It's a who's who of Magyar kultúra. Kis József, Reviczky Gyula, Ady Endre. Okay, someone said Ady Endre, so he was the first one that I've seen here. Did someone say Tóth Árpád? I believe we had one. Tóth Árpád, Judit. All right, Judit. Because you asked for it, we will read some Tóth Árpád. This is the magic of the chat room, people. If you keep these recommendations coming, we can just do whatever you want. It's magic. Tóth Árpád. He lived from ezer nyolcszáz... Nyolcvan hat, toll, ezerkilencszáz huszonnyolcig. Wow, what a life. Pretty short. Just 42 years. You're very welcome. Thank you, says Judith. You are very welcome. Szívesen. So, we have three choices. We have Kuruti hajna, we have Esdi sugar koszorú, or we have Lelektül lelekig. And, Kuruti hajna, Esdi sugar koszorú, Lelektül lelekig. What do you guys say? What do you want to hear? Which one? Let's see. 240, 242, 244. While I'm looking for that, please feel free to send your recommendations into the comment section. We've got three great choices. I don't know what any of those words mean. Oh, dawn on the Ring Road, evening radiance from soul to soul. They all sound fairly sentimental. A lot of recommendations coming in. Faludi, Aprili Lajos. Awesome. Thank you guys so much for participating. I love to see this. Okay, let's see. Esdi sugar koszorú, evening radiance. It sounds quite melodic. All right, let's give this one a spin. I guess I could draw. All three are great, but Esdi sugar koszorú is the best. Ha! It's like I read your minds, or I just got lucky. 30 percent chance. Here we go. Totarpad. Esdi sugar koszorú. Elültünk, már hanvasha, váltazott. És árnyak, teste zuhant, átta parkon. De még finom, halk sugar koszorút. Fontájad sütét, lombjaba, az alkony. Halván, szelíd, és komoly rádiógást. Mély már alig volt fények, földi mása. S felég, illatta, s csende szürteját. Ádogok, esti lélek vándorlása. Illattá s csende, titkok illata. Fénylet, hajadban spéke, egi csendje. És jó volt élni, mint ahogy soha. S a fényt, szemem, beitta a szívembe. Nem tudtam tűrni, hogy tévágye te. Vagy ádott, csipke bokor, drága tested. Mélyben egy Isten szárta földre le, s lombjából velem, az ő lelke rezgett. Égezve álltam sokkal csöndesen, és percek mentek, ezredévek jöttek. Egyszerre csak megfogtad a kezem, s állt piláim, lásán felvetültek. És éreztem, szívembe visszatér, és zúhogó mézenevel ered meg, mint zsibbadt erek útjain a vér. Á, földi érzés, mennyire szeretlek. Ezerkilencszázhuszonhárom. Esti sugarkoszorú, totarpad. Very interesting. Nagyon érdekes. Köszönöm szépen, Judit. Az én kedvenc versem Petőfi Sándor Szeretlek, kedvesem. Okay, csuhi. Nagyon jó, nagyon jó. Evening radius. Let's see what this is in English. Let's see what this is in English. The road before us turns a deep rose color, and shadows are strewn like bodies in the park. But dusk still wears a delicate, bright pallor in the branches of your hair against the dark, a fair and gentle serious brilliance, one not to be confused with earthly light, thin to something between scent and silence by souls of things that wander in the night. To scent and silence, your hair glimmered in war, the scent of secrets, a holy peace and quiet, and life was sweeter than ever before. My eyes drank in the light and fed my heart. I could not tell if you were you or if your body were a bush of briars now, invaded by some god whose soul would huff and puff at me from every branch and bough. For some time I stood silently and spellbound. The minutes passed, millennia went by. Then suddenly you took hold of my hand. My heavy eyelids slowly rose and I experienced within my heart again a wellspring of deep music flooding through, as blood fills the numbed courses of the veins, a stirring in the clay, my love of you. Wow, quite deep. I mean, the Hungarian version seems to be a little bit more, I don't know, deep, deep, deep. But this English translation is really quite tremendous love ballad, a love ode. If anyone else has another poem that they would like me to read, we just had totarpad. Judit, Judit, excuse me, recommended it. It's a great choice. Köszönöm szépen, Tényleg. Nagyon szép vers. Köszönjük. Neked is, köszönjük. Neked is, köszönjük. Vagy neked is köszönöm. És nem tudom, nem tudom, mit jövő. Attila József, Talán. Mit kérsz? Mit kértek? Mit kértek? What do you want next? Your wish is my command. Again, the link down below. Join the conversation. Click on that link, and we can chat video-wise. Judit, Mate, Chuhi, Quiet Raving, any of