Gerry Miller

My regards to you all.
On my way back from Miskolc to Budapest I wrote a few lines about Miskolc.
Perhaps some of your students would care to
- correct any mistakes in my description
- send me some critical comments on what is wrong with it and how I might make it better
- write their own

MISKOLC
Leaving behind the capital city in late afternoon
the train silently bores into the tunnel of darkness,
and through thousands of years of forgotten history
to a destination deep in a cavern of mystery
where streams of thermal waters and perceived images
revive the stories of former dynasties
and a Benedictine monastery in the hillsides of Tapolca.

Emerging in the bright sunlight of a castle yard,
confronted by a richly-coloured tapestry
of knights who joust and roundabouts of merriment
through labyrinths of laughter and the clashing of swords,
while lords in rich attire seek attention and admire
the gracious smiles and elegant styles
of the majestic queens of Anjou.

Passing the haunts of prehistoric Uncle Flint on Avas Hill,
the once Catholic church and tower restored, converted and Reformed;
the broad expanses of Kiraly ut and Jókai Mór;
the vibrant floral beauty of the inner city streets;
the simple lines and cooling fountains of the Heroes Square:
from festivals and concerts to aspic frogs and balls,
and on to Szinva Terrace to meet the Miskolc girls.

(2008)