Ervin Kibédi: Something came to intervene. . .

You nurtured a dream in your heart’s deepness;
Preserving the renewing spring
Giving the dying world a new chance
Easing the complaints’ sting,
Handing all awaiting flowers an advance.
But nature dressed in mourning scene.
You can’t change it, you see hence;
Something always came, came to intervene.

A decaying cell, a disgusting theory,
A war or a moment of calming
Death of a martyr or loss of a tyranny
Maybe joy or just suffering?!
You fought with the harsh times vainly,
You protected your instincts in vain
You were weak or had good energy;
Something always came, came to intervene.

And there your mother waited for the last hour
Preparing her final speech
So deserted, so lonely dour
You set out to say something at least
You’d like to at least! – but you just missed the hour-
To reassure, to comfort her
And you will have no more;
Something always came, came to intervene.

Like a child watching a flying ball
That a female hand throws awkwardly,
You would have expected your work to pay it all
Thus solving all problems of life with no worry.
You always hoped so with a childish call;
That you can stop the time you’ve been,
You wanted to, but you couldn’t at all
Something always came, came to intervene.

As a fine breeze of secrets on a summer evening
You were touched by the love of worth
You thought you were just looking for a seeking!
But the wound in your heart just got worse.
Even Cupid, love itself as being
Was watching over you in vain;
It’s over, gone, for what you are crawling
Something always came, came to intervene.

You wanted to describe the big study,
Creating a melody that’s eternal
Wiping away tears from the human body,
Such questions never let you rest at all.
You were carving a statue, the chisel got shoddy
And everything was broken before seen
Would you like to start again? God! – it’s tardy!
Something always came, came to intervene.

Where did the mates, good friends go
All that remained is the blind yourself.
How they all loved and how they flattered though!
You believed them and cheated on yourself.
Once upon a time, so much was expected of you
Now they are whispering behind the scene,
The trouble was, maybe slowly you get through:
Something always came, came to intervene.

Fresh meat has long been covered with green mold,
The marble cracks thinly
You suspect and feel that something is being rolled,
That your life is disappearing dimly.
There’s none to do but to stand, wait, behold
Like a chased wild among the silent trees.
You wanted to live, getting old –
But it can’t be: – Something intervenes.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Ervin Kibédi, “Valami közbejött. . .”.

Jenő Heltai: Questionnaire

When your tortured heart goes silent,
A big questionnaire will be your defiant.

What your motionless lips sigh,
An invisible clerk will take notes by.

What you are going to answer – because you have to answer! –
Where did you let your life go to disaster?

Where did you turn left instead of right?
Answer! Do you know the cursed time?

If you were given a divine miracle,
Say: would you go back there empirical?

Like seeking the handle of a lost axe,
Would you start again the long road’s acts?

While pursuing desire and urging trouble,
Would you dare to run another Marathon?

All that is vile, lying, and false,
Would you go through it, say, through the same faults?

Why? Why?! For new goals? Or…
To get where you are now?

So that, forgetting all the old torments,
You can cry and fray again with no ends?

For this cheap misery as a prize
For this more bitter than sweet, tiny life?

Benyamin Bensalah

10.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Jenő Heltai, “Kérdőív”.

False Reality

The years are already blurry.
They create a false reality,
my mind. I don’t trust what it is saying though
like problems will disappear by tomorrow.

As a naive child, I hope so too
that I will live, and it is true
that I will see a tiny part of happiness.
I might clean my sight from stress.

I want to see it, but I can’t
because I know it wasn’t meant.
As if there were no tomorrow, it’s in hurry,
this decade is leaving me with a quick sorry.

I’m lost in the dark and I’m afraid;
I myself got myself chained,
and I know I could be anything better
if my light had just a bit flattered.

Alone, on the last word’s right,
I say I won’t reach more height
because here, even my self-hero flees
from my false realities.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.03.2021

O’ the Limbo called Life

The world is swirling to a point returning –
The hardship is harsh and boredom dooms,
The queue of people is full of loons,
Your heart is chained by the world’s harpoons.

Where’s the limit and where’s the end?
Where’s the real and the ones pretend?
Where’s the right and where’s the trend?
Will you be able turning?

As you are able learning –
You kill the voices, bring some noise,
Ignore yourself and other girls and boys,
Ignore the world that kills the joys.

But who pays the price for that act –
Facing again the painful fact
That you are just chained in a new contract,
And we’ve been only adjourning…

Curse the living since you are not yet dead,
Respect the dead since this is what they had.

Benyamin Bensalah

08.03.2021

Rare-view

Cloudy mountains brighten the sky,
Bringing cloumsy days and darken nights.


No weathering draws conclusion here;
Memories paint illusions there.

Where the thickest blackness is,
Dwells no rain, but the driest recklessness.


Where the beacon breaks the fleecy fences,
Dwell the drops of human senses.


Human hands draw but paradox,
While Paradise hides behind Gordian knots.


The beauty of mysteries ever hurts a lot,
Even dark miseries can’t clear its spot.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.02.2018

The weather is funny

The weather is funny today
As it has been yesterday,
And before.

Teardrops,
Lightsome smileys,
Thunderclaps and silences.

From the snow, flowers rising,
From clouds, sun shining,
Awesome surprises.

The weather is funny;
Whether it’s resin or honey,
Honestly, I’m fond of its nature.

I’m really weatherbeaten, tho
After all I went through,
It’s still funny.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.07.2018

Jacques Prévert : La Grasse Matinée

It is terrible
the sound of the broken hard-boiled egg on a tin counter
this noise is terrible
when it moves in the memory of a hungry man
the head of the man is terrible too
the head of a hungry man
when he looks at himself at six in the morning
through the glass of a big store
a dust-colored head
that is not his head even if he’s looking at it
through the showcase of At Potin
he doesn’t care about his head of a man
he doesn’t think of it
he fancies
he fancies another head
a head of a calf for instance
with a vinegar sauce
or a head of