That pretty woman from the past,
by Attila Jozsef

That pretty woman from the past I'd like to see again;
in her, ethereal, tender niceness was reversed;
along the swale, when three of us leisurely wandered,
she happily and seriously walked in the light mire;
when she looked at me, I couldn't not tremble;
that pretty woman I'd like not to love.
What I want is to see her; in the sun, dreaming,
I have no plans, while she sits in the garden
and, like herself, a closed book lies in her hand;
and around us, dense branches sigh in the autumn wind.
I would watch one time, as she hesitantly, slowly,
like one who conceives a plot in the rustling glade
stands up, looks around, suddenly leaves and steps into the passage
which, behind the bushes of the garden, lurks to lead through the
distance with the farewell waving trees on both of its sides;
I'd like to see her, like a child longs to see his dead mother,
that pretty woman from the past, as she walks away in the light.

Translated from Hungarian by Gabor G. Gyukics and Michael Castro