Rope in the House of a Hanged Man

History

In the village of Spišský Štvrtok,
in a mental institution,
I glimpsed an insane woman.
She was walking from doors to window,
from window to doors.
Suddenly she stopped sharply, turned
and looked into my eyes.
At that moment I heard her shouting,
terrible shouting, mad shouting,
shouting the old cat died of,
furious shouting, piteous shouting,

that many people escaped from here.

I speculated for a long time,
how that woman knew so much
about a man,
how she knew
the human history so well?

For Ages

Smells of May 2003
are disappearing.

Blooming magnolias, apple
and cherry trees
are still flashing through your mind.

But in a moment they are away.
Just as the life –
couple of dialogues, memories,
several faces, colours,
tones,
that short movie
between the two
breaks.

You haven't known for ages,
that you will be.

You will not know for ages,
that you were.

Butterfly

Time will swallow up
the years, decades
and also billions of years.

Time will be swallowed up, too.

This universe will shrivel,
or it will vanish.

But it won't be
one day, too.

Oh, incomprehensible

existence,

who are you?

I'm catching you like a butterfly,
grasping you like
a disappearing dream.
I console myself with Hawking,
Grygar, quantum mechanics,
but there is no explanation.

We all have to stop
in front of your gate,

nothingness and everything
together.

 

Radovan Brenkus

Poetry of Hudák is about seeing the crazy music, about restless, torturing nights, desperate night phone calls with an unknown voice, about searching for water in times of greatest thirst as well as about boozing, so that nothingness as a first-hand experience could get a man out of lethargy, so that it would be somehow possible to experience the happiness. Poet as an observer turns everything upside down, and even if he paralyzes the readerʼs expectations, he leads him to catharsis just like Kahloʼs paintings, in which the modifications of particularly pessimistic backgrounds show the innocence of likeliness, inability of having a sovereign control of own inside – and in this way the poetry par excellence is created.

Copyright © 2017 Pavol Hudák. All Rights Reserved.
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