It’s best homeward
bound. Already after the Austrian-
Hungarian border, Home,
they write it out,
an H in an O frame.
Like God’s top-hat. Here
it’s the most beautiful. They draw
A beautiful, sideways ovular little
Home, nothing mutilated
seen from there, like this,
Such, I think, that then
I won’t turn back at all.
I fail to notice.
They don’t write out, how many
are left until then.
I count it out roughly,
Too quickly, just
around Vienna, or no, already
at Sankt Pölten it comes again to my mind,
my home, and yet
there, there what should I do?
The best is bad, if I do indeed
turn around, that occurs
No, of course. Then the border.
The road becomes half as wide. You turn on
the car lights, pay better attention.
they’re coming from the opposite direction.
Translated from the Hungarian by Thomas Cooper