Erõltetett menet

Bolond, ki földre rogyván fölkél és újra lépked,
s vándorló fájdalomként mozdít bokát és térdet,
de mégis útnak indul, mint akit szárny emel,
s hiába hívja árok, maradni úgyse mer,
s ha kérdezed, miért nem? még visszaszól talán,
hogy várja õt az asszony s egy bölcsebb, szép halál.
Pedig bolond a jámbor, mert ott az otthonok
fölött régóta már csak a perzselt szél forog,
hanyattfeküdt a házfal, eltört a szilvafa,
és félelemtõl bolyhos a honni éjszaka.
ó, hogyha hinni tudnám: nemcsak szivemben hordom
mindazt, mit érdemes még, s van visszatérni otthon;
ha volna még! s mint egykor a régi hûs verandán
a béke méhe zöngne, míg hûl a szilvalekvár,
s nyárvégi csönd napozna az álmos kerteken,
a lomb között gyümölcsök ringnának meztelen,
és Fanni várna szõkén a rõt sövény elõtt,
s árnyékot írna lassan a lassu délelõtt, -
de hisz lehet talán még! a hold ma oly kerek!
Ne menj tovább, barátom, kiálts rám! s fölkelek!

(Bor, 1944. szeptember 15)

Notes for translation:

Forced March (military technical expression for a long distance march in war with weapons and heavy outfit; it doesn't necessarily imply that the soldier is not 'patriotic'/brave enough to do it willingly, although it often goes beyond his physical and psychic capacities. It has a lot to do with the so-called 'ground operation'/'ground combat' discussed these days again.)

Crazy, who having fallen to the ground, gets up and (slowly) marches forward again:
(bolond=crazy, mad; föld=ground; fölkél=gets up; új=new; lépked=marches slowly forward)

And like a wandering pain moves ankle(s) and knee(s): (fájdalom=pain; boka=ankle; térd=knee)

Yet still starts his way/sets off again like somebody lifted up by wings: (mégis=anyway; út=way; indul=start, szárny=wing; emel=lift)

and in vain the trench calls him, he does not dare to stay anyway: (hiába=in vain; hívja=calls him; árok=trench; maradni=to stay; úgyse=anyway not; mer=dare(s)

and if you ask him why not? maybe he'd answer you: (kérdezed=you ask him, miért=why/what for; nem=no/not; még=still; visszaszól=talk back/answer; talán=maybe)

that the wife waits for him, and a wiser, beautiful death: (hogy=that; várja=awaits him; õt=him; az asszony=the wife; s=and; egy=one/a; bölcs=wise; szép=beautiful; halál=death)

Yet the good guy is crazy, because above the homes there: (pedig=but/yet;jámbor=good fellow;mert=because; ott=(over)there; otthon=home; fölött=above)

since long only the blaze wind is wreathing: (régóta=since long; már=already; csak=only/just; perzselt=scorched; szél=wind; forog=turn(s) around/wreathe(s)/whirl(s))

the housewall fell to pieces, the plum tree is broken down: (hanyattfeküdt=fallen to pieces; ház=house; fal=wall; eltört=broken; szilva=plum; fa=tree)

and rough from scare(s) the night(s) at home: (félelem=fear; bolyhos=rough; éjszaka=night)

Oh, could I only believe (and not only bear all this in my heart - note: as just a remembering): (hogyha=if; hinni=to believe; tudnám=I would know (it)/I could ...; nemcsak=not only; szivemben=in my heart; hordom=I bear (it); mindaz= all that;