the people that are in the stream, feel free to pop in and join. I think now maybe we'll go to a one-minute short story by a Hungarian writer. His name is Őrkény István. And Alexa actually got me this book as a gift. Thank you very much. And he's got some excellent little rövid történet. Angolul igazából, angolul. But we shall read one of those as a nice little break between. Okay, let's see. What do we got here? Triplets in Obuda. Sounds like an adventure I had once. Newspapers. The eyes of the world are focused on the obstetrics ward of the Obuda Hospital, where, without any previous training, a cleaning woman from a factory brought triplets into the world. What's more, the triplets are joined at the shoulder. This beat the world record set in the 19th century, when a woman gave birth to a pair of Siamese twins, because there were just two of them, whereas to the eternal glory of all Hungarian mothers, the Obuda triplets are three. People have veritably laid siege to the hospital, heaping flowers, presents, and good wishes on the mother, who, along with her newborn babies, is in the best of health. Television. When it learned about the birth of the Obuda triplets, Hungarian television promptly cut short its scheduled programming, announced the news for the benefit of the viewers, then broadcast pictures of the Obuda water tower.
Tower, víztorony, as well as the sewage disposal facility, whose construction is proceeding according to plan. The announcer cautioned all citizens against an excessive show of emotion and asked that the populace remain calm. Statements. I hereby wish to express my gratitude to all those who wished me luck or were kind enough to bring me presents on the occasion of the birth of my three sons, who came into the world united by the shoulder. Mrs. Lajos Thierbész. Medical opinion. The birth of the so-called Obuda triplets, the Obuda triplets, gave rise to much hearsay. There already have been rumors of four, even five babies. In view of such nationalistic propaganda, we at the obstetrics ward— that's a terribly difficult word— obstetrics ward, feel it our civic duty to say it like it is. Undoubtedly, three babies joined at the shoulder have recently come into the world, but this is not such a big deal. It could just as easily have happened in the Soviet Union or some other socialist country. They should be thought of like someone holding three knaves in his hand at cards, except the knaves are joined. We further wish to state that here at the obstetrics ward, we did not encourage the mother to perform such an extravagant feat, and in the future, we will continue to deliver completely normal single babies only. Government bulletin. Inside sources have borne out that the news about the Obuda triplets have been maliciously exaggerated. The government has set up a special committee which has discovered that the Obuda triplets consist of just one normal male child joined at the shoulder by half of another normal male child. Since there is nothing extraordinary in this, the government plans to implement no changes, no changes, I repeat, no changes, in its present policies. It will continue construction of the Budapest-Vienna speedway and will go on expressing its solidarity with our allies. Invitation. The National Women's Association invited Mrs. Lajos Fierbase for a friendly chat, hoping to clarify how many baby boys she actually delivered in Obuda. The pleasant afternoon tea stretched into the evening hours because, with understandable motherly pride, Mrs. Fierbase would not admit, except after much persuasion, that she'd been suffering from double vision all her life. But after a time, no one laughed as hard as she when she learned that not only did she see her children double, but even the galert hill. What's more, she had been laboring under the impression that there were two women's associations in Hungary, not to mention two political parties. Letter to the editor. I am a mother of one and a half children. Why do I have to buy two tram tickets then, and why do I have to buy two sets of high school textbooks when I don't have two, just one and a half sons? Also, why don't they make half cherry kisses for my half son, who loves them to distraction? Ruling. We are sorry to inform you that your college application has been rejected because your previous studies and college entrance examination scores, in short, your exceptional scholastic abilities, may make the average students feel inferior, seeing how they've just got one brain apiece. Police announcement. A 20-year-old man who left his Obuda apartment in a highly dejected state of mind hasn't been seen since. Personal description: one blue eye, one set of 16 teeth, a regular semicircular face, special distinguishing marks. His other half is missing. Classified advertisement. Having lost two brothers, a deeply disillusioned young man of unexceptional appearance and unexceptional mental abilities seeks the acquaintance of a young lady who will reciprocate his unexceptional feeling with unexceptional feeling of her own. Respond to: inconspicuous. 