Otto Tolnai: Telegrams from New York to István Domonkoš in Uppsala

2
I got dangerously lost somewhere in Manhattan
although they say it looks like a square sheet of a school notebook
and a man cannot get lost, but I always am
lost in the cube notebooks for mathematics
I strayed dangerously even though I was at the time
after a month of stay, I started to move a little more freely
however somehow I managed to grab hold of the red fence
so I didn't fall under the wheels of taxis as yellow as egg yolks
I didn't know where I was or where I wanted to go
what am I looking for in this green glass babel
which even a stray baseball can do
to crash down with a bang
and in general my whole life of nothingness, etc
I recently read in Kerouac's diary
as Ginsberg once asked jazz musician Lester Young
what would you do if an atomic bomb was dropped on new york
he replied that it would be from the window of the tiffany shop
took some expensive jewelry
later since I was quite mesmerized by this dialogue
from somewhere, the code of the first atomic bomb came to my mind
it was called manhattan and then one day it became clear to me
it was a true enlightenment
that they actually threw it on themselves
Manhattan to Manhattan
and that the thing happened a long time ago
and lester didn't pick up the jewelry
while I stand here in the center of the mushroom, silly as under an umbrella
but that day I was already far from such thoughts
as bartok said right there i thundered those atomic threes
i just wandered into manhattan
I am lost.
My legs are gone.
(perhaps thrombosis of psychological origin)
I still didn't know if I was going to burst into tears or scream
I gripped the red fence post and stared
into columns of taxis as yellow as egg yolks
among the green glass walls
and then I heard the thump of someone's footsteps from somewhere behind the glass walls
beyond the glass mountains and across the seven seas
I thought I saw in Kanjiza (in Europe)
as he beeps, he locks his law office
and goes home next to the church of the hospital's fire station
along the wide street to his mother for lunch
moving in a steady rhythm next to each other
his short legs under his huge belly
and I saw him coming back after his midday nap
to receive people again in the largest order
who intended to die to divorce or they stole maybe killed
and I saw him lock his office again in the evening
and goes home to his mother for dinner
to drink his beer brewed in his own cellar from a dark pitcher
i only watched his little legs (left-right-left)
and slowly I took my first step there in Manhattan
staring at him and I slowly reanimated my gagging noses
and decided to send a telegram from the first post office
in Uppsala (Europe)
something about the beeper being our only one
landmark in the world
to us who wanted to experience the superficial adventure of poetry
so we fell over the red fence into the abyss
and now I wander blindly in a sulphurous fog
but I don't have to explain to you how complicated it is
deliver a telegram here in New York (at least to me)
stop