Tamás Filip : He lives in darkness

Find someone to replace me.
Find me in someone else instead.
The role is playing me,
if there is applause, I do not bow my head.

I’m the one who doesn’t dwell
on the way, like a message,
no chance to say, I’ve felt here well.
If arriving, show me passage.

Not the first and not one of many,
not a question and not an answer.
The one who can wait any,
beyond the time where no men were.

Who is blinded lifeless
lives dreams in darkness.

Benyamin Bensalah

08.09.2021

Translated from the Hungarian Poem of Tamás Filip, “Sötétben éli”.

Sándor Reményik: I want to

I want to: not to be important to myself.

Let me be a brick in an endless wall,
Stairs, on which someone else goes up,
A plow that works the ground, digging into it,
But the corn is not its merit.
Let me be the wind that carries the seed,
But not causing the flowers bloom,
And the people, when they are on the field – assume,
Let them admire the flower.
Let me be the handkerchief that wipes away tears
Let me be the silence that always eases.
Let me be the hand that caresses shoulders,
Let me be, and never let me know I exist.
Let me be the dream on the tired lashes.
Let me be the vision that appears
And doesn’t ask if it’s watched or not,
Let me be the mirage on the rune.
Let me be from the black heart of the old earth
A deep sigh up to the sky and forth,
Let me be the wire on which message goes through
And replace me if I’m worn.
Let me be the boat under many souls,
Simple, roughly clashed raft,
That’s taken by deep rivers onto the sea.

Let me be a violin that cries into the infinity,
Until the artist puts down the bow.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Sándor Reményik, “Akarom”.

Co-ward

Standing on the edge of this forgotten galaxy,
we are guarding a life,
an innocent future
that we sent behind bars
to live on water and bread,
then we guard it with all powers
something that we didn’t let to live
that is already
in a place that has no escape,
but we are still guarding –
we don’t mind to look at it,
it would make us cry,
but we are the guards
who need to bear
the lost
of a life.

Benyamin Bensalah

25.08.2021

The Walk

I can’t compare myself to none,
but to some images I saw on TV
how skin and bone lions abandon
every drop of zeal:

They walk, leave stone by stone,
kicking the dust alone
with a barren look on the barren
fighting for no more.

Why eating, cleaning? Where to go?
It’s a must to go…
Belonging to nowhere,
they are just in constant leaving.

They are unaccepted, exiled –
some days might’ve been different,
but now days and nights
conclude them as indifferent.

We are walking; walking is a must:
no place, no time needs us,
only escaping what remains to us,
then, we finally join the dust.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.04.2021

Ervin Kibédi: Something came to intervene. . .

You nurtured a dream in your heart’s deepness;
Preserving the renewing spring
Giving the dying world a new chance
Easing the complaints’ sting,
Handing all awaiting flowers an advance.
But nature dressed in mourning scene.
You can’t change it, you see hence;
Something always came, came to intervene.

A decaying cell, a disgusting theory,
A war or a moment of calming
Death of a martyr or loss of a tyranny
Maybe joy or just suffering?!
You fought with the harsh times vainly,
You protected your instincts in vain
You were weak or had good energy;
Something always came, came to intervene.

And there your mother waited for the last hour
Preparing her final speech
So deserted, so lonely dour
You set out to say something at least
You’d like to at least! – but you just missed the hour-
To reassure, to comfort her
And you will have no more;
Something always came, came to intervene.

Like a child watching a flying ball
That a female hand throws awkwardly,
You would have expected your work to pay it all
Thus solving all problems of life with no worry.
You always hoped so with a childish call;
That you can stop the time you’ve been,
You wanted to, but you couldn’t at all
Something always came, came to intervene.

As a fine breeze of secrets on a summer evening
You were touched by the love of worth
You thought you were just looking for a seeking!
But the wound in your heart just got worse.
Even Cupid, love itself as being
Was watching over you in vain;
It’s over, gone, for what you are crawling
Something always came, came to intervene.

You wanted to describe the big study,
Creating a melody that’s eternal
Wiping away tears from the human body,
Such questions never let you rest at all.
You were carving a statue, the chisel got shoddy
And everything was broken before seen
Would you like to start again? God! – it’s tardy!
Something always came, came to intervene.

Where did the mates, good friends go
All that remained is the blind yourself.
How they all loved and how they flattered though!
You believed them and cheated on yourself.
Once upon a time, so much was expected of you
Now they are whispering behind the scene,
The trouble was, maybe slowly you get through:
Something always came, came to intervene.

Fresh meat has long been covered with green mold,
The marble cracks thinly
You suspect and feel that something is being rolled,
That your life is disappearing dimly.
There’s none to do but to stand, wait, behold
Like a chased wild among the silent trees.
You wanted to live, getting old –
But it can’t be: – Something intervenes.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Ervin Kibédi, “Valami közbejött. . .”.

Jenő Heltai: Questionnaire

When your tortured heart goes silent,
A big questionnaire will be your defiant.

What your motionless lips sigh,
An invisible clerk will take notes by.

What you are going to answer – because you have to answer! –
Where did you let your life go to disaster?

Where did you turn left instead of right?
Answer! Do you know the cursed time?

If you were given a divine miracle,
Say: would you go back there empirical?

Like seeking the handle of a lost axe,
Would you start again the long road’s acts?

While pursuing desire and urging trouble,
Would you dare to run another Marathon?

All that is vile, lying, and false,
Would you go through it, say, through the same faults?

Why? Why?! For new goals? Or…
To get where you are now?

So that, forgetting all the old torments,
You can cry and fray again with no ends?

For this cheap misery as a prize
For this more bitter than sweet, tiny life?

Benyamin Bensalah

10.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Jenő Heltai, “Kérdőív”.

Play On

Have you ever asked the toy
you were playing with
if it liked to be your toy?
It is all nice that it’s a toy,
fulfilling its purpose
to play with, innit?
No matter leaving it
in the darkness of the night
for hours, right?
Or forgetting it in hurry
while preparing
for a hell of a weekend.
No thoughts of such
as the first minute hurts
just as the 1440th and so.
The minute of turning off the light
heading out or to the fridge
hurts the same infinity.
You haven’t thought about it
how is it to be alone
have you?
How is it to swing
between having a purpose
and being in senseful nonexistence?
Oh, how would you
when your grief lasts no more
than a minute when it disappears?

Benyamin Bensalah

06.07.2021

Attila József: ARISE FROM THE FLOOD

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!

Benyamin Bensalah

23.05.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “BUKJ FÖL AZ ÁRBÓL” (1937).

Encore

The Past been a nightmare to wake from,
sometimes eating up the present,
being unable to tell whether it has an end;
the Future been the past’s mirror image,
warning signs or either sirens’ songs,
nothing that possibly cannot go wrong;
I was likely anchored, cornered to Present,
more like pulling the chains than living,
but this was already much from a dead being.

I walked every step with a blind resignation,
a person died and revived in me,
like someone stealing life and trying to flee;
the anchors I tried to undress so hard
kept undressing me slowly,
and here I am standing like nothing can control me;
the anchors I were fighting, life, have gone,
it feels no more grief, no more agony,
I’ve reached freedom through fatal cavity.

There’s no past I could face anymore,
none of me waits me in the future,
but here I am where I could have been sooner;
losing the pain through losing life,
I am free with a huge cavity,
and I am as ready to live as to face mortality;
I feel eager, no more than any,
just to live a bit more,
imagining there’s an anchor that makes me stay more.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.05.2021