Three Poems (translated from the Hungarian by Christopher Whyte)

Ars Poetica

It's just the same as for the candy floss man who,
prodding his stick into the totally empty,
slightly battered, spinning cauldron, waits,
summoning all his strength up in the hope
things will work out as they usually do.
Suddenly, as if from nothingness,
a strand attaches itself to the stick's tip,
the children look on wide-eyed, now another
strand, he starts turning it gingerly
as the next strand arrives, and searches for
a place amongst the ones already there -
the candy floss man's less tense now, he hums
a tune, moves his weight to the other leg,
looks up, the ball keeps getting bigger,
and he can decide which way he wants it, whether
...