Zsuzsa Emese Csobánka
Zsuzsa Emese Csobánka is a poet, writer and teacher. She graduated from Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest as a Certified teacher of Hungarian grammar and literature with MSs degree and from the University of Theatre and Film Arts, Budapest. In 2016 she has also finished her doctorate program from Science of Education Doctoral Program at Loránd Eötvös University. The topic of her thesis was: Opportunities of teaching contemporary literature in class.
As a scholar, she has been in Cracow (Jadwiga Fund, Poland and Balassi Campus, Hungary), in 2013 she has also been a Pilsen 2015 Fellow in Nectiny (Czech Republic), she participated in Kikinda Short Story Festival (Serbia), too. She received several Hungarian Literature Scholarships for her short stories.
Books: 2009. Bog(poems) Szoba Publisher 2011. Cold evils(poems) Kalligram Publisher 2011. His finger into me(novel) PRAE.HU + JAK 2013. Almost Auschwitz(novel) Kalligram Publisher 2014. The missing body(novel) Kalligram Publisher, Everyharbor(poems) Kalligram Publisher, 2015.
Clean Sheet /
I live by the sea.
There the heart halts ever more slowly,
Gulls drift onto seaweed and jellyfish.
But I’ve drawn the curtains on the room,
I didn’t want to see the sunrise.
The flaking plaster will stand in its place,
On the water opposite, as the sun looks into my eyes.
This season is a slow one for death.
Someone inside me beats a clapper,
But the bells ring distant.
Look at the shore. I can remember, how I’d jog out every morning,
Wanting to believe it’s not so deep.
And the low-tide would help me lie,
Such a load of questions left unanswered,
But before the end I’m searching the word for high-tide.
This strip of coast is a hollow echoing bell,
The curtain is quite the opposite:
It can never hide the room.
Long shadows like exclamation points,
the waves are hauling something.
Like the sound of seagulls in the morning,
Now then come closer:
this here’s my bed.
So many hearts were here yet now it’s empty, like a lake.
Were it salty you could call it sea,
But I haven’t any tears to hold back.
I loved too. And there’s always the present tense,
But isn’t this human side ridiculously touching.
Don’t take me seriously.Translated by Owen Good
Just look at my bed.
The salt dried onto the frame.
Like flaking plaster, dropping leaves or snow,
All who wish to see it burn away.
At least God could lie a little,
Saying the Monsoon actually exists.