(geboren als Miklós Glatter, 5. Mai 1909 in Budapest, Österreich- Ungarn; gestorben 9. November 1944 auf einem Gewaltmarsch* bei Abda nahe Győr)
Berlin: Volk und Welt, 1967, S. 89. Nachdichtung und Nachwort Franz Fühmann
You're crazy. You fall down, stand up and walk again, your ankles and your knees move but you start again as if you had wings. The ditch calls you, but it's no use you're afraid to stay, and if someone asks why, maybe you turn around and say that a woman and a sane death a better death wait for you. But you're crazy. For a long time only the burned wind spins above the houses at home, Walls lie on their backs, plum trees are broken and the angry night is thick with fear. Oh if I could believe that everything valuble is not only inside me now that there's still home to go back to. If only there were! And just as before bees drone peacefully on the cool veranda, plum preserves turn cold and over sleepy gardens quietly, the end of summer bathes in the sun. Among the leaves the fruit swing naked and in front of the rust-brown hedge blond Fanny waits for me, the morning writes slow shadows--- All this could happen The moon is so round today! Don't walk past me, friend. Yell, and I'll stand up again!
[this poem is archived, accessible and awaiting your comments at]
(Die wunderbare Lyrikseite Wondering minstrels ist leider nicht mehr im Netz. Gefunden und gesichert am 8.2. 2006)