Best Hungarian Poems
HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY
Her hand’s swan-like dance,
ivory shadow puppets
romance. Hungarian rhapsody.
The musician sans existence
as emotive fingers move
imaginary marionettes
with splendiferous precision.
Drama drops onto piano keys
occasionally taking a gentle stroll
then in sensuous sway, sashaying
like an exotic dancer. The musician
plucks and plinks as if
with chameleonic charm, like an
angel playing a harp.
Her fingers fast walk the keyboard
then resound tremulous keys.
(The audience swoons, spooned
by a rapturous torrent that enters
the heart, strokes and kisses
the yearning flesh, like the taste
and feel of brandy, burning and
tantalizing in breathlessness)
The musician’s slender fingers
now strum along in gaiety, like
paramours on the streets of Paris,
Springtime in the air. Palms nearly
rest upon silent keys as if two lovers
lay back upon a bed with puffs of smoke.
Dawn’s crescendo, with peaks of happiness
reside upon streets of ebony and ivory.
Life’s serendipitous monologue begins
once more with foreboding or adventure
or both. Is there loneliness upon this crest
for what has happenstance brought,
are they star-crossed? Do we see the sun
and the moon racing through their pulse —
days of birth and mourning?
(The blond marionette in concert black
seems to be mesmerized or hypnotized
by the muse of music. She’s like a dream
on a performance stage. Practiced in
illumination of flame. She releases the arrow
and the audience brightens up like a chandelier
with clinking and brilliant crystal pieces)
Happiness once again but with ferocious fervor
sends the keys to a heavenly place - to ears,
to mind, to soul...a cheer of a great parade,
and then the shivering of climatic peak,
followed by a lullaby of dreams - we imagine
a newborn wrapped up in a life well-lived.
The darling gal still doesn’t give up the ghost
but plays and plays...can you hear the needle
stuck at the vinyl’s end...spending all love gives?
Only the Creator Himself can lift the arm and
carry the musician still incubating all her charm.
3/19/2018
"Hungarian Festival"
Pro bono bands gradually allure the crowds
Their effort is unmatched while working unique instruments
To make people understand where they came from
Let us not forget our many predecessors as they sing
About the land beyond our own
Loud speakers tantalize throughout the day
A foreign and beautiful demonstration of national pride
Adorned in gowns and bonnets of floweresque appearance
Little girls dance about in the street displaying lessons they were taught
Cute little sensations build the fantasy and wisp so many away
To a place they never knew of others and their founding roots
A new experience teaches newcomers that their world is not the only one
Where a rich culture runs flamboyant, it is a rare chance to shine
Spices in the air fill ones nose with enchanting scents from every food station
Dishes of colbasse and saur kraut put together with loving care
The dilemma of so many is because their stomachs are only so big
But good spirits will come not from a cup but from the heart
As good people try tirelessly to share themselves with others
The museum evokes a thoughtfulness for the furniture and paintings
Century old representations that the Hungarians were always clever
Sculpted pottery of undecided interpretation warm you up for the air blown glass
These people are to envy for a world outside our own
They are bountiful and harmonious and plentiful
An inspiration to make our own contribution
We should all be as complete as them
NEW YORK-STYLE HUNGARIAN STEW
In the darkest corner of her living room,
she waits to eat. A stone’s throw away,
her ex lives with their kids, his goulash
wafting reek into her open windows.
Through the one in her master bedroom,
the man could easily catch sight of his successor
swaddled in goose-down, identical in color
to the old comforter she could see, if she cared to,
just beyond her window, on the bed where
she’d been fed, “I’ll cherish you always.”
Abutting that room, the den with surround-
sound TV, where the vulgarian had charmed
the panties off her during commercials, turning
up his volume so she could grasp every syllable
of his accented endearments, his excuses.
Adjacent, their son and daughter’s rooms
(now, with suitcases the children bring back
and forth each weekend); and down the hall,
the state-of-the art kitchen where her louse ex
still plays chef. How she’d wished he’d played
spouse with as much know-how and gusto. Oh,
how he’d cooked and cooked their goose, served it
up every chance he got, till she got good and fed
up and fled to an old flame in a brownstone
across the way — where, at this very moment, she sits
with the stench of the dish her ex is, no doubt, cooking
to death, and the essence of her Crock-pot stew
cooking up a storm, inextricably mesh.
Our little family was together
.......for now
Daddy was asleep on the couch
and I was here sharing your bed
in your little student flat
tomorrow our togetherness would unravel
We'd be forced to travel
leaving you behind
in this enchanting Hungarian city
to make your dream come true
you'd be a physiotherapy guru
one day
As I struggled with the heaviness in my heart,
a heaviness I knew
you would come to know
when the fullness of motherhood you'd show,
you turned to me and gurgled a laugh
the unfettered kind
that only comes in dreamland
I gazed at your face in wonder
then it came to me again
another girlish giggle
and just as quickly...it was gone
for your dream carried you
and I was left holding on
desperately wanting this moment to last
I let out a sigh
Looking out of your window
up at the Hungarian sky
my eyes focused on a star
as my heart breathed a wish
that your laugh would come as readily
in your wakeful hours
as it did in your dream
that you'd always be cognizant
how blessed you are
My life, my star
I closed my eyes
as I felt the burden slowly shift from my heart
though separation would come in the morning
nothing could steal the memory of that sound
that magical dulcet chime
of my daughter in her prime
blooming with love
for her true mother...
LIFE!
Yes, my sleeping angel
though goodbyes will be said
I know that everything...
Yes, everything
will be alright
for I heard you laugh
in your dreams tonight
Eileen Manassian Ghali
paprika-stained tongue
passion of the Magyar —
sweet rose tingles tines
10/1/2018
Beautiful Hungarian Lady
Do you remember that young guy?
You know my love, it's me
A rocker boy from the last desk,
in the classroom
I just watched you, just watched you
You, Eve, the amazing teacher
My love, I still loving you
I can't forget you, even though you far away
Yes, in the time, in the past
and in the real life
You live in Hungary, I live in England
Distance, distance, distance…
It's very bad, I am suffering a lot
Just feel it, my beautiful teacher
Dame, Queen, woman, the perfect
I love you, keep it in mind
I am always waiting for you
Don't be passive, open your heart
Our love is more than…
Our love is more than…
The Taj Mahal