The very moment I felt peace
had no aggregate;
I could not grave in stone as I wished,
had no time;
as if I’ve been such happy timelessly,
had no details;
only peace in my heart and mind,
but it had a name
which is yours
such as I am.
Floating silhouettes in the darkness of the space;
history formed us through eras
from simple solid objects with fix dynamics
into an unknown, hideous mass.
We share the shape that’s not our shape,
only the abstract play of our past;
how and what lightbeam we hide away,
push away and blend is mistery.
We share a space that’s not our space,
what we lived surpasses all;
then, when we collide we create a new,
another place never seen.
We share an age that’s not our age,
our past is mere illusion,
faintly reflecting on the present
that is already unknown.
Floating mysterious mass of data,
we are nothingness- and infinity-close
big noisy-silent mess of backholes.
You may have been born with struggles,
you may be a little bit of mess,
but you are the most worth of my snuggles,
the one I will ever miss.
You made me cry out of happiness,
your voice echoes in my brain,
you are the cure of my chronic loneliness,
you’ve been born with my key.
A key I’ve lost without ever having,
you found me with it in your hands,
I’ve lost the human ability of begging,
but I can’t face that this feeling ends.
Only those read my poems I tell
who knows me well and loves as well
as I am in nothingness, sailing
and I am good at soothsaying
because I faced in my dreams
silence itself as a human appears
and in my heart, there are sometimes mere
tigers and gentle deer.
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila Jozsef, “Csak az olvassa…” (1937)
Every species developed their means
to perceive the surrounding
as well, every individual has its own design;
the birds crossing the sea,
the fish below where we can’t see,
the bugs dancing in ultraviolet.
So did I inherit and developed mine
of sensing this magnitude
to end my own design;
the trucks, the train, the cars,
the cigs, the drugs, the scars,
the heights’ and depths’ draw.
It’s ceaselessly pulling me hard,
sometimes I’m running
sometimes I accept this design;
pulling against, pushing for it,
crying – numbing, it remains horrid,
being in a force without control.
Your colours are flames,
eating up the world to prove its own existence;
you are the living cinder on the streets’ ashes,
burning the one who seeks blindly
and warming the one who knows you;
you are the glowing smoulder at the office,
spreading sparkles all over wildly
and melting all that’s not made of steel;
then, you blaze in the empty room,
eating up your own flames,
an ocean of flowing lava’s
inside your cavity,
inside my heart.
See the labyrinth of the walls –
What a world behind, and what a world where it stalls!
How they heighten, lengthen, enlarge,
in a fraction smaller than time!
See the maze of the walls –
What could look behind if their tallness never falls!
How they darken, sharpen, scourge,
in a lost universe without time!
See the defense of the walls –
What could touch that’s behind if they answer no calls!
How they fence, tense, diverge,
in an era where there’s no time!
See the infinitude of the walls –
What could look behind if there are halls of other walls!
How they home, tomb, forge,
in the matter of time!
See the immensity of the walls –
What a world behind, and what a world it holds!
How they colden, condemn, purge,
in a person once upon a time!
I’m releasing less attention
because I’m breaking under some tension
from the rules of nature,
being this carbonic ape-like creature,
but I’m still doing my best,
still living even if pain’s ripping my chest.
The days’ve been heavy,
my rhymes have become just as wacky,
rolling down some short-not shots
while playing a lunatic, mad poet’s plots
with loneliness as franchise
that’s sad, not, until the wretch dies.
No harsh feelings, that’s fine,
I’m still holding the line and that’s mine;
I’m born with bigger heart, naive –
this is how I’ll leave, nothing more to achieve,
but till my hands can tremble,
I note myself down, so you can remember.
What a talent, what a treasure,
but has nobodoy to share this pressure,
talking as if it would be shareable
my crazy selves, nothing like cherishable;
no need of “pain, no gain” bullshitting –
I’m just here for some fire-spitting.
Dark, surrounding big-blue ocean,
I’m still burning on its surface in self-promotion;
my flames tremble, and are heavy,
none’s feeding them and I gave up already
since its hunger would eat up worlds,
but I’m just a poor poet who’s running out of words.
Frighten me, God,
I am in need of your wrath.
Hurry, arise from the flood,
don’t leave me in nothingness as bath.
I, pushed up by the horse,
and from the dust I barely appear,
not human sized heart’s
knives of torment I am playing with here.
I am inflammable, and like the Sun,
I ignited such a flame – take it!
Shout at me as it’s wrongly done!
Snap at my hand with breaking hit.
And let your vengeance or grace
beat into me: sinlessness is a mistake!
Since having such an innocent face
burns me more than hell’s lake.
In wild, foaming salivary seas
I rotate like a bite when I am to lay
all alone. And I would dare all what man sees,
but nothing makes sense to stay.
To die, my breath
will held back if you don’t beat me with stick,
and like that I will be the gazing death
against your human-faced lack!
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “BUKJ FÖL AZ ÁRBÓL” (1937).
Like a veteran Samurai
when you choose me
so keep that in mind.
I know no else than fight
for the survival of mine
so I can live this life.
My life knows no past
no lies of good
I am just fighting blind
in no time,
so I can exist for fight.
My enemies are shadows
where I live
in a world of shades
so I can’t go blinded.
My smile isn’t a smile
I am in war
all is hit and evade
for my survival,
so I can die just alike.