Radnóti created a fictitious persona, that of an English poet, Eaton Darr. The name roughly spells “Radnóti” backwards. While these poems have often been viewed as “nonsensical” they are in keeping with his attraction from an early age to surrealism and the grotesque genre. Given the madness that swirled around him, these poems have a “coherence” and reflect a world in collapse where everything is distorted and nothing makes sense. The creation of the character of Eaton Darr is reminiscent of the heteronyms created by the great Portuguese poet, Fernando Pessoa.
Mert értem én a hámorod,
bakorrú lepkeszeg,
pártigazolványt rámol ott
két röppenő keszeg.
S bár józan ésszel, jó korán
kiáltottál „csaló”-t,
szerintük testét is sovány
sójegyre kapta Lót.
1941
I’m starting to understand your forge
and stag-nosed butterfly,1
and your membership card flitting about
like two silvery carp.
And you were clear enough of mind
to cry out, “Stop the deceitful bastard!”
as Lot redeemed his salt coupons
for an emaciated body.
1941
1. This may allude to the Nazi swastika or the emblem of the right-wing, anti–Semitic Hungarian Arrow Cross (personal communication Győző Ferenc). A cryptic poem.
Egy szép medvével álmodtam ma éjjel,
az túrta így az ágyam szerteszéjjel.
S az is lehet—ültem fel megriadtan én
(milyen világ, ó jaj! milyen milyen világ!),
az is lehet, hogy elhagyott kis gyöngyvirág
vagyok most én a medve köldökén.
1941
I dreamt of a beautiful bear last night,
which may be why I woke up in a rumpled bed.
Or perhaps, it may be why I sat up in alarm,
(muttering to myself, Oh, what a world! what a world!)
or perhaps I am forsaken, like a lily-of-the-valley,
bemoaning my fate on the bear’s fat belly.
1941
Egy gyermekrabló járt itt fel s alá,
szemében könny, fülében hosszu szőr,
Londonban élt, s azóta néha: sír.
Nadrágja rikító pepita volt
s mindig oly hosszú, hogy belébotolt.
Két ujja közt egy ingó rózsaszál
virult, hogy itt járt épp ma két hete.
Börtönben üldögél most s tudja már
mindenki róla: ő a Vész Ede
s hogy gaz nadrágja lett a végzete.
Nadrágja (mondtam már) pepita volt
s a pepitában egy kis hiba volt.
Kemény kalapban, bottal jött a rend
s a gyermekrabló gyorsan véle ment.
1941
A child molester lived here once
with a tear in his eye and long hairs in his ear,
but now he lives in London, where they call him “Sir,”
and where he stumbles about in his loud and checkered trousers
that are way too long,
and twirls a single rose between his pudgy fingers.
Just two weeks ago he was here still,
but now he sits in prison where everyone
shuns him like the Black Plague.
Perhaps it was his villainous trousers that were his undoing.
Pants (that as I’ve already said) were checkered and loud
with one tiny fault.
I heard when the law came with his bowler hat in hand, sporting a club,
the child molester went quietly, and took with him his checkers and trousers.
1941
A nyúl vigyorgott, a vadász futott,
puskája nem volt, lőni nem tudott,
Igy szórakoztak szépen nyolcig ők,
s megjöttek akkor mind a lakkcipők.
Komorlón jöttek mind a tájon át,
vadászunk félt, lenyelte önmagát.
Mikor már látta, hogy bealkonyúl,
haptákba állt a harmatékű rét,
a fáradt ég vörös lett és a nyúl
zsebébe dugta kajla balfülét.
1941
The hare grinned, and the hunter scampered about,
for he had forgotten his rifle, and was unable to hunt.
This is how they entertained themselves until eight o’clock,
when the patent-leather shoes arrived,
and gravely marched across the field,
where the hunter hid, and swallowed himself.
By the time he realized that night had fallen,
the dew-covered meadow had snapped to attention,
and the tired sky had turned to red while the hare
tucked his droopy ears into his pocket.
1941
Egy ügyvéd ült itt. Hószín szárnya nőtt
és elrepült. Nem látja többet őt
e kávéház. Szivarja ittmaradt,
törvény burjánzik füstös ég alatt.
S mert törvény egymagában nem lehet, burjánzott mellé sok kis rendelet.
S kertészük nincs. Az ügyvéd elrepült. Lúdtalpon élt. Most ajkán égi kürt.
1942
A lawyer once held court here, then grew snow-white wings
and flew away. He is nowhere to be seen,
not even in the coffee houses that he used to frequent. He left his cigar behind,
and now justice runs amuck beneath a hazy sky.1
It seems that when the law goes untended,
decrees and pronouncements run wild.
The lawyer has flown, and the gardener is gone.
His feet no longer touch the ground, he blows on a heavenly trumpet.
1942
1. A comment on the collapse of law.
A költő nincsen otthon,
de mégsem éri semmi kár.
Két könyv között a polcon
egy kígyó szundikál.
Az asztal lábánál szagos fatörzsre gondol
s kis térképet vizel
egy izgatott komondor.
A jámbor macska meg
vad kéjektől remeg
s lassan kidönti fönt egy üvegből szelíd
gazdája színezüst, hagymás heringeit.
Majd elmélázva ül sok kis gerinc felett,
a bűze mint egy vén, iszákos tengerészé.
S közben tenger helyett,
patak helyett csobog,
madár helyett csicserg
a W. C.
1942 vége–1943 eleje
The poet is not in,
but don’t you fret, for all is well.
A snake suns itself between
two books on his shelf,
and by the foot of his desk an excited komondor1
dreams of fragrant trees and traces
his territory with his piss.
His pious cat
trembles with carnal passion
as his kindly master serves him
pickled herring from a glinting jar,
and afterwards he daydreams over the little bones,
like a stinking, whiskey-soaked sailor.
And in the poet’s study, instead of the ocean
waves
and the brooks splashing,
instead of the birds twittering, it is his toilet
that chirps.
End of 1942–Start of 1943
1. A large breed of Hungarian sheepdog.
A ház leégett, száll a pernye, füst, de hála
az égieknek, még jajongni sincs okod,
hiszen a fecskendő céltévesztett sugára
himbálja fönn a tűzoltóparancsnokot.
1942 vége–1943 eleje
Yes, the house burned down, and the ashes swirl, along with the smoke,
but thank God, there’s no reason to cry, for surely
the captain with his dangling hose, standing illuminated beneath
the poorly aimed spray, should be more than enough to comfort you.
End of 1942–Start of 1943