One of the many things I love doing is translating my favotrite songs and poems from Hungarian to English. The below poem is very close to my heart, and I would love to share with anyone who loves poems. The author is Sandor Petofi and he wrote the original Hungarian version in August, 1845.
My Imagination
What is it they are saying!
That my imagination bound to ground
To the Heavens, I can’t soar It high.
It travels on the level of Earth
If that is what pleases It.
And what is more
Often it sinks below.
Like a diver sinks to the depth of the abyss
To the bottom of the deepest sea:
The heart that is.
Although, if I tell It
“Descend up high!”
It hovers in the breeze
And sings like a lark.
If at this time I encourage It
Fly higher up my image
I chase eagles into order with It
The eagles all tire out
As It remains tireless
It initiates a way
With the highest thunderhead
It does not socialize long with the clouds either
It roams up high
Straight to the vault of the sky
And if at this point
There is a solar eclipse
It slips by the darkened sun in a bliss
It slips by with a short glance at it
And it’s lost magnificence
returns to it.
My imagination still isn’t resting
It appears on top of a far away galaxy
Where God’s world ceases to endure
It creates a new world with
It’s Grandeur.
