Tuesday, October 11, 2016
October 11, 2016
The most remarkable thing: at the Anna Café on Vaci Utca, two men sitting, each with a hawk on his wrist. The men were chatting and the hawks preening and looking hawk-like at the crowd. Maybe they were gods, for when I came back few minutes later to catch another glimpse, they were gone, man and hawk together.
Rain against the window. How will this affect the day?
Vivid dreams of Grandpa Summers, Jack Parson and Peg Downes and I being at his house cleaning up a mess someone had made with spilled chocolates.
Wandered about in the cold rain. Returned to Parliament but did not go in, because of the crowds. Walked to the Buda funicular, but did not ride because of the crowds. Toured part of Buda that was familiar to me from before. Bought a ticket to an organ concert tonight at St Stephan’s. Bought a VIP seat because of a superfluity of forints still in my wallet. Sat down twice because of pain in my legs, once to drink mocha and watch a Japanese family, once to eat zucchini soup and watch four Hungarian men at lunch together, boisterous and affectionate. This is one of those “empty” days one has overseas, without moving forward, gathering a little biological strength.
This has been a multifaceted experience. It was an honor being part of it, though I was the only one to participate for honor alone. It introduced me to Budapest, a city which was not high on my list and to which I may never have gotten otherwise. The verses I wrote for it are not my best, and were written “to order,” to some degree, for a person whose vision was not my own. The finished product is. . . well, I don’t know what to say. I think Lucio’s music is sublime and lifts my verses with it, but that is not what the producers want to foster. Yet they got the ball rolling, and without them there would have been no opus. It has added minimally to my minimal portion of fame. It has been an experience the end of which I probably have not yet seen, and so I sit tight, listen to the six o’clock bells from the basilica, prepare to go out one last time in the Hungarian rain.