A dozen years ago this week I was in Budapest. A nine-hour train ride from where I was living in Germany took me directly there. It was hot weather, but I enjoyed myself because I was visi
When I came to my new home in South Carolina, I wrote this poem, among others. Maybe I will write something else about Budapest one day, but this is a favorite of mine. For those who do not know, the city actually is a merger of the older Buda with the more modern Pest on the other side of the Danube, and also includes the small island of Obuda.
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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