Dear J, I think of you always. How can I engage you from this distance set by years that separate you from me? Would you like to know about the works of Janos Arany, or about what was unforgivable between Ilya Ehrenburg and Yevgeny Zamyatin? We could look at the shack where Dostoyevsky married his wife, to wander in the word-labyrinth of Borghes, enjoy the strange world of Vian, the acrobats of Maupassant, witness the punishment for falling in love? Goethe would tell but he still would remember, show us Italy. But it was worth it, wasn’t it, love was everything, is everything. Come with me to Kazakh forest, you know where to find what I am looking for. Learn why Chekov did not like to drive in the snow? Still, I would never accept Eden without you. Am I a little seed of a flower mixed into the cement of a busy high-way being driven over thousands of time, looking for water, a space, light? Then one day, alone, in pain, I saw you. A sugared lightning struck me. My life never be a same again and there are not enough words in the dictionaries to describe it. Ady’s Nero, was right, I do not need the greats of Olympus, after all ‘the poet is who kisses and sings.’ For now he sings until he puts his head down in his bed, on a pillow and waits for you to enter his dream. Good night dear J. I pray, so you may stay out of harms way. K.
Dear J, I miss you. K.
You J, are the most beautiful woman n the world. In March or June, seasons, times of the year, decades, in for a life time, your beauty is given to you, to the favourite of the gods. And I am the whipping boy of the devil. When I am not writing on these pages, I compose, find music closer to that I want to say; that one day I will write or compose that will say, sing, how we should have lived together, had Chronos, that all powerful joker who I respect and owe my years to, had been kinder and adjust his calendar we live by, but unless I died in the moment I saw you first, even he cannot interfere with how I imagine we would have loved, lived, even Time cannot alter the past. The experts said that my music is beautiful. Naturally, it was composed with you in my mind. Singing of my love I close my eyes and listen to the selection of the evening, the doorway gets a little lighter, then I see you enter, stopped half way, you are not coming closer because of the regulations, but they do not have control of what I think you are doing next, bend down and put your face to mine; and I ignite in my local fire, where I burn, in the irresistible, great pandemic of love, always, always burning in the world.Released from the files of Ylorak Apneu, in compliance with his Freedom of Information Act. For years I was near the top of their list, Perhaps unwittingly as part of the entertainment. It was also an exercise of their generosity After the word got around that I bathe. Their wet, loquacious girlfriends and pretty wives Fell silent when I entered, busying themselves In the kitchen or at the bar, looking at me Every time they passed by the doorway. As the years went by the invites came Less frequent, then ceased altogether. I fell off the bottom of their list. Now, their wives and girlfriends call, Querying, “How are you? I know that your were a friend of his, but you can still call, I still have the same number or am I not on your list anymore?”
There are eight-hundred and ninety-nine female names that have the initial J. One of them knows that my letters, poems, compositions and dreams are only for her. Easy to find her; she is the most beautiful woman in the world. KS.
Dear J, don’t you know, that you are for me more, than that I write often in my letters, the most beautiful woman in the world? I cannot tell you, write the words how much more, that what ever I would write, say, would leave out what is most important. If I could carve, chisel a feeling, write a poem on water, I would be stopped, would need an ocean. The power of what I feel, that I attempt to express humbles me. If I close my eyes, I see you, hear your words. Good night dear J. With love, Karoly.
Ps.: I will wait for you at the usual place, time, as soon as the health regulations permit it. Please stay out of harms way, please. K.
I thought it was gold. Then, finally, By the spring, encouraged, pale, In his heart a nightingale, Presented himself as your man, Walked close to your humbling beauty, Sheltered you on the street, Opened a restaurant door, Dazzled by the fireworks of your smile, Asked you for a dance; when Your friends arrived. Being older He promised acting as if you just met, Rocket in his stomach. Even lifetime’s stolen moments pawned Now, no one to share his silence. Founder in the days without her, he is, According to a precise description, Thinking to himself; he should resist Curling up in his woes. The way to him is very long, The pew is facing the wrong way, He is afraid, will not believe the words: So long sweet love, thinking of you, I spent your iron I thought was gold In my love's luxury.
Dear J, I hope, wish that you are well. I already wrote to you but it is somewhere else in this program with the date 2020-05-19, with the – Drafts? Can you hear the drum-beat of my heart at 7p.m. every day? You certainly are in the front row of the first responders. I will dream about you. Good night dear J. have a happy dream. K.
Ps.: I have sent 3 pages of what I wrote about you to a national poetry competition. Even if I win I could not, did not do justice to, describe how beautiful you are. K.
Dear, beautiful J, I wrote a few lines to you, but this program ate it. It was written 2020-05-16. With love, Karoly.
2020-05-15. Dear J, I accidentally deleted my letter. Unless I find it, will write it again tomorrow morning. With love, Karl.
Dear J, I thought of you a thousand times but could not write to you.
My love is my master, opened one eye;
I know my animal, I was surprised
By his song; love-light poured through
The window, filled my body, he cried.
And in the score of this haunting serenade,
In the forever blue between
The more and the less of the blue of the tiles
Of the Escorial, trampled on more than once
But still beating is my heart.
2020-05-10 Dear J, I am sorry for being away for such a long time. I had to look after few people who care for me and after those who rely on me. During that time I thought of you a thousand times. Beautiful, dear J, I could see you any time, but unless it is all right with you, I will not. I wrote about you, dream about you. I beg you to be very careful, keep out of harms way. I wish that you are in good health, the best of health. Please, please look after yourself. Karl.