KINGA FABÓ

KINGA FABÓ

THE COMPLAINT OF A WORN-OUT GIRDLE

How many women have I tortured? God,

how many! And how perfectly deformed

their bodies were as one by one they trod

the red carpet, swayed and posed

in gratitude to me, I who prefer a closed

door to the blatantly exposed

(and they pretend to disdain me even while

seeking my good graces, S & M style)

insist I serve them with a wide eyed smile.

Those who possess me seek the praise

- and might receive it - of the blank male gaze.

They use me and disparage me all ways

and yet are one with me, have flounced

about while in my steady grip

or slipped into me unannounced.

Talking of perverts, I am stuffed with them,

(this is where it comes to S & M),

it’s like being in a prison cell.

I am the stock where these mad bats from hell

work out. I work my magic well

and turn them out as new after a spell.

They undo me, as might anyone.

I am what they have done.

But why do they insist on carying on

with me - the feeling isn’t mutual -

with me in particular!

Why pick on me when there are

plenty - women or worms - it matters not

happy to give them all they’ve got.

All clichés, you can stuff the lot

into one old hat and call it quits.

I’m not for clichés, not one fits.

I wish they left me alone, but it’s

hopeless, I am forced to serve.

I’m always different and will swerve

from following an alien curve.

Is this their thanks? This sorry item. .

All for some man to woo or bride them.

A pity it is to prettify them.

(TRANSLATED BY GEORGE SZIRTES)

FALSE THREAD

Seasons jam up.

Drill through the spring.

Winter, summer start attacking.

The flood makes a run.

Surging again and again

stalls and then throngs ahead.

Under the sea, the land is shaking.

(The unhoped front comes with such commotion.

While the other is dragging a heatwave.)

The shipwrecks of the lips: pilling of syllables.

Slurs and stutters.

Breaks and floods the words with anger.

It hits. Or gets hit by a syllable

culminating above on it.

Gives no time to get resentful.

There is its double if it bales out.

None holds a grudge against none.

It hits. Or let others beat it.

The client is the same man.

Hiding in my shadow.

Matters not what I say or do.

There is no love: Spring’s been postponed.

It might be hiding in my shadow.

Snip. I’ll cut you up, you false thread.

(An iceberg broke of fin Greenland.

The woods are on fire around Moscow.

The air is poisoneous above Moscow.)

(TRANSLATED BY GABOR G. GYUKICS)

THE PROMISCUOUS MIRROR

1.

Is it detached or all-forgiving?

We need a passport to get through.

It nods us past in quick succession

Just anyone, no matter who.

I can rely on its detachment

As I move from place to place.

All those languages it masters,

Wherever I dare show my face!

It’s no big deal who’s looking in it

As it serves its own blind grace.

2

It neither befriends nor breaks up with you.

Though when you’re pushed in front of it

Whether you’re plain or just plain gorgeous

It frowns and takes the brunt of it.

Could this absolute indifference

Be Absolute? (It takes no joy

In my bare flesh, nor is it bored.)

In all my phases I am simply

What seems to vanish then return,

Part of its cosmic unconcern.

3

The distance is too terrifying.

It could be less but it is clear

Some speck of me would still appear.

The mirror will serve us blindly

And whether harshly or quite kindly

Forgets at once. There’s little fuss,

Or major choice required for us.

It lets us do just what we want.

Mine drops me quick without a trace.

Mechanically wipes out my face.

(TRANSLATED BY GEORGE SZIRTES)

KINGA FABÓ

KINGA FABÓ is a Hungarian poet. Her poetry has been widely published in international literary journals and poetry magazines including Modern Poetry in Translation (translated and introduced by George Szirtes); Numéro Cinq, Ink Sweat & Tears, Deep Water Literary Journal, The Screech Owl, The Original Van Gogh’s Ear, The Opiate, Fixpoetry, Lyrikline.org and elsewhere as well as in anthologies like The Significant Anthology, Women in War, The Colours of Refuge, Poetry Against Racism, World Poetry Yearbook 2015, Anthology of Contemporary Women's Poetry and others. Some of her individual poems have been translated into 17 languages altogether:  Albanian, Arabic, Bulgarian, English, Esperanto, French, Galego, German, Greek, Indonesian, Italian, Persian, Romanian, Serbian, Slovenian, Spanish, Tamil. One of her poems (The Ears) has among others six different Indonesian translations by six different authors. Her latest book, a  bilingual Indonesian-English poetry collection Racun/Poison was published in 2015. Fabó lives in Budapest, Hungary.