Kata Csongrádi: SUNTHEM

The Sunbeam doesn’t ask
How much its light is worth
The Sunbeam doesn’t ask
What it will get in return
The Sunbeam doesn’t ponder
It just flows brightening.
Infinite caress and cuddle
but he does not ask for paying.

Love like the Sun, unconditionally
Like the Sun, which is built heartly.
Like the sun, born of light
Like the Sun, creating bright.

All people are a ray of light,
part of the universe
Who think they are just a byte,
But they are a part of the whole biodiverse.
All people are a ray of light,
one of the infinity.
All people are a ray of light,
but they do not dare to believe in reality.

Love like the Sun, unconditionally
Like the Sun, which is built heartly.
Like the sun, born of light
Like the Sun, creating bright.
Love by creating bright!

Benyamin Bensalah

24.09.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Kata Csongrádi, “Naphimnusz”(2005).

Attila József: WINTER

A big, big fire should be settled,
To let the people warm up.

Throwing on it everything that is antique, junks,
Shattered, broken and what is new and whole,
Children’s toy, – oh, happy hare and hounds!  –
And heaving on it everything that’s beautiful.

A hot flame would sing to the sky about it
And it would hold in its hands everyone’s properties.

A big, big fire should be settled,
Since the cities, the grounds are frostbitten …
To tear open the handles of the frosted cell
And light it up, to make everything heaten.

That fire, oh, should be settled,
To let the people warm up!

Benyamin Bensalah

20.09.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Tél” (1922).

Attila József: It doesn’t matter to me …

It doesn’t matter to me: is there a god or not
And certainly I would believe in him,
But I don’t even have that much free time.

If He helps me, it’s better for Him,
If He doesn’t help, it won’t get any worse.
If there is, then He couldn’t be worse
Than the one we used to have,
If there is: I don’t worth even a dog,
If there’s not: I don’t worth even a dog,
Neither better nor worse.

Sooner or later the poor
Has to go crazy,
Or hang on to a branch,
Except if he starts to realize,
That the poor here is God,
World-creator God,

The rich are just angels;
Our sigh gives them wings
And in the crawling creation
Why would we need angels?

Benyamin Bensalah

29.08.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Nekem mindegy”(1924).

Always lemon

Like biting into lemon over and over again,
Life squeezes fun out of my face:
Although my hand feels the round apple,
My eyes can see the rich peach,
The rapture of thousands of sweet colors …

But when I reach for them,
Take to my mouth the manna of Eden:
Bitter tastes try to let me know
That you’re in a very bad place,
This is not your world …

Benyamin Bensalah

16.07.2018

Translated from my Hungarian poem, “Mindig citrom”.

Attila József: Lonileness

Beetle step on your open eyes. Green
velvet mold relax your breasts.
Look at the loneliness you are sending me.
Grind your teeth;  eat up your lips.

Your face should fall off like dry sand,
the dear.  And if you’d caress me,
since in place of your lap there’s an empty land:
your working fingers should be tied off by weed.

See, this is you, these are disgusting wishes.
Still, you wouldn’t flutter if people were
gathering silently to see like around witches:
who made me so evil.

Whom are you grabbing now?  If you give birth to your son
it will be his pleasure to spin around,
you blink at him while it gets surrounded one by one
with full-length alligators around.

I lie motionlessly on my back, on the bed,
I see my eyes: you look at me with them.
Die!  I already wish so wordlessly the end
that I might think I am going to die in it, damn.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.08.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Magány”(1936).

Péter Závada: Happy Hour

I live, and it’s a rare moment.
The light is a white, little-finger sized
ray on the garden table’s bent.
Maybe you will come before it disguised.

This summer garden belongs to the shadows.
It’s calm this way today.  I reckon.
The light is like barley mellows
leaking through the trees’ crown.

You’re not coming today.  Standing by the corner.
The disk of the sun brightening:
thousands of celestial Iron-worker
spill the beer foam spreading.

I know it’s not so glad:
this non-coming, this junk alcohol
– I live, and it’s not my bad.
I promise it will be solved.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.07.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Péter Závada, “Boldog óra”.

Oh, you happy man!

Man, you!
Tell me who are you?
Mortal.
Whose life is temporal,
But you’re happy, you.
You fool!
Oh you.
Are you crazy?
Tell me you are.
Your happy life,
Tell me is a lie.
It’s a mess-up in your mind,
That you always laugh.
I look at you,
carelessly,
Because you are careless.
Your idle smile,
That you left on your face.
As always.
Accidentally,
Or maybe it’s direct?
Intentionally,
You surprise me,
With this ugly gift?
You are pushing into my face,
That you are,
How you are,
in a so happy grace?

You sick!
Or whether I am
A fool,
not understanding the thing?
Even if it’s trivial.
It is, to every man.
Only for me.
I’ve come to this world crying,
You laugh.
You’ve been laughing since.
Into my face.
Like this, selflessly:
Hah!
Oh you!
I’ve lost even my words.

But still,
I still ask,
a hundred times,
If you do not answer,
a thousand times,
Because I do not understand.
Where in the sadly mischief,
Has been your sadness.
Or it’s only me having it,
While others not.
This is so inhuman.
But I’m a man,
Medically, in the body.
And my soul?
Much has been mentioned,
as taboo.
Here’s the tangle.
Inside.
Yes, I already feel.
Or…
Oh, that’s not it.
Then I ask,
A hundred times and a thousand times,
if you need to.
Until you say it.
Where is that certain,
That certain happiness.

Benyamin Bensalah

06.06.2017

Translated from my Hungarian poem, “Ó te boldog ember!” (2007).

Attila József: YOU KNOW THERE IS NO FORGIVENESS

You know there’s no forgiveness
so, it’s vain to turn to sadness.
Be what you meant to be: a man.
After you, there still grows grass.

The sin will not get lighter,
so, it’s vain if you water.
That you are an evidence to this,
thank what you could acquire.

Don’t blame, don’t swear
don’t be a jerk to yourself
don’t worship and don’t seduce
don’t join the army unaware.

Stay worthless,
don’t look at the secrets.
And with humanity,
since you are a man, don’t be reckless.

Remember you growled
and in  vain you implored.
You have become a false witness
at your own record.

You called Father being fallen,
man if you found none in heaven.
And you found grown bad spots
in your psychoanalytic canon.

You believed in easy talking,
in friends been just acting
and see, never, never anyone
said that you were worthy.

They cheated, they loved me so
you cheated and you can’t love also.
Now, grab the loaded gun
and squeeze it to your empty torso.

Or throw away all the principles
and still hope for faithful love-riddles,
since like a dog you would believe
in anyone who’d see you still love-able.

Benyamin Bensalah

08.07.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Tudod hogy nincs bocsánat”(1937).

Attila József: AS A CHILD …

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!

Benyamin Bensalah

19.06.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Mint gyermek…”(1935).

Attila József: I DON’T KNOW…

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?

Benyamin Bensalah

02.06.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Nem tudom” (1937).