Attila József: Motivating

In China, there’s hanging tangerine.
Today has killed the cocaine.
The straw is buzzing, go to sleep.
Today has killed the cocaine.

Through the window of the store
Till the cashier, sees the poor.
The straw is buzzing, go to sleep.
Till the cashier, sees the poor.

Take a sausage and take some bread,
keep well your living breath.
The straw is buzzing, go to sleep,
keep well your living breath.

Whoever will cook, will kiss, too,
once, there will be a woman, too.
The straw is buzzing, go to sleep,
once, there will be a woman, too.

Benyamin Bensalah

31.01.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Biztató” (1927).

Inspired by death

Inspiration –
To what, all of us are ever subservient,
Sith, being inspired is being alive on its own;
Letting the soul to inspire the fresh reasons of life,
What-without, all of us are just junks of empty organs.

Life –
What is taken by the reciprocal goal
Of living for living, looking for no end, no beginning;
As plants, animals and we humans struggle in its vicissitudes,
The essence and quintessence all of this is living with a goal.

Art –
What is life itself, but not on its own
Since only an inspired, breathing soul can feel;
Feeling the love of the poet, the zeal in a painting,
By meaning of every day is an art, and art is the drug of every day.

Love –
What once is the meaning of life,
After a glance, the most painful drug a man can taste,
Brought by the sweetest venom of a woman’s play and demand,
Killing and enlivening by itself and by its drinkable, smokable antidotes.

Death –
What is fear’d, but inspires us the most,
Its single existence urges us to seize the day;
Seize it by love and art while we are still here, living,
Seize it by seeking inspiration in every moment of not being dead.

Benyamin Bensalah

18.10.2018

A foolish guy

Once I saw a foolish guy.
He was laughing up the sky,
Walking on a crowded street,
Dodging with a funny gait.

He was not giving a single damn,
Smiling, winking to every men,
Waving cheerfully with his hand,
Brighting as a burning brand.

What’s the wrong with this guy?
Saying everybody “hi!”?
Which drugs he was charmed by?
Why does he make me spy?

Others also might spot the lad,
Blushing into blaming red,
He worried not what face they had,
Just joyfully laughing at.

He flourished the street into bright,
Aside from the people’s fright,
I myself was by the fact surprised,
I myself approved and smiled.

Leaving norms, I forgot to be sad,
With a wide smile on my head,
Having the same look as he had,
People similarly saw me mad.

Sorry to say that the guy has gone,
I never forget what he’s done,
He taught me how to laugh for fun,
Sentencing myself into a pun.

14.02.2016

Cat-loife

Meow, it’s the new me now –
I’ll see – oh – you’ll see the new me now.
Don’t ask how, there’s no how-how,
But I’ll meow you my new tao:

Every day, there’s a new meowning,
I meow, making sure that it won’t be boring.
I uncurl myself and wash my whiskers,
Purring my soul with good whispers:

I’m so happy in this meowning,
Walking gently, and my fur is warming.
I’ll face the jungle with a tiger’s roar,
No one dares to ask what are my stripes for:

I bounce into the day like I am,
Proudly-loudly purring like a lion.
My mane is mine and the mane I am,
Being meowsome is my main domain:

I’m mild and kind like a kitten,
Even if it’s most of the time hidden.
Because I mind my own matter,
Avoiding the needless chatter:

I’m meowing since the meowning,
Just to break the ice of being boring.
If the boredom is still in my way,
I just gently paw away:

There’s no better escaper,
And there’s no fair enough keeper.
But, some warm holding hands
May fulfill my purre demands:

Rest and peace my life’s about,
If your place is not alike, rather let me out.
I’m faithed to live like a cat,
A natural aristocrat:

Tao is the only law with fun,
I roflmao all over where there’s sun.
Living all my nine lives in a row,
I’ve a cat-life, meow.

Benyamin Bensalah

11.02.2019

Almost dead poets

If there’s a poet you know, and still alive;
Please, tell him your appreciation,
Tell her how she does matter,
Tell him he means a lot
Because
We, poets, don’t see behind the dot;
We feel a lot, write some out,
Then, we think, sometimes,
That we’ve done nothing.
That’s why,
Please, if there’s a poet… you know…
Tell him, tell her your appreciation
Because… it does matter,
You know…

Benyamin Bensalah

07.01.2020

The Deep Embrace

Even if its sea is silver-
And golden is its shore,
I should never be going there-
To the sea of sore and sorrow,
Not anymore.

Where faceless phantoms sing-
Lunatic nightmares,
My place desires but to sink-
Deep into the wares and blue,
More and more.

Their song is about people-
Hurting, violating,
Their air is violent, purple-
Breathing, exhaling the hate,
More and more.

Reaching the charmed deep-
Their hate is fading,
Fades the desire to weep-
To be living down the surface,
More and more.

Even if its sea is silver-
And golden is its shore,
I should never be going there-
To the sea of sore and sorrow,
Not anymore.

Benyamin Bensalah

23.09.2017