Nothing But Budapest Poem by Yurii Andrukhovych

I could even wash the locomotives
at Keleti station -
just to be nearer Buda with her green
hills.
Not to say a word
to sit and listen,
as everyone around me talks about something in Hungarian.

According to Peter Zilahy
in the last few years
Hungarians have lost their world dominance
in suicide
and are now just somewhere in the top
five.

That might mean that they
are coming to more of an understanding with the world.
Meaning that more and more people understand their language.
It could just as well
not mean anything
but the fact that the conclusion is premature.

They called me a taxi
somewhere between one and two a.m., the driver
was about eighty
and didn't speak any tourist language.
Just as well at that time of night
the journey from Pest to Buda
didn't take long,
otherwise I would have had to master Hungarian
as quickly as possible
to try and keep the conversation going
which from one point of view isn't easy
after two bottles of quickly drunk
‘Palinka'.

In front of the Freedom Bridge (Szabadság hid),
he, of course, forgetting that I'm not from here
(taking his age into account
not strange at all and even natural),
livened up and started to tell me a story.
As if I, in my everyday life,
washed locomotives at Keleti station
and could get the joke!

I seized the moment
when I could follow him and laugh.
Although the funniest thing was something else entirely:
he'd never heard of the name of the hotel
I was staying in.
I had to show him the way
with gestures, and only St Matthew's cathedral (Mátyástemplom)
saved us both.

I paid him much more
than I owed him, after which I discovered
that half his teeth were missing -
he smiled so widely.
What did he wish me
as we parted?

Good night? Sleep well? Good luck
my son, you were my millionth passenger?

That remains his and my secret.
As with the dreadfully swollen young gypsy
sniffing glue from a plastic bag
the next day on Margaret Island (Margit sziget).
Our eyes met
and he kind of stretched out his hand -
go away, you didn't see anything, disappear.
That remains our secret.

I don't rule it out, that from time to time
he washes locomotives at Keleti station -
just to survive, gobble his sandwich,
drink beer,
just to be nearer Buda with her green
hills.

Just so as not to jump into that awful Danube,
with its black-grey water,
thereby moving his fatherland (Magyarország)
a few places higher
in the world rankings.