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.
Man is finally reaching to a sandy,
sad, watery plane,
he looks around thoughtfully, and cleverly
he nods, he doesn’t hope.
This is also how I try without cheating
looking around easily.
Silver slash of an axe revealing
is playing on the tree’s leaf.
My heart is sitting on the branch of nothingness,
its little body is soundlessly shivering,
it’s surrounded with meekness
by the gazing, gazing stars.
In iron-colored sky …
It rotates in an iron-colored sky
the lacquered, cool dynamo.
Oh, noiseless stars in the sky!
The words sparkle between my teeth – –
In me, the past falls like a stone
through the void voicelessly.
The silent blue time leaves me alone.
A sword’s edge blinks up: my hair – –
My mustache like a mellow caterpillar enfolds
my fade flavored mouth.
My heart hurts, the words get cold.
But to whom could I tell – –
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Reménytelenül” (1933).
To burry the past for good,
to hurry the present and bring it forth,
to worry not what the future would hold;
I just need a shovel, a hoe and a big bell,
letting it hack and clatter and gong,
thinking nothing can go wrong.
To burry the present for good,
to hurry the future and bring it forth,
to worry not what the past could hold;
I just need a hoe, a big bell and a shovel,
letting it smack and dong and flatter,
knowing nothing does matter.
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.