The Kind Of Nerd I Am

I am embarrassed to admit how much fun I had doing an exercise from my writing class last week. The gist of it is that you take a poem in a foreign language and write what you think it says.

When I first tried this, the linguist in me kept wanting to actually attempt a translation, which was definitely not the point. Write a poem based on your impressions of the words that make up the original, not what you actually think it says. It helps to find a language totally unrelated to one you've ever studied. That way you can't cheat.

Yes, it sounds cheesy. That's why I'm abashed that I enjoyed it so much.

The original Hungarian poem I used is here. And following is my "translation":

It's curt and lazy, a fat little novel.

Hello? This call I'm making is collect.

Just the same, the bulls at the dock are half curry;

Casks of Beaujolais wriggle vigorously.

Mind the Beaujolais' vigorousness;

We have less vigor.

We have sung less, in front of their banners,

And gaze less madly at vigorousness.

The jet, its sock is a pip of a sock.

Do you hear me, jolly, wiggling sock?

Just as their games see and find them,

Magnanimity eludes them.

Death is not gone; I am not gone;

Little napkins, big napkins have eclipsed my village,

Leaving it a sterling mirage.

I know you're all way cooler than I am, so I'm not expecting anyone else to want to do this. But if you DID, and then put your goofy poem in the comments, it would totally make my day.