Twelve years ago I visited Budapest, where part of my family had lived. A few years later I wrote this poem.
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 Places and Times, eLectio Publishing
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