Kovács András Ferenc: To my detractors. On my birthday. Plagiarism! (Bírálóimhoz. Születésnapomra. Plágium! in English)

I have just turned thirty-four:
have no poetic claim, hope for
great lure
or lore.

Heaven I’m sure prepares my doom:
for virtue my life had no room -
silly
old me!

Just like the hate of -ors and -ists
my world’s aflame: yes, I exist!
This light
is mine!

I hear: I am ‘cause I am not
for I don’t dispose of a lot
of high
morale…

They say, my face’s like an old mask:
they ask, why is it I grimace
more oft’
than not?

Indeed, dandies don’t my mind grasp:
that it’s on their behalf I laugh
- merry
nightmare

I can’t bear my own density
- won’t be redeemed by sensiti
vity.
Pity.