I remember as a village member,
I cut a memorable road in the wood…
I remember as a walking wobbler,
Some deep thrill made shrill the route,
Covered by the blackness of Blackwood.
I remember as a faint bystander,
What a dark power had that wild park,
Beware-embraced, making my eyes sharp,
Taking its hideous darkness like a lark.
I remember with a tender temper,
Some river’s ripping ceased my shiver,
I – a thinker, harkened the silent timber,
How the water seduced me to drink her,
Whether I will fall to flaw, following her.
I remember as a deep slumber,
I answered the call, the fanfare, I heard;
The song of the fake stream was a lake,
A lake calling me with its narcotic ache.
I remember as I remember,
As if that freak lake wanted me to keep,
As if that deep lake… made me to leap.
The only I remember as a member of the lake,
As if I cut a memorable road in the wood…
A dark Violet Narcissus
in the center of my garden
welcomes me anyhow and timeless
while the world I don’t belong just hardens.
Putting up socks after socks,
Fetching that itchy stomach
At the dawn and when it’s down…
What else is the reason of a Bollock?
What else reason brought us upon Earth than facts that
are so trivial, they are even barely believable;
we are none more than the result of animals’ breeding,
doing the same life-essential routines of eating-excreting – and
here, some of our smart arse would say
that we are SENT down to this place by reason that
is we are JUST better than all other livings even if
the facts don’t support this answer; firstly because there was no
question to be answered so arrogantly.
And the above fact that we, humans, defend so desperately our supremacy proves that
we are in deed just a scavenged mixture of nature that
are here just as any other being; temporarily
blessed by the moment and cursed by the next
in what we fall from the circling giant wheel of life; and
this is what we can call a fact
that is standing above beliefs and can start a discussion on what
we are doing here now in these moments that
happen, now, but in the next round they cease as we cease
to know the false facts that kept us believing in
the answer without question why we are here now.
Yes, this isn’t easy to face that there’s no meaning
in the job we take, our education or
the family we were living for;
immense reasons “keeping us alive” are just parts of this
confusion that hides the fact that we are here for
one reason that is to live and die; one
thing is sure above all the false-certitude that Death
alone is the only common variable between us that
is unavoidable, doubtless, assured and
clear as it is.
We are dying together from the first moment we
are to face this glance of time of living, or rather
waiting for reasons to be here;
for we never can know why we are here, but
Godot is coming, and we are either willing or not, but we are waiting it
(“What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come –” Samuel Beckett – Waiting for Godot)
As a child who swore revenge
and set the father’s house on fire
and now strangeness settles on him like a foggy stench,
and only by the one against whom he did conspire,
he could cry himself out, his covered up
face to show his free smile, –
I am forcing it so hopelessly I’d rather give up
to my tears: to find what I am worthwhile.
I cremated a world in my heart
and there’s no good word to cry on as a start,
huddled up I am just waiting for the prodigy,
that someone may come to accept my apology
and tells me nicely what absurdity
needs to be forgiven in this pitfall of mort!
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Mint gyermek…”(1935).
My childhood’s broken reality haunts past, present and future;
dark traumas turned my fate to undergo on torture –
searing and healing, then searing and healing, and never relieving;
all my bad omens keep ceaselessly repeating,
sealed into my soul from the very first till the latest hour:
I’m happy for those whom I could save from this terribly cursed power
to being able seeing the cures of all the bad times
that themselves curse my every hope all the times –
a whispered ending that’s never ending: we are all alone,
whispered, but it’s waving through all the wall
that could separate a broken reality’s dope
from a seeding soil so real that it’s even deceiving, saying: there’s a hope.
Like the bacteria living on volcanic sulphur,
I am doomed to live in my dark sepulchre –
no visitors, no wind-brought flowers;
I am mourning alone the longest last hours.
I am breathing agony like vaporized mercury,
hoping that some day will come to bury –
bury every feeling that cannot be beared alone;
finally getting along with myself, finding a home.
I’ve marched in the Pluto’s coldest valleys,
burnt my heart away on Venus’ alleys –
my galactical travel in the dark matter
made me a living black hole; nothing does matter.
I could be promised with another solar system,
another parallel dimension’s enthusiasm –
but the beauty of nature taught me already;
the paradise is falling, so be steady.
A dead organic organism, I am, travelling,
either escaping or sometimes just dwelling –
I will find no place on Earth, nor in the space;
Here I am locked down, and I will face what I am to face.
I don’t know what’s threatening
in the evening’s lacy shadows;
like flies from the decaying,
my dreams fall apart in rows.
And I don’t know what’s this caring voice
ringing in my heart calming:
quite down, as only the evening it is
and what are you afraid of, darling?
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Nem tudom” (1937).
I make you forget everything on the world,
Even the world you used to know,
I change, modify it no one will recognize,
Because I know how to do.
I make you forget your cats, your parents,
Even paternal yelling used to be heard,
I mute, paraIyze it into wind,
Because I know how to do.
I make you forget everybody, but one,
Even your own roles you used to play,
I complicate its easiest act,
Because I know how to do.
Forget.. And admire that only silouette,
Even if you loose your soul and mind,
You can live only in my rapture,
Because I am…
An ever envy overwhelming serpentinely
squeezes – chokes out the last breath of my soul;
feeling eager to join that team there
who succeeded to leave this miserable folk sole;
leaving it to free our life hence
away from his notoriously gloomy lore;
not hearing from him
not hear of him anymore.