Like sculpture at first. Then, as if the sun rose in her, long
A small smile; then very much so.

The beauty
of the rite shone; whirling.

She whirled and whirled,
Only the body spoke. The body carried her


Her dance a spell
swirling the air, a spiral she was


her shawl, the half circle around her,
the curve of the sea-shore and

the dancer and the dance apart…

(Transcreated by Cathy Strisik and Veronica Golos based on Katalin N. Ullrich’s translation.)

Isadora Duncan tánca 

Mint a szobrok, a szobrok. Napfényes, hosszú mozdulatok.

Alig volt mosolya. De ha volt, az nagyon.

A rítus szépsége tört át a ritmuson.

Csak forgott és forgott és forgott.

Könnyedén siklott. Lobogott.

Szavának súlya volt. De szólni nem tudott.

Forgott a kígyóbűvölő és forgott a sál,

forgott a félkör, a tengerpart és forgott a lány,

külön a táncosnő és külön a tánc …

– Kinga Fabó

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