1969, the year that man went to the moon. So that story, you can even call it a story. It's sort of like a, I don't know, 10 or 11 different views chronologically of what happens after these triplets are born in Obuda, and this sort of initially miraculous situation turns into an absolute farce. And oh, hérno, what's going on? Hi, how are you today? Nagyon jól vagyok. Nagyon-nagyon jól, igazából. I'm very, very well. I'm here, I'm reading. I'm with Ray. I'm with Alexa. I'm drinking some wine. I'm learning about the absurdity of the communist era in Hungary, where the birth of three triplets turns into this, like, spectacle of thing that someone's interested in. And once it gains interest, and once people are like, Wow, this is amazing. Look, this lady had three triplets and they were born at the shoulders and connected. It's never happened before. It's like a freakish oddity. And now all of a sudden the government is trying to figure out a way that they can make it seem unexceptional. So the loops and the hoops that they have to jump through to figure out how to define and classify these triplets as being something out of the ordinary. is just ridiculous, and they have to, like, say that it's only one and a half kids, and that there was nothing that happened that was out of the ordinary, even though it's like a complete freak occurrence and, like, obviously to everyone it's like something miraculous, but they have to sort of define this and say, listen, the triplets, it's just one child, just one child, maybe one and a half children, and we're gonna focus on our Vienna to Budapest superhighway instead. And this is written at a time, 1969, kind of before the communist system had really started to go on the downslope, because once you get to the late '70s, early '80s, and especially the late '80s, people know the writing's on the wall. The communism is gonna fall globally. But at this point, there's still in this sort of bipolar, who's gonna win, the West or the communists? And authors like Örkény István, they were kind of trying to point out through carefully selected prose and carefully selected anecdotes and show the people just how ridiculous the system was. So that was very illuminating for me. And thank you, Herno, for your comment. I appreciate that. Look at the color of that ferment. It's quite a deep yellow. Huh, érdekes. Okay, everyone, what do we want next? Do we want more Hungarian poetry? More Hungarian poetry? If you want more Hungarian poetry, put it in the comment section. If you would like some Ernest Hemingway, Ernest Hemingway, I think that's his Hungarian name, Ernest Hemingway, put that in the comment section as well. Tell me which poet you want, if you want some more Petőfi Sándor, some József Attila, or if you just want good old Ernest, and we probably have time for a few more stories here. Maybe about 20 minutes to go in the stream. Willie, what's the most interesting thing you've learned in the last couple of weeks, either from history or literature? A very good question, Ryan Lane. Thank you for that one. The most interesting thing that I've learned: the leg Atatürkesh dolog. Tom, Tom. Well, I've been very, very, very focused over the past week or so, academically at least, on this story about the Bocskai Felkelés. And the Bocskai Felkelés is the Bocskai Uprising, and this occurs at a time, at the end of the 16th century, when the Ottoman Empire and the Habsburgs were in this conflict, this war against each other, called the Long War or the Fifteen Years' War, the Tizenöt éves háború, whatever you want to say. And this happens during a time when Hungary is being carved up like a Christmas turkey because you got these two massive powers, the Habsburgs and the Ottomans. And Hungary is sort of this used-to-be massive power, especially if you look like 100 years ago during the time of Mátyás király, and even before that