Monday, July 1, 2019




The magician will come to me
For seeing who I am
He will look at my books
Will look over my poems
Listen to my music and we will have
A conversation up to the moment
We become friends
However, I doubt of his being a magician

And he produces as if by magic a girl
With black hair, gray eyes, with a weird laugh
And when I’ll see her also my heart
Jumps into my mouth
She is so beautiful

Later I’ll become a magician
And will produce silence in me


The morning is violin-sound
Hiding in a birch wood
With his unreturned love
Nearer and nearer to the death
Nevertheless, I saw in my dreams an endless way
It would be sufficient for leading me to you
Now I’m caressing your hair
It is a song of the down for someone


When you look back, you begin to dig a grave
In yourself, these fresh mornings, cool afternoons
And the kisses you didn’t give to other because of me
These kisses cover me entirely like the spines cover the hedgehogs
I’m invisible under them over my head
Fly the gazes sent to other ones
Stirred by the wind when you turn your head
I suspect it’s not me who becomes
The cavalier of your dreams
In his memory without mourning
And should not be a similar flowery branch
For which I might wish the resurrection



ÁRPÁD P. BUZOGÁNY (Hungarian poet in Transylvania-Romania, b. 1965) publishes poetry, prose, children's poetry, tales, ethnographic and local knowledge studies, reports and interviews. He graduated from the Hungarian Language and Literature and Cultural Mediation. He was a journalist, librarian, currently a public education specialist. He has been awarded several writings for his literature. He has edited hundreds of publications, mainly on volumes related to ethnography and local knowledge of Udvarhelyszék. He published folk songs, sentences, proverbs and speeches, riddles, children's games from his ethnographic collections. The number of independent volumes is 22: children's poems, short stories, tales, reports, interviews, book reviews.

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