Attila Jozsef

(11 April 1905 – 3 December 1937 / Hungary)

Mama - Poem by Attila Jozsef

On Mama now my thoughts have dawdled
all of a week. Clothes-basket cradled
creaked on her hip; she'd climb the stairway
up to the drying-attic's airway.

Then, for I was an honest fellow,
how I would shriek and stamp and bellow!
That swollen laundry needs no mother.
Take me, and leave it to another.

But still she drudged so quietly,
nor scolded me nor looked upon me,
and the hung clothes would glow and billow
high up above, with swoop and wallow.

It's too late now to still my bother;
what a giant was my mother--
over the sky her grey hair flutters,
her bluing tints the heaven's waters.


Comments about Mama by Attila Jozsef

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Saturday, September 25, 2010



[Report Error]