with Nagy Lajos and Hunyadi János, and you had this sort of like nagy magyarország during the medieval era. But then you have the decline, you have the Dózsa György peasant rebellion, going into the Battle of Mohács when the Ottoman Turks come in, and now as we go through the 16th century, Hungary has been chopped and changed, and it's a three-part country. And you have Royal Hungary, which is under Habsburg control. You have occupied Hungary, which is in the center, and that's where the Ottoman Turks are setting up shop. And then you have Erdély and the Partium in the east, in Transylvania. And that is like the nominally still Hungarian parts of the country under Hungarian control, but it's really not actually under Hungarian control. It's sort of used as this, like, pawn brokerage system where the Habsburgs and the Ottomans are having this pivot, this pivot, and they're sort of fighting over control. And you have a situation where Zsigmond Báthory, and he's the son of Báthory Kristóf, who's the younger brother of Báthory István. And Báthory István and Báthory Kristóf, they're pretty strong leaders, excuse me, but Báthory Zsigmond is not so strong. He is a purported homosexual, and one of the main pieces of evidence for this is that Maria Christina, who's supposed to be his Habsburg wife, they never consummate the marriage, they never have sex. And if you're a, you know, Central European king who's really relying on the ability to have an heir and have a son in order to continue your dynasty, and you're not going to have sex with your wife, there's pretty much one of two reasons for that: either you're impotent or you're gay. And, you know, where there's smoke, there's fire. People say that Báthory Zsigmond, he was probably gay. Not only that, but he's also just this very weak and ineffectual leader, and he's running into the kingdom, he's running out of the kingdom. Anyway, if we want to get to what your question was, which is the most interesting thing that I learned, well, I learned about this thing called the Véres farsang, Farsang véres, the Bloody Carnival, Farsang véres, and this occurs during the Fifteen Years' War because Bocskai István, who's sort of the guardian... Of this indecisive, ineffectual, impotent leader named Báthory Zsigmond, he is sort of like staying on the side of the Habsburgs, kind of, not really, doesn't really know. But then this thing happens called the véres farsang, the Bloody Carnival, where the Sekais—and the Sekais were one of the three nations in Transylvania. You had the Saxon Germans, you had the Magyars, you had the Sekais, you even had the Wallachians. But the Sekais, they're this sort of group that is like the Erdély, the Transylvanian Hungarians, and they come in to support Báthory Zsigmond and the Habsburg side, I believe, and then they just get slaughtered. And there's this thing called the farsangveres, the Bloody Carnival, and it's quite an interesting turning point in this war that leads—one of the things that leads to Bocskai István and the hajdúk coming into their own as this, like, political movement and having the seeds of rebellion stirred. And then we have the Bocskai felkelés, which I hope to learn more about next week. But I learned about some other things also that don't have to do with Hungarian history. I just can't really remember what they are. Ady Endre, Űrizem a szemed. Is that the name of a poem? I don't know if I have that here. Let's see. Űrized a szemed? Űrized a szemed. Oh, hi. Is there some József Attila in the book? Would be great to hear it, says Zoltan Komor. There is József Attila. Let's see, we can do maybe one Ady Endre, one József Attila, Zoltan Komor. Cool picture. Let's see, let's see, let's see if we have the Ady Endre poem that was requested. Adrienne, where are you? Ah, we don't have that particular Adrienne poem, but we do have Parisban járt az ősz. I think that's something about Paris in the fall. That could be nice. Speaking of expats in the fall, here I am in the fall. Autumn appeared in Paris. Parisban járt az ősz. Mintáz Budapestben. Budapesten járt az ősz. All right, here we go. Adrienne. Parisban járt az ősz. Autumn appeared in Paris. What's up, Lee? Parisban tegnap beszökött az ősz, Szent Mihály útján suhant nesztelen, Kanikulában, halk lombok alatt, Stállal kozott velem. Bálogtam éppen a szánta felé, S egy teknellkemben kis rőzse dalok, Füsttütiség, furcsa, bús sak, Bíborok, arany, horgy, mellhagolok. Elért az ősz és súgott valamit, Szent Mihály