What follows are English versions of seven folksong texts, translated quite strictly (from Hungarian or Romanian) but with intervening interpretative modifications. The idea is to project the texts into an arena of modern poetry where they may speak more fully than pure transcription permit. And to demonstrate the kinds of depth and poetic play which exist in such places. The order follows a sequence of stations through a life, but collapses into inconsequentiality at the end, as such things tend to.

,,,,,,,

If you don't work
you won't hear the cuckoo

Or the water
or the wind whistling

Do the work, saw the log, write the truth
and the cuckoo will sing in the tree

Respect and love the old people
in a world sense

All the work is good
that has good result

Sitting touching the cradle
in the winter.

,,,

When I was a young lad I sang like a cuckoo and walked like a wolf.
Now we walk like cuckoos and sing like wolves

When I was a young man
there were violins everywhere, I sang and sang
sweetly the violin calms my heart
plays for days on end, calmed heart listens

Violins and loved people steal our souls
loved person, violin, steal mind and soul.

,,,

My eyes laugh in your eyes.
My centre hurts for you.

I'm angry with your eyes
looking into mine.

I'm even angrier with your centre
teaching me love.

Whichever way the wind blows
it gets me.

,,,

My rose, think well of the beginning and the end,
with whom you will cover the world before your eyes.
For it is not borrowed bread which can be given back,
neither is it unearned money which can be spent,
nor is it a hot pillow which you can turn over.
You have found your life's partner, rose,
winter blossom, fallen bud.

,,,

And hurting, which is not the heart
but we say heart to describe the hurt.
The earth banging on my coffin lid
will silence all that.

And I'll be a star in the sky
shining faintly at the edge of the sky over the forest
and around midnight I'll poke around the houses
to see what my loves are up to.

,,,

Morning star shines
and I'm still out with the girls/lads
God what a disgrace
making my way home in the morning.

Morning morning here it comes.
I'm going home
and I'm taking my loves with me
we'll all walk home together.
I'm going home late
I'm going home at ten. Way!

,,,

DON'T CRY.

Way way way way.
Home home home.

Don't cry.
I'll expect you for supper.

,,,,,,,

First published in The Paper (edited by David Kennedy) No.1, Sheffield 2001.