[Andrea]

Like a child who wants to rest
Who came to a peaceful quite nest
saying: Don´t leave, please tell a fairy-tale
like this the time you will delay
with heavy heartbeat in that small body
craving for a tale or just to be close to somebody

So we ask you: Sit down here and tell us
the usually things about our old Tellus
Tell us as you used to although we never forget
Tell us you are with us and we never regret
that we are with you till dead do us part
Coz we are the ones some would call smart

You know this well: the poet never lies,
Tell us the truth not only the real that rhymes
Tell us about the light that fills our mind with brightness
Because without each other we´re living in darkness

Like Castorp sees through Chaucat´s body
Tonight we are facing our true harmony
Your padded words seals and resist the noise
Tell about pure beauty or grief, it is your choice

Lifting our hearts towards yearning from affliction
We have just buried poor Michael Jackson *
And mankind is living in a world of thriller
Where nightmare is feeding on a filler

Appalled we stand asking: is there more?
How could the demons find our candy store?
Is there more poison that brewing for each?
Is there a place for you where you can preach?

If you speak we will not hurry
But we never be weak so don´t worry
And we all remain free and kind
Our precious lessen humankind

Please sit down and write your story
Take your time, there is no worry
A European with purest white hands
Let them watch your angel stance

József Attila (1905- 1937) - "Welcome to Thomas Mann" translated by me.

József Attila was one of the most important and well-known Hungarian poets of the 20th century. http://c4.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/i...edff0d872f.jpg
* The original poem mentioned Dezső Kosztolányi (1885 – 1936) he was also a famous Hungarian poet and prose-writer.

There is also a translation by Vernon Watkins:

Just as the child, by sleep already possessed,
Drops in his quiet bed, eager to rest,
But begs you: "Don't go yet; tell me a story,"
For night this way will come less suddenly,
And his heart throbs with little anxious beats
Nor wholly understands what he entreats,
The story's sake or that yourself be near,
So we ask you: Sit down with us; make clear
What you are used to saying; the known relate,
That you are here among us, and our state
Is yours, and that we all are here with you,
All whose concerns are worthy of man's due.
You know this well: the poet never lies,
The real is not enough; through its disguise
Tell us the truth which fills the mind with light
Because, without each other, all is night.
Through Madame Chauchat's body Hans Castorp sees,
So train us to be our own witnesses.
Gentle your voice, no discord in that tongue;
Then tell us what is noble, what is wrong,
Lifting our hearts from mourning to desire,
We have buried Kosztolányi; cureless, dire,
The cancer on his mouth grew bitterly,
But growths more monstrous gnaw humanity.
Appalled we ask: More than what went before,
What horror has the future yet in store?
What ravening thoughts will seize us for their prey?
What poison, brewing now, eat us away?
And, if your lecture can put off that doom,
How long may you still count upon a room?
O, do not speak, and we can take heart then.
Being men by birthright, we must remain men,
And women, women, cherished for that reason.
All of us human, though such numbers lessen.
Sit down, please. Let your stirring tale be said.
We are listening to you, glad, like one in bed,
To see to-day, before that sudden night,
A European mid people barbarous, white.