útja beleremegett. Züm, züm, röppködtek végig az úton. Trejfás, fálevelek. Edgeperts, a nyár meg sem hűkült bele. S Parisból az üst kacagva szaladt. Itt járt, s hogy itt járt én tudom csupán. Nyűgű lombok alatt. Parisban járt az ősz. 1906. Paris in 1906. I wonder if Ariandre knew Picasso, because I believe that's when Picasso was there also. He might have been in his weird blue period. Not really sure. Anyone have any fun facts about Ariandre? What was he doing over in Paris? He's a very, like, sort of dark, mysterious, kind of sultry figure. He has these big, thick lips, this sort of, I don't know, clairvoyant expression in his eyes, like he knows something that we don't. Or perhaps he was just a giddy poet high on life and perhaps some other substances as well. Who really knows? Who really knows? And what does that poem mean in English? Autumn appeared in Paris yesterday, silent down Saint Michael its swift advance, in stifling heat under unmoving branches. We met as if by chance, ambling in the direction of the Seine. My soul was brent with tiny shreds of song. Dark things, oddments, squibs, laments which whispered, The death would not be long. Autumn caught up and mumbled in my ear. The entire boulevard trembled to the eaves. Along the street, as if half jesting, flew bright-eyed civic leaves. A moment. Summer hardly had drawn its breath, but autumn was on its cackling way and now was gone, and I, the only living witness, under the creaking bough. It seems like fall and the coming of fall is a rather poetic theme for Hungarian poetry. The end of fall, the beginning of fall, the end of September, autumn in Paris. And I think for myself as well, it does have this sort of, I don't know, like more significant introspection than perhaps the other seasons do. Fun fact: Hedy was born with six fingers on each hand. That's pretty cool. Adrienne, born with six fingers on each hand. Thank you, Zoltan, for that wonderful, wonderful fact. Is the stream still going? Alexa, could I have a unicum? Kérlek. Köszönöm szépen. So we're gonna get one Unicum in here and then perhaps read a little bit of József Attila, maybe two or three more poems. We're good? Yeah. All right, cool. That's okay. How's the poetry? They can hear me? All right, cool. All right. Oh, we're still on, on the other camera. All right, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. All right, folks. I don't know who's still here, who's bounced out, but we got a couple more poems left. And yeah, we'll see where that takes us. I've got a bottle of Unicum here, Unicum Barista, the new coffee Unicum. We were actually lucky enough to tour the factory today, and it was delightful. So, Unicum Barista, the special glasses. Look at this. Look at this, like an Italian coffee glass made for Unicum. I think if I have any more than one of these, well, I don't know what will happen. Ooh, that's a big pour. That's a healthy pour. What's that? Oh, yeah. Zwack Sándor, the owner of Unicum, actually gifted me this today. He gave me a tour of the facility. Someone asked me what was the most interesting thing that I learned this week, and I gave a fairly long-winded answer about 16th century Hungarian history. But in actuality, it was the entire life story of the Unicum founder—or not the Unicum founder, but the Unicum owner for many years—who was the current owner, Zwack Sándor, his father. And his father was named Péter, Péter, Péter, Zwack Péter, and he was like a guy that was born in 1927 and was born into basically, like, Hungarian royalty, being the owner of Unicum, and then had his entire family fortune taken away from him. And then he had to migrate to New York, and he snuck the recipe out, and then he went to Italy and was producing Unicum. Under the Italian protection, basically, because he was kicked out of Hungary, and then 40 years later gets invited back into Hungary at the end of the Hungarian communism, comes back, claims his company, becomes the Hungarian ambassador in Washington, becomes a Hungarian politician, has his apartment molotov cocktail bombed for going against some shady figures, and then builds the company back up to, you know, Unicum what it is today, which is a massively, massively important company in Hungary, and my favorite drink, Kedvenc ital, and that's probably more important than anything else. So, Egészségedre, we have the Unicum barista, the coffee Unicum. Let's give it a little sniff. Ooh, finom. Zoltán Komor, as we said, fun fact, Adi was born