(... believe) that (all) this valuable/worth while for me is still existing, and there is still a returning home (for me): (valami érdemes=something valuable/worth while; van=there is; visszatérni=to return back)

if it still were! and, like it once has been, on the old, airy veranda: (egykor=once a time; régi=old/passed by; hûs=cool/airy; veranda=veranda rather than a porch)

the peaceful bee(s) were humming, while the plum jam cools down: (béke=peace; méh=bee; béke méhe='bee of peace'!!; zöngne=would hum; míg=during; hûl=cool; szilva=plum; lekvár=kind of jam/jelly)

and summer ending's quietness would doze in the sun over the dreamy gardens: (nyár=summer; vég=end; csönd=quietness/peace; napoz=bask in the sun; álom=dream; kert=garden)

in the foliage bare fruit(s) would sway: (lomb=foliage; között=between; gyümölcs=fruit; ringnának=(they) would sway; meztelen=naked/bare)

and Fanni would wait there, blonde, in front of the red hawthorn hedge: (vár=wait; szõke=blonde; rõt=yellow-red; sövény=hedge; elõtt=in front of)

and slowly the slow late morning would write shadow(s): (árnyék=shadow/shade; ír=writes; lassan=slowly; lassu=slow; dél=noon/south; délelõtt=forenoon/late morning)

Yet, maybe this (all) still could be (so)! The moon is so round today!: (hisz=of course/though; lehet=(it) can be; hold=moon; ma=today; oly=so; kerek=round)

Do not go on (without me), my friend, shout at me! and I will get up!: (menni=to go; tovább=further; barát=friend; kiált=shout (out); rám=onto me; fölkelek=I get up)

On the poet's 'patriotism'

R. surely was a brave soldier with love for his (Hungarian) country. His Hungarian units had been fighting on the side of (Hitler-)Germany in later Yugoslavia. I know he's been, rather similar to most of the German soldiers of the 'Deutsche Wehrmacht', a good fellow and member of the Hungarian 'Honvéd' (=Home Defence Army) and not comparable with those 'soldiers' down in Serbia/Kosovo killing and torturing civil persons or raping women and little children (as my wife was told by one of her Albanian students on her seven year old sister's fate in Pristina).
He surely would have been fighting to defend his home - but not to support those ruling the state. So he kept struggling on for his home and dear ones in order to still make his dream of coming home to them come true - but, like too many of them, without success, he was not allowed to survive. It's his desperate hope and will to go back, his very heart's 'vision' of what means 'home' to him, that really strikes me reading his poem. Home is not Germany or America or China, but the place you're at home, the 'smell' of the wooden wall where you used to sit in the sun etc. In my opinion, this vision of 'home' (the time almost standing still and dozing in the late hours before noon ... like a snapshot kept in memory) is the most touching part of the poem.

Here's a short description of the 'scene' (maybe not too easy to imagine for a non-European): 'Veranda' is not translated well by 'porch'. It's a wooden shadowy place behind the house, where one can sit protected from the sun and watch the garden and orchard with lots of apple, pear and plum trees etc. The noises of the (village?) street in front of the house are hardly to be heard, just the noises of silence ... the humming of the bees, the birds, hens etc.. There - in contrary to the poet's very situation - is peace, abundance of firm and bare (naked!) fruits and everything making life worth living. His young wife, having prepared (boiled) the plum jelly and letting it cool down now in the glasses put on the airy veranda, now is desirably standing in front of the hawthorn hedge - and before his inner eye ... his wife he should never see again.

Isn't this a real good and convincing argument against war and for peace.
Yet, one cannot have this desired peace if other people don't let you have it, stirring themselves up with a false so-called 'patriotism', but mostly just being manupulated by their selfish 'leaders' without any real care for their people's 'homes'.
(Normal people do not like being soldiers unless forced to be: I still remember when a little child during WW II, I was in the train with a young German soldier, probably on his way home on leave, sitting in front of me and with water colours and brushes doing a portrait of the kid! Was this the kind of German soldier usually born in mind by foreigners? Are our present ministers for foreign affairs or defence hardliners? Not at all! Yet now they are acting the hardest way (necessary!) here in Germany - hardly or not understood by many of their own fellow politicians, but still going their way.

BTW, there is kind of a dialogue between the two parts in the heart of the poet struggling against each other: getting up or dying in the trench?