Attila József : THE INVENTORY IS READY

I trusted only myself from the beginning –
if you have nothing, the cost will be willing
for the man. In no way it will be more
than for the animal that dropped not living anymore.
Even if I was scared, I found my stand-
I was born, I mingled and I did out-stand.
I even paid everyone just as was the measure,
who gave it for free, I accepted with pleasure.
Women, if I was play-toy for any of their flattery:
I believed it really – let them be happy!
I scrubbed ships, pulling buckets as my only tool.
Among smart gentlemen, I played the fool.
I sold spinners, breads and books,
newspapers, poems – whenever what smooths.
Not in a glorious combat, not on a gentle rope,
but I end up in a bed, sometimes I hope.
Either way, now the inventory is ready.
I lived – and even others have died in it already.

Benyamin Bensalah

18.02.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila Jozsef, “Kész a leltár” (1936).

Enraining

I’ve been in an acid rain.
From the start.
Tap-tap, tap-tap.
Every drop falls.
Through my coat.
Through my face.
Into the heart.

I’ve been sitting in a pit.
It rains sadness.
Ha-ha, ha-ha.
Every drop laughes.
Into my ears.
Into my soul.
Through madness.

I’ve been waiting death.
To come.
Tak-tak, tak-tak.
I can’t wait.
In the years.
In the pains.
How long they last.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.11.2016

Where everything’s black

It’s not that I thought myself so clever,
I’ve just been born onto another level;
Far from simple human feelings,
Far, where my quill sings.

Oh, now, I would wish more love;
I wish more acts into my love,
But… I’ve had nothing worth,
But my words.

Even if she said: I live in your words,
She skipped me and my worlds,
From one day to another;
I wish I’d died rather…

While my worlds were falling apart,
Me thinking of my sweerheart;
What more could I give her
If words couldn’t infer.

Now, see how my words newly raved,
From where my soul is engraved;
Wishing its unloved body back
Where everything’s black.

***

I’m wordless, like a true living-dead;
She stole all my words that I had,
Some described her and love,
Some a flower, some a dove.

Wake up, stupid! You last moron!
You still believe in the Koran?!
Where love is devil’s heel,
Wives marked by seal?

Burn down beliefs, humans, memories!
You won’t need their glories
When you will be there;
In that dark sphere.

There, you’ll find peace in Nothing,
Don’t cry for another thing;
Love? Who’d love you?!
An empty queue…

Poorly, your veins in words outpour,
No vehemence, no thing to adore;
A chador, and a picture is back…
But, again, everything’s black.

***

I know that place – I tried escaping,
Not me, but my mindless feeling;
That I have to live anyway,
But, for whom, I’d stay…

A bright smile blinded my moments,
There’s darkness in all continents;
See that you have nothing to see,
No kingdom, no Annabelle Lee.

Rather, find your joy in a smoke,
That helps enjoy any joke;
Even if it’s about life,
Or any other strife.

Search a dark place and breath in,
That’s where you’ll get in;
Digged by your gloom,
A perfect tomb.

The life is full of childish lies,
At my tomb, crocodile cries;
“I wish he’d come back”,
But everything’s black.

***

I’m not a person who sees the morrow,
Carpe Diem. Despite of sorrow;
I try to enjoy this shit,
Despite of every hit.

My eyes, my heart and my whole body,
Are looking for none, nobody;
They wish to die,
Wish to die.

Whether it was the lie of my dark soul,
It may have a bright goal,
To save my sanity,
My insanity.

Sillily, I’m afraid of seeing a Lily,
Even if my grave is chilly,
A flower may try revive
Me, with another lie.

Thus, get away with the colour,
Stop this living horror,
Never turn back
Until it’s black.

***

There are words echoing, Ohhh,
There are only words echoing;
From a lost world,
My only world.

“Try to trick your mind and that’s all”,
*I cry* trick to insanity, pal?
Trick it to imagine you?
All we went through?

I wish I could trick it like that,
Living a dream till I’m dead,
Then, a kiss wakes me up;
“I’m sorry, bud”.

All the pictures living in me,
All that I am living in thee,
Are somehow gone,
But not undone…

So, I curse this world with all its beliefs,
That have destroyed my only relief,
Only hope to have a life payback;
Payback of everything black.

Benyamin Bensalah

05.09.2018

A Strange generation

Camus died years ago.
I can’t be sure, even with Wikipedia.
The truth is so flexible;
every head has a couple of truths
about everything.

He died in a car accident
as it was written,
but we can’t know what’s behind –
surely, we want to hear A Story
about a strange death.

What was he thinking, planning
when he got into that car?
Would he be happy with that death?
Was he ever be happy in his life?
He was aware.

He was aware of the indifference,
insignificance of life.
This is a curse,
barely letting you fall asleep.
Awareness is awakenedness.

Having dreams is luxury
for one who’s awake of dreaming,
believing we exist
while someone who’s awake
sees we don’t.

We live and die;
laugh or cry, we die.
There’s no superior fact above
dying meaninglessly
in our own self-created scenes.

Had he ever been happy?
I ask again –
of course he had;
happiness comes up and leaves
in an absurdly meaningful moment.

That moment is absurd
because it ends.
Then, it leaves no meaning behind.
Love, wine, other hallucinogens
leave us empty as We Are.

If someone’s aware of such facts,
it doesn’t matter whether happy,
living or dead is the person
because we’ll be up to everything
and never belonging to a thing.

So, just get into that car,
send our grandson
To buy our last pack of cigarette
because what happens happens.
Then, it ends. Absurd.

Benyamin Bensalah

13.02.2020

Freest state

Stack my years behind me and those in front,
Rush then with them to a battlefront
That ends in a mass grave.

Stack my years and throw them into fire,
Burning a forest if there’s no hellfire
Just to make a mess.

Stack my years I lived and set them
Like dominos, then let them
To fall apart.

Stack my years in a messy writing
Needing a thousand rewriting,
Then, just delete.

Do whatever you want, please,
Just make it end, please,
Please.

Benyamin Bensalah

12.02.2020

A perfect influence

Surely we think ourselves less, my dear,
Since we see ourselves through just a wasted reflection;
What an eye cannot see is its sister’s tear,
So, do not doubt in your own perfection:
Now, I am your third eye – your mirroring lense…

Hear my voice as if your own mouth were speaking,
Feel my leading and hinting as your sixth sense;
Since I am a thinking being of seeing,
For me, the world is perspective, but non-sense:
Without sharing with you, my life is just wasted experience…

As all in the world is, with the world itself,
We are no more, but our own perception;
Just trick your mind as it’s tricking itself,
If there’s no, indeed it is God’s perfection:
Rejoice on being His perfection now and hence…

Benyamin Bensalah

30.10.2017

Pantoum of Love

If there’s any reason in life,
It’s the must to fill the heart;
Because there’s no worse damnation
Than living hollow-hearted.

It’s the must to fill the heart;
The pain that’s like dancing knives
Echoing wall to wall
In the heart without any reason.

The pain is like dancing knives
Urging for sedation
To pour meaning into the empty glass
That’s mortified of thirst.

Urging for sedation,
Even the least image is a seducer
For hope to enliven an organ
That’s pumping life into us.

Even the least image is a seducer,
A mere-mirror that shows us
We are still worthy to beloved
In our silent existence.

A mere-mirror that shows us
We are human beings,
Not just lost thoughts
In an organic carcass.

We are human beings,
Needing love just as a reason
To prove that in this world
We are not alone.

If there’s any reason in life, it’s the must to fill the heart;
To prove that, in this world, we are not alone.

Benyamin Bensalah

09.02.2020