Janos Arany

Janos Arany Poems

Janos Arany Biography

János Arany March 2, 1817—October 22, 1882), was a Hungarian journalist, writer, poet, and translator. He is often said to be the "Shakespeare of ballads" – he wrote more than 40 ballads which have been translated into over 50 languages, as well as the Toldi trilogy, to mention his most famous works. He was born in Nagyszalonta, Bihar county, Hungary which is now part of Romania, although it still has a Hungarian majority (according to the 2002 census). He was the youngest of eight children, but because of tuberculosis running in the family, only two of them lived beyond childhood. At the time of his birth, his older sister Sára was already married and his parents, György Arany and Sára Megyeri, were 60 and 44 years old, respectively. János Arany learned to read and write early on, and was reported to read anything he could find in Hungarian and Latin. Since his parents needed support early in Arany's life, he started working at the age of 14 as an associate teacher. From 1833 he attended the Reformed College of Debrecen where he studied German and French, though he quickly became tired of scholarly life, and temporarily joined an acting troupe. Later on, he worked in Nagyszalonta, Debrecen, and Budapest as teacher, newspaper editor, and in various clerk positions. In 1840 he married Julianna Ercsey (1816–1885). They had two children, Julianna, whose early death by pneumonia devastated the poet, and László, who also became a poet. In 1845, he won the competition of the Kisfaludy Társaság (a literary society) with his writing, "Az elveszett alkotmány" ("The lost constitution" in English). After Toldi, one of his most famous works, was published, he and Sándor Petőfi became best friends (see their letters: To János Arany by Petőfi and Reply to Petőfi by Arany). His friend's death in the Hungarian Revolution of 1848 had a great impact on him. He was employed as a teacher in Nagykőrös, where the local museum is named after him. Arany was elected a member of Hungarian Academy of Sciences in 1858. He was the secretary-general of the Academy from 1865. Also, he was elected director of the Kisfaludy Society, the greatest literary association of Hungary. Arany died in Pest-Buda on October 22, 1882. He translated three dramas of Shakespeare into Hungarian, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Hamlet and King John, and they are considered to be some of the greatest translations into Hungarian in history; he also helped other Hungarian translators with his comments, and translated works by Aristophanes, Mikhail Lermontov, Aleksandr Pushkin, and Molière. The epic poetry of János Arany presents the legendary and historical past of his nation. The Death of King Buda (1864), the first part of a projected Hun trilogy is one of the best narrative poems in Hungarian literature. The other parts of the trilogy (Ildikó, and Prince Csaba) are unfinished. One of his most famous poems is "A Walesi Bárdok" (The Bards of Wales). Arany wrote this poem when Franz Joseph the Austrian Emperor visited Hungary first time after he defeated Hungarian Revolution of 1848. Originally Arany was asked to write a poem to praise the Emperor. The poem is well-known in Hungary and concerns the campaigns of Edward I to subjugate the Welsh and trample over their culture. Arany was drawing a parallel here with Austria's treatment of Hungary and the Hungarians. It is this poem, more than anything else, that has ensured Hungarians are familiar with Wales. His poem "Dante" is one of those few verses in Western literature that can seize concisely the whole meaning and transcendency of human life. (Peter Ustinov - British actor) A few remarkable verses are relatively well translated to English by Watson Kirkconnell (published in: The Magyar Muse - An Anthology of Hungarian Poetry 1400-1932 - Kanadai Magyar Újság Press, 1933) He is today considered as one of the greatest Hungarian poets beside Sándor Petőfi, Endre Ady, Miklós Radnóti and Attila József.)

The Best Poem Of Janos Arany

The Bard Of Wales

Edward the king, the English king,
Bestrides his tawny steed,
'For I will see if Wales,' said he,
'Accepts my rule indeed.

'Are stream and mountain fair to see?
Are meadow grasses good?
Do corn-lands bear a crop more rare
Since wash'd with rebel's blood?

'And are the wretched people there,
Whose insolence I broke
As happy as the oxen are
Beneath the driver's yoke?

'In truth this Wales, Sire, is a gem,
The fairest in your crown:
The stream and field rich harvest yield,
And fair and dale and down.

'And all the wretched people there
Are calm as man could crave;
Their hovels stand throughout the land
As silent as the grave.'

Edward the king, the English King
Bestrides his tawni steed;
A silence deep his subjects keep
And Wales is mute indeed.

The castle named Montgomery
Ends that day's journeying;
The castle's lord, Montgomery,
Must entertain the king.

Then game and fish and ev'ry dish
That lures the taste and sight
A hundred hurrying servants bear
To please the appetite.

With all of worth the isle brings forth
In dainty drink and food,
And all the wines of foreign vines
Beyond the distant flood.

'You lords, you lords, will none consent
His glass with mine to ring?
What? Each one fails, you dogs of Wales,
To toast the English king?

'Though game and fish and ev'ry dish
That lures the taste and sight
Your hand supplies, your mood defies
My person with a slight.

'You rascal lords, you dogs of Wales,
Will none for Edward cheer?
To serve my needs and chant my deeds
Then let a bard appear!'

The nobles gaze in fierce amaze,
Their cheeks grow deadly pale;
Not fear but rage their looks engage,
They blanch but do not quail.

All voices cease in soundless peace,
All breathe in silent pain;
Then at the door a harper hoar
Comes in with grave disdain:

'Lo, here I stand, at your command,
To chant your deeds, O king!'
And weapons clash and hauberks crash
Responsive to his string.

'Harsh weapons clash and hauberks crash,
And sunset sees us bleed,
The crow and wolf our dead engulf -
This, Edward, is your deed!

'A thousand lie beneath the sky,
They rot beneath the sun,
And we who live shall not forgive
This deed your hand hath done!'

'Now let him perish! I must have'
(The monarch's voice is hard)
'Your softest songs, and not your wrongs!'
In steps a boyish bard:

'The breeze is soft at eve, that oft
From Milford Havens moans;
It whispers maidens' stifled cries,
It breathes of widows' groans.

'You maidens, bear no captive babes!
You mothers, rear them not!'
The fierce king nods. The lad is seiz'd
And hurried from the spot.

Unbidden then, among the men,
There comes a dauntless third
With speech of fire he tunes his lyre,
And bitter is his word:

'Our bravest died to slake your pride -
Proud Edward, hear my lays!
No Welsh bards live who e'er will give
Your name a song a praise.

'Our harps with dead men's memories weep.
Welsh bards to you will sing
One changeless verse - our blackest curse
To blast your soul, O king!'

'No more! Enough!' - cries out the king.
In rage his orders break:
'Seek through these vales all bards of Wales
And burn them at the stake!'

His men ride forth to south and north,
They ride to west and east.
Thus ends in grim Montgomery
The celebrated feast.

Edward the king, the English king
Spurs on his tawny steed;
Across the skies red flames arise
As if Wales burned indeed.

In martyrship, with song on lip,
Five hundred Welsh bards died;
Not one was mov'd to say he lov'd
The tyrant in his pride.

''Ods blood! What songs this night resound
Upon our London streets?
The mayor shall feel my irate heel
If aught that sound repeats!

Each voice is hush'd; through silent lanes
To silent homes they creep.
'Now dies the hound that makes a sound;
The sick king cannot sleep.'

'Ha! Bring me fife and drum and horn,
And let the trumpet blare!
In ceaseless hum their curses come -
I see their dead eyes glare…'

But high above all drum and fife
and trumpets' shrill debate,
Five hundred martyr'd voices chant
Their hymn of deathless hate

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