Open, the sea appeared asleep.
Carrying its waves.
A pulse under the muted winter scene.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

A nun-spot on the hot little body.
A color on the broken glass.
A gesture that was once closed.
Lovely as the sea stood up.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

I wanted to remain an object.
But, no, immortality is not mine.
I am too strong to defend myself.
Waiting for punishment.

This and the same happened together.
Silently, I sat in the glass.
Only the spot wandered on the naked scene.
Sounds did not continue.

Only an omitted gesture.
Happiness like an unmoving dancer.
Beatings on naked, bony back.

And the sea will no longer be immortal.
(Translated by Zsuzsanna Ozsváth and Martha Satz)
Kinga Fabó


Like sculpture at first. Then, as if the sun rose in her, long
A small smile; then very much so.

The beauty
of the rite shone; whirling.

She whirled and whirled,
Only the body spoke. The body carried her


Her dance a spell
swirling the air, a spiral she was


her shawl, the half circle around her,
the curve of the sea-shore and

the dancer and the dance apart…

(Trascreated by Cathy Strisik and Veronica Golos based on Katalin N. Ullrich’s translation.)
Fabó Kinga


Mintha egy szentélyhez járulnának, úgy
jönnek, jönnek a füleimhez. Még jó,
hogy szép nagy füleim vannak.
Mélyek, öblösek.
Jönnek a csípő- és kebelméretek.

Jön a magányos. Neki a férjem kell.
Jön a családanya. Ő férjezett, frigid.
Ha éppen nem jön, nyelveket
tanul, meg utazik.
A leszbikus? Ő el se jön. Pedig őt

elcsábítanám. Jobb híján a fülem
hegyezné önmagát. (Jó nagy.)
Nőies nőt elvből nem hívok meg.
Férfiakat sem. Hozzájuk
én megyek.

De nekik is csak a füleim kellenek.
És a szájak? Be nem állnak.
És a fülem? A fülem, az néma.
Csak a fülbevalómat cserélem néha.
A fülemet, azt nem hagyom.
Kinga Fabó


I don't know what it is but very ill-
intended. Sure a woman belongs.
And something like a laughter.

I am rotating the city on me,
rotating my beauty. That's that!
Many keys, small keyholes whirling.

Gazes cannot be all in vain. And the answer?
Merely a jeer.
The vase hugs me, killing, can't breathe.

Now my features - even with the best intentions -
cannot be claimed as a beauty.
And she? The girl? Her smarty perfume

is Poison. For me a real poison indeed.
And the vase?
His hugging kills me.

But what am I to do without?

(Translated by me.)
Kinga Fabó


Something’s gone wrong between us.
Something that's never existed.
How come so insidiously?
So that I wasn’t even there at all?

The same way. It’s always the same
way. He’s good, he never inflicts
wounds. The other him? His own
light makes him shiver.

Wicked, gothic lace-trimmed neck. Ugly
posture, hopeful-cautious nakedness.
Infertile woman. How trite!
Too much and too little at the same time.

Little abstractions! I’ve composed
you all. It’s not very funny to
compose this way. It’s in fact like a
great big overstatement. Like love.

The two children, who not for me -
touched me deeply. Of course,
I didn’t show it. For want of better I
lived the part of the beautiful woman.

(Translated by Katalin N. Ullrich)

Kinga Fabó
Country of Origin: Hungary
Place of living: Budapest, Hungary
Nationality: Hungarian

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