Gabor G Gyukics
Gabor G Gyukics (b. 1958) is a Hungarian-American poet, jazz poet, literary translator born in Budapest. He is the author of 11 books of original poetry, 6 in Hungarian, 2 in English, 1 in Arabic, 1 in Bulgarian, 1 in Czech and 16 books of translations including A Transparent Lion, selected poetry of Attila József and Swimming in the Ground: Contemporary Hungarian Poetry (in English, both with co-translator Michael Castro) and an anthology of North American Indigenous poets in Hungarian titled Medvefelhő a város felett. He writes his poems in English (which is his second language) and Hungarian. His latest book in English is a hermit has no plural (Singing Bone Press, 2015). His latest book in Hungarian was published by Lector Press in May 2018. Photo by Sándor Gyapjas.
I spread my arms wide open
amidst the snowfall,
and as if hit by a bullet,
I threw myself backwards
on a thick blanket of snow.
Can’t take it anymore. This distillate is too raw to me.
The beast wins out of beauty.
The scale goes off balance.
Let’s say: I’ll tell you. Let’s say: You’ll listen.
My dearest!
You congregator!
How should I use you?
Where am I in my body?
Without a body? I don’t know. Imaginary blue
like an imaginary sky.
They’re hanging in rich clusters.
He’d hide in one cluster, but
someone knows who he really is.
A few lap dances may fit in: I love it.
The way all these witches kill each other!
How jealous they are because of me!
Do I want life along with so many
conditions, me who is so defenseless.
My otherself stares before the mirror
and pushes through another domain:
(Sharon Stone swaps her legs.
She might catch up with me.)
Did I run ahead? How reckless.
she cajoles you to follow
the scent on the bodies
of every other women
do you recoil—on all?!
I am the stronger, the unprotected
Tough as a woman, austere.
Delicate as a man, fragile, gentle.
It’s not even hopeless.
Not vicious.
Serves the absence.
Delivers the unnecessary.
Yet both are men separately.
Ongoing magic. Broad topsyturviness.
Slow, merciless.
A new one is coming: almost perfect.
I swallow it.
Wandering tired lady aristocrats
Baronesses choked by their own shrivelled hair
Mannerism rococo Art Nouveau Baroque
Gothic laceneck serieses. Nothing but foolish
Young ladies.
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