Hattyúdal (The Swan-Song)
The Turning of the Soil I prepared myself for work, Chasing the wind underneath the sun. The fields were wide open; they engulfed me when viewed from a distance. I felt something inside me that would suggest a season of crops plentiful. It was an instinct that only a woman would have. I was never aggressive when I work. I never acted like I was destroying something and Recreating it for the sake of the harvest. I think that is why the villages loved my own farming technique. It touched me deeply that the community sees the value In what I believed in. They think it is beyond their realm of consciousness But I tell him, in my own gentle and delicate way that It is about life and the knowing the land. I caress the soil, as if it was like a lover. Before I met him, I never needed one. I must confess that I was Persephone when I saw my Hades. Of course, I have never known of him in my life and there was no Demeter to supervise me. He looked very impressive, like some prized treasure admired by the amateur art lovers. I remember my first glimpse catching no flaw or defect. What the sculptor did was very impressive, in my mind, with that mixture of marble and flesh. He simply smiled and spoke eloquent words on my work And painted a beautiful canvas portrait of a future together. How could I turn it down? He directly spoke to my heart and my mind. I felt like since he was doing me a service; I wanted to pay him back. So we exchange vows and promises… on that soil that would give a beautiful harvest. The Harvest During the day, we planted and cultivated together until the harvest moon. The reward of our labor was spectacular we thought. The seeds produced a thousand-fold, bring joys to our hearts and ripened our love. We carefully and tenderly reaped our prizes, to display for all. For you see, we did this not just for a natural satisfaction But for the well-being and enjoyment of many that beyond the scope of the field. They come from lands we would never dream when we look at the horizon for a moment. It was joy to hear his celebration speech to the village. It made me young again. But at night, we performed our own harvesting. When we prepared the fields, we treated each other like treated the soil. It was an expression of our own passionate love for each other, as well as life. We were delicate with each other The way we kissed The way we breathe on each other Warmly, as to melt each other away The way we stroked each other so And the way we spoke lines of poetry That only our hearts could understand But how could I have foolishly believed that the harvest was going to be good to me? The Long and Bitter Winter I heard drums in distance When the snow fell upon the ground I hear people shouting, growling and barking like the Poor creature has gone mad. The sound built itself up until form could be seen, Marching on my own soil! My lover tells me that it is the new defense that would protect us from any parasite. Of course, most people try not to overexpose the land with pest control Much less invade others property for our welfare. The worse was yet to come I’m afraid. The scenes of bayonets clashing and the blood spewing from warm yet lifeless bodies Multiplied just as much the seed that ingrained the fertile soil. The sounds of war were very real and left an impression that would haunt me for the rest of my days. It was all chaos that unfolded before me. I shouted in protest but my lover just stood there watching over the carnage. To make things worse, we wished to erect a memorial to the fallen on the scene. The civil hands (which I have to admit… were unclean in the first place) prayed for the brave Scorned the infidels Praised to the Father And cursed to the Devil But, like the tributary masses that they are, they have no real regard for the living. They litter, pollute and plunder like it was their own domain. I learned to despise heavily anything that caused a disharmonious nature. My lover wanted to use the techniques that raped and violated the Terra, My own goddess that I performed a faithful service to. He used eloquence but it never appealed to me. I could see coldness, artificiality and bleakness on the lands that I have learned to cherish. Not did he change on his love to the soil, but to me as well. He soon followed the voice of waters from the distant Rome³ And wanted to rape away from me; using my temple for his amusement. He gave me suggestions but the pomegranates yield better fruit when the seeds are planted Not consume for temporary satisfaction. Enough was enough I cried out in my dreams. So I did what I would do to an animal that needed it… put him out of my misery… The New Year I stepped outside onto the fields Shooed the birds and the pests away from the lover that I Let be abused and destroyed. The sun is overhead now, breaking apart the clouds to reveal a coral blue. A sharp breeze touches my skin. Oh God what have I done I thought to myself as I laid myself down On the ground that could benefit from me now, more than ever The cycle is renewed and that is what keeps on going. It is not me anymore.
Date of First Draft: 23 September 1999
Information: The direct inspiration is from the Passengers track “Theme from ‘The Swan.’” The album is supposedly music used in various avant-garde or non-commercial films (some of it was actually used but others were fake films.. at least according to their synopses). This film was supposedly about a couple in Hungary and what they go through symbolizes the history of the country in the 20th Century.
Annotations: The title is Hungarian.