Regarding last night’s post titled “Freedom, selfish freedom,” my mom wrote to me this morning: “This is what came to mind because of today’s title. Jenő Heltai: Freedom.”
I read the poem. Instead of analyzing it, I’ll simply highlight the thoughts that I can relate to beyond the entire poem.
I apologize to those reading in English, this is not an official translation of the poem, just the version provided by Google Translate. According to ChatGPT, there is no translation for this poem.
Jenő Heltai: Freedom
Know: only he is free, whom
Words do not fool, light does not blind,
Neither rank nor treasure corrupts,
He who can openly hate, love,
Despises appearances, does not protect,
Has nothing to deny, nothing to hide.
Know: only he is free whose
Lip is not contaminated by lies,
Who does not utter empty slogans,
Does not deceive, does not promise, does not forge.
He does not compromise, is true to his honor,
He boldly says what he thinks, what he feels.
He does not look at whether he is attractive,
Nor at who he was, and whether his ancestors were,
He does not stare hunched over at the dog’s skin
And sees even the one who is a scoundrel as a human being.
Know: only he is free who
Even if he has no name, he is still someone,
Or hot or cold, but never lukewarm,
The fire does not ring in vain,
He has everything, even if he has nothing,
Because he never needs anyone.
He does not stand with an iron hat pulled over his eyes,
Always looks the Sun proudly in the face,
Assigns what his good companion undertakes,
And conquers with his heart, conquers.
He always stands his ground, everywhere,
He caresses more often than he hits,
But he shows sometimes that he has fists….
He wants to stay free forever.
Freedom! Do not take this hallowed name lightly, freely on your lips!
Know: only he is free,
Who pronounces it with such reverence,
As a good priest pronounces the holy name of his god.
Only he is free, whom tomorrow does not frighten.
Neither danger, nor torment, nor mental fetters will shake him
And no longer will he be bound by spiritual fetters.
Though in vain he is guarded by a dustpan and a padlock,
He is never a prisoner, who is free in spirit.
Even if he is a beggar, destitute,
He is rich, powerful, because he is unfettered.
This is not a gift. This is not given for free,
Where there is no sacrifice, there is no freedom.
It is only there, where, understanding his word
They can die and dare to live for it.
But the fight was not for it,
To do what you want,
And to take away everything that others have toiled for,
For your own benefit,
Because you want to be freer than others.
Freedom is not a Persian market.
It is not your merchandise. It is the treasure of millions,
Like hope, sunshine, spring,
Like a flower that, opening its rich cup,
Sprinkles its fragrance on the thirsty world,
So that from it a brotherly good may come
All the poor may get the same amount.
While one gets more, another less,
There is no freedom yet, the wound still burns.
As long as you are only freer than others,
You are not yet free, you are just…
A cowardly prisoner.