Eger

from New Chapters, Eastern Europe 1990 by John Bennett and John Laidler

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lyrics

Looking for somewhere to stay, I reach a recommendation,
a small boy answers the door, my sign language fails,
sisters and brothers, even smaller, sit in the lounge.

The smell of urine is toxic. Hard, and for how long?
I jot down a message and leave it on the table,
the dogs are howling like wolves.

I find a homestay, fall for the beautiful mother and daughter
(we exchanged letters for a while). I borrow a field guide to trees
and an English-Hungarian dictionary. All the trees are pictured

growing by a road and I need Hungarian to English.
I pick some leaves, memorise the colour and texture
of the bark and sound of wolves in the Mátra Mountains.

Trees are flooding every conceivable angle of terrain.
Weathered women in ample shapeless jerseys and dresses,
cover their heads, grim faces are ploughed with wrinkles.

This covered market was only erected last year and tables
made available, tables display small piles of carrots,
small piles of turnips, small piles of carrots and turnips,

earth is tenacious, clings to the roots
transactions eventuate via the weight of the soil
in the cracks of their large, hardened palms.

The bishop's castle, fortified after a Tatar invasion
held out against the Turks two hundred years later
becoming a symbol of Hungarian resilience.

‘Abacination’ from Medieval Latin, has only one citation,
from an obscure source, which is good news. It means
blinding by holding a red-hot metal plate before the eyes.

‘Capital punishment, torture, humiliation’
is the current exhibition in the dungeon.
It is the most popular museum in Hungary.

Craftsmanship and imagination are exhibited.
I’m deaf, can only see new directions in metallurgy
and the stocks, now a photo-opportunity.