with six fingers on each hand. Is that true? Is that true? Ady Endre was born with six fingers on each hand. That sounds like absolutely wild. I mean, you don't really have a choice to become a poet, but to become a poet if you're born with six fingers on each hand, I mean, it's just a poetic thing in and of itself. All right, Ady Endre, Az illyes szekrény. Let me see one thing here, and then we will go on. I think we have time now. We're going to forget about Hemingway until next week. We're going to read three more Hungarian poems, see where we're going, and then we'll say farewell until Thursday night. Thank you again so much, everyone, for the participation. Continue to share your recommendations, your questions, your comments, your concerns. I'm just going to restart this live stream. On Instagram here. Wow, 215 people joined. That's pretty cool. And then we shall go into this final stage of the evening. Okay. Adyendre, unicum, six fingers on each hand. What else do you really need but that? Goan live. Az íles sekerein. Adyendre, ezer kilencszáz nyolc. Az úr íles ként, elvisi mind, kiket nagyon süt, és szeret, tűzes, gyors, szíveket ad nekik, ezek a tűzes szekerek. Az íles nép ég fele rohan, s megalott hóla teloruk, a himmaláják jegcsucsain, porzik, szekerük és zürük. Ég s föld között, buss hazátlanul, hajtja, űket a sors szele, gonosz, hűvös szépségek fele, száguld az íles szekere. Szívuk izik, agyuk jégcsapos, áföld reájuk fukacság, s jég útjukat szanva szorja nebe, hideg, gyémánt porál a nap. Ezer kilencszáz nyolc. Wow, 1908. On Elijah's chariots. All right, let's just read that quickly in English. The Lord, like Elijah, gathers up his darlings, those with harshest lots, those gifted with quick hearts of flame, become his fiery chariots. Elijah's nation rush to heaven and stop there in perpetual snow to ice-bound Himalayan peaks, their ragged, rattling chariots go. Bleak statelessness, nor earth nor heaven, by winds of fate they're tossed and hurled. Elijah's car makes for the cool and wicked beauties of the world. Their hearts burn bright, their brows are hung with icicles, and how earth laughs. The sun, meanwhile, strews diamond dust like ice along their frozen path. So nice. Thank you, Adi. Thank God you were born with six fingers on each hand. Judit Czeke, what is your favorite Hungarian poem? Kedvenc magyar vers? Nem tudom igazából, mert tényleg imádom a verseket, és nem tudom ha a legjobb vers, de tényleg, tényleg imádom a történetet, mert Arany János nagyon-nagyon szép költő, és nagyon érdekes ember, és igazából a versek, nem tudom, csak tényleg jó történet. I just got a palinka. Cheers. József, Szent Mária, egészségedre. I had some palinka, not earlier today, but yesterday myself. Some házi palinka, some törköly házi palinka, some csakvár törköly házi palinka. Judit, what is your favorite Hungarian poem? If people could all in the comment section, whoever is watching out there in this wide, wide world, please list your favorite Hungarian poems. And if you want to come join me on video, we can do a little video cheers. To the Palinka man, just press that link or go to that link, budapest.fm/willie, join in. And, oh, Blaze BP sent a request to be in your live video on Instagram. Blaze, if you're watching on Instagram, go to Quiet Ravings says, What is your favorite work by Hemingway? My favorite work by Hemingway is The Sun Also Rises, which I was gonna read a chapter of tonight. I don't know if we still have time. Maybe we could read a little bit. Ray, how are we doing on time? Ten minutes? All right, all right. Maybe next week we'll do The Hemingway, but The Sun Also Rises is my favorite Hemingway book, mostly because it was, like, really the first Hemingway that I read and the first Hemingway that I really appreciated. But I think Hemingway is the type of author where you sort of like different things at different moments in your life. And The Sun Also Rises, when I read it, I was a, you know, mid-twenties American living in Europe and loving to go to drink and go to parties and all this stuff. And that's sort of what The Sun Also Rises is all about. You know, Hemingway's going with all these friends to the Festival of San Fermín in Pamplona and just sort of living this post-war nihilistic lifestyle. I mean, the Roaring Twenties back then, everyone's like, Oh, after the coronavirus, the life is gonna be, everyone's gonna be partying. But think about the 1920s. I mean, they didn't just have plague with the Spanish