KINGA FABO'

The Ears

 

As if my ears were the sacraments, a crowd
appears, appears before them. Lucky
I have nice big ears. 
Deep and hollow.
The hip and breast sizes are coming.
 

Here comes the lonely one. She wants my husband.
Here comes the housewife. She's married, frigid.
When she doesn't come, she learns languages,
                         travels.
The lesbian? Doesn't come at all. Though
 

I would seduce her. If nothing comes of it, my
ears would perk themselves. (Big as they are.)
Feminine women I don't invite on principle.
Nor any men. I go

to them.
 

But all they want is my ears.
And the mouths? Nonstop talkers.
And my ears? My ears are mute.
I change only my earrings from time to time.
My ears are mine.

(Translated by Michael Castro and Gábor G. Gyukics)

 

 

The Word's  Colour

 

Open, the sea appeared asleep.
Carrying its waves.
A pulse under the muted winter scene.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

A nun-spot on the hot little body.
A color on the broken glass.
An early closed gesture.
Lovely as the sea retreated.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

I wanted to remain an object.
But, no, immortality is not mine.
I can defend myself.
Waiting for punishment.

This and the same happened together.
Silently, I sat in the glass.
Only the spot wandered on naked scene.
Sounds did not continue.

Only an omitted gesture.
Happiness like an unmoving dancer.
Beatings on naked boned back.

And the sea no longer immortal.

 

(Translated by Zsuzsanna Ozsváth, and Martha Satz)