by Attila Joisef

To end my thirty-second year
i wrote myself a souvenir-
a prize
surprise:

a quick impromptu memoir
saluting in this coffee-bar
my birth
on earth

Thirty two years...Without a doubt
what Hungary has doled me out
was not
a lot

I could have been a teacher, but
I wear my pencils to the butt
for just
a crust

for I was sent down from Sreged
by the provost, that add egghead,
a so
and so

who picked on my "with a Pure Heart".-
to save the Nation from my art
he barred
the bard

and drew his sword against my kind,
his words deserve to be enshrined
to shame
his name:

"Until I must give op the ghost
don't dream of any teaching past"-
I quote
unquote.

So what matter if I am banned
from prof.A.Horger's graduate
grammar
crammer?

I'll teach my people, one and all,
much greater things than what you call
college
knowledge.