flu, but they also had the World War, which traumatized the hell out of people. Another great Hemingway book, A Farewell to Arms, takes place in World War I, which Hemingway, he was actually a hospital driver, an ambulance driver in World War I. And, yeah, that's a great book. You've got For Whom the Bell Tolls, which takes place during the Spanish Civil War. Excellent. Old Man and the Sea, really Hemingway's masterpiece in many ways. Not my favorite because it's just not as, like, you know, big of a story. The Old Man and the Sea is sort of a short story. It's like a novella, but it's amazing about an old fisherman down in Cuba, just going day after day after drought, no fish, and he finally catches the big one, chases it. Amazing book, because Hemingway, that's sort of what he was. I mean, Hemingway, what a comeback story. He went like a 13-year drought with no... My favorite is Costalani Deju, Halló, ti beszéd. Wallace Bardock is also great. Arany János is one of the best for sure. Thank you very much, Judith. Let's see if we have any Costalani Deju. That's a poet I'm not quite familiar with. I think he's in this book, though. I think we'll do two more poems, and then we'll call it a night. This has been truly delightful. I love how much everyone's interacting with me on the stream. You guys are the best, really, really appreciate it. Makes it all worthwhile to see the comments flying in like they are. Costalani Deju. Ezer nyolcszáz nyolcvánöttől ezer kilencszáz harminchatig. So he died when he was 69? 69. 69. 59. 69, 59. 69. 69. Okay, we don't have the poem that you requested, Judith, but we do have either Homlokom lassan lealdoz, My brow gradually sinks, or Magányos éjszakai csavargás, A solitary night ramble. Let's do a solitary night ramble. I've taken quite a few of those in my own time. Page 202. This is our penultimate poem. Our penultimate. Penultimate is the one before the last one. I know in Hungarian the last is utolsó. What is the one before the last in Hungarian? If anyone could put that in the comment section, I would greatly appreciate. Mit jelent one before last? And now we shall go. Wait, that's szép Ernő. That's not Kosztolányi Dezső. Oh, wow. What did— okay. So maybe we'll do Halotti beszéd. We do have Halotti beszéd. So let's do the Szép Ernő, Maganyos éjszakai csavargás. What the— that is a long poem. All right. Instead, we'll do the one that Judit recommended: Kosztolányi Dezső, Halotti beszéd. I'm sorry, Ernő, but you got to keep it a little bit shorter. Okay. Halotti beszéd. Funeral oration. Interesting favorite, Judit. Interesting favorite. Utolsó előtti. Köszönöm szépen. Here we go. Kosztolányi Dezső, Halotti beszéd. Funeral oration. Látjátok feleim, egyszerre meghalt, és itt hagyott minket magunkra. Megcsalt, ismertük őt. Nem volt nádas és kígyóló, csak… Ámi szívünkhöz közel álló, de nincs már, a kára föld, jaj, összedőlt a kincstár. Okuljatok mindannyian, e példán, ilyen az ember, eggyel dűlni példán. Nem ért belőle tűp, és most sem él, s mint fán, se nő egyforma két levél. A nágyi dűn se lesz hozzá hasonló. Nézzétek, a föld, nézzétek éltült, ez ez üsszeomló, kedves szemet. Nézzétek, itt a kéz, mely a kimondhatatlan küdbe vész, küve meredve, mint egy erekre, erekje. Srá, ég királyság, van karcolva ritka, egyetlen életenek ősi titka. Akárki is volt ő, de fény, de hő volt, mindenki tudta és hirdette: ő volt. A hogy szerete, ez vágy az életet, s szólt ajka, melyet mostan lepecsételt a csönd, s a hogy zengett fülünkbe hangja, mint vízbe sülyedt templomok harangja, a melybe lenn, s a hogy az mondta nemrég: Édes fiacskám, egy kis sajtot ennék, vagy bort ivott és bodogan meredt a kezében ülő ölcső cigaretta. Füstjere és fütott, telefonált, és szűtte, álmát, mint színes fonalat. Áhomlokán feltűnő költajegy, hogy milliók közt az egyetlenegy. Keresed őt, nem leled hiába, se itt, se függfödön, se Ázsiában, a múltban sem, és a gazdag jövőben, akárki megszülethet már, csak ő nem, többé soha, nem gyűl ki halvány furcsa mosolya, szegény álforgandó tündér szerencse, hogy e csodát őjölag megteremtse. Édes barátaim, olyan az épen, mint az az ember ottan a mesében, az élet egyszer csak űrájá gondolt, mi megmesélni kezdtünk róla. Hol volt? Majd rázuhant a mázsás, szörnyű mennybolt, s mi ezt meséljük róla szírva, nem volt. Úgy fekszik ő, ki küzdve tört a jobbra, mint önmagának dermedt némaszobra, nem kelti fül se kürt, se szó, se vegyszer, hol volt, hol nem volt a világon egyszer. Hó, ezerkilencszázhuszonnyolctól