Thursday, August 20, 2015

On the eve of St. Stephen, King

     No, this is not the "feast of Stephen" mentioned in the carol "Good King Wenceslas". that would be St. Stephen, Deacon and Proto-Martyr, as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. I am talking about the Hungarian king who adopted Christianity, who was named Istvan, which became the Hungarian form of Stephen.
   
     I cannot resist observing the Hungarian national holiday. As a boy, the family had reduced tickets for Kennywood Amusement Park from our Hungarian Reformed Fraternal Agency. The park still exists and has new life. But I am in south Carolina now, and we are in school.

Link to the park: https://www.kennywood.com/

    In 2004 I was in Budapest on the eve of the festival, needing to head back to duty in Germany on the Saturday, the actual day of the festival. Why was that? I was reluctant to take Sundays off, since my community needed me present; I was an Army chaplain. When I came to Würzburg I told them that I had been to Europe often enough; thus I would schedule my travel around Sundays. The largest part of my role was to conduct services, so I planned by travel around them.

    On the night before I left I walked around Buda, and returned to the Castle, where was were fantastic displays of folk art, music, food, and drink. I was mesmerized by the music and vocals, although I understood virtually none of it, despite my grandmother's wishes that her grandsons learn the language!

    I post a poem from "Places and Times" that tries to capture the evening. Have some tokay of Bull's Blood and enjoy!

    At Buda Castle
A gathering around Buda Castle
On the night before the national feast.
Vendors’ booths crowding narrow paths upward,
Inside green swath teems between the towers.
Aromas of goulash arising from
Huge black kettles. Colorful dancers swirl
As they have before coming to this ground.
Burly, deep-voiced singer, with red-golden
Fu Manchu leads guitars and violins
Through folks songs inaccessible to me;
But they mesmerize those who understand.
Gradually voice and tune envelop me,
The songs soar far beyond the heavens.
Summer sun wending westward toward Sopron,
Below the Danube shimmers flowing east.
I gaze at the glowing with sunset walls
And feel long-desired connection at last.

Arthur Turfa, copyright 2015




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