ezerkilencszázharmincötig. So you wrote that over a period of seven years. Wild. Okay. Insta Blaze BP. Oh, Balazs, you're the one that wanted to join the live video, right? Blaze BP, if you want to join the live video, Ray is gonna put the link up right now, budapest.fm slash Willie Blaze BP. If you want to chat live video, click that link and press join the conversation, the red button. It would be amazing to have you come in and join me here. We could do a little bit of egga-shegga draw, a little bit of cheers. So, Insta Blaze BP, if you're still on the line, please, by all means, come join. And while we're waiting for Blaze BP to hopefully make his appearance, we're gonna pick out one last poem. Maybe we'll end with a little bit of a József Attila. Hello everyone on Instagram as well, what's up? If you want to join the real stream—not the real stream, but the more high-def stream—we got it going on Facebook, YouTube, Blaze BP. We're waiting for you, budapest.fm slash Willie. And let's do one more poem and see if Blaze BP is gonna come in. Oh, József Attila. Behold, I have found my land. Íme, hát megleltem hazámat. Here we go. Egész segedra. Egész segedtekra. Íme, hát megleltem hazámat. Íme, hát meglátom házamat, a földet, ahol neveltem. Hibátlanul írják füllebem, ha eltemet, ki eltemet. E föld befogad, mint a perzse, mert nem kell, mi sajnáltat latos. Á, háborúból visszamaradt hús, filéres, a vas hatos. Sem a vas gyűrű, mélybe vesve, a szép szó, á, hogy új világ, jog, föld, törvényünk, háborús még, s szebek, áz, arán karikák. Egyedül voltam én sokáig, majd eljutek hozzám sokan. Magad vagy, mondták pár velük voltam, volna én boldogan. Így éltem, s voltam én hiába. Még a láb pit hatom magam. Bolondot játszotok velem, s már hálolom, is hastalan. Mióta éltem, forgószervben próbáltam állni helyemen, nás nevecség, hogy nem véthetem. Tübet, mint vétetek nekem. Széppé tavasz és szépen nyár is, de szebb az ősz, legszebb a tél. Anak ki tűzhelyet, családot, már végképp másoknak remél. Wow. Behold. I have found my land. Huh. Behold, I have found my land, the country where my name's cut without a false, by him who is to bury me. If he was bred to dig my vaults, earth gapes, I drop into the tin, since the iron halfpenny which at a time of war came in has outlived its utility. Nor is the iron ring legal tender. New world, land rights, I read each letter. Our law is war's, the thriftless spender, and gold coins keep their value better. Long I had lived with my own heart, then others came with many a fuss. They said, You kept yourself apart. We wish you could have been with us. So did I live in vanity. I now draw my conclusion thus. They did but make a fool of me, and even my dead is فات to us. I have tried all my life to keep my footing in a whirlwind fast. The thought is ludicrously cheap that others harm matched mine at last. The spring is good and summer too, but autumn better and winter best for him who finds his last hopes through family hearths he knew. As guest. Okay, folks. I think that's all we have time for tonight. Naja, naja, naja, köszönöm. Everyone that joined in, Instagram, Facebook, YouTube. I don't know, by my amateur calculations, I think we had almost 400, 500 people pop through the interwebs, the cyberkinetic sphere. We went through Jason and the Golden Fleece, got traumatized by the end of a heroic tale, went over to some one-minute stories by István Örkény, the sort of absurdist, satirical— Communist-era Hungarian writer, popped in with some József Attila, some Ady Endre, the Six-Fingered Man, a few other Hungarian poets, Kostolányi Dezső, funeral oration, things of that nature. Volt némi technikai problémám. Blaze BP says sorry he could not join. I'm sorry too. It would have been great to see you, Blaze BP. If you want to try one more time, we have maybe two minutes left in this stream, and if not, just come back next week. But really, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Thank you to Unicum for supplying these lovely drinks. The kávé barista Unicum. Don't know if there's any caffeine in it, but it feels like it just kicks you up a jolt. Anyway, jó estét, jó éjszakát, jó reggelt, depending where you are in the world. Shabbat shalom, szép hétvégét. Have a great weekend. And again, köszönöm szépen. I appreciate you all from the bottom of my heart for joining in. And we'll see you next week, same time, same place, Thursday night story time. Csitotok, éjszakát, tot neti do. And we'll be back with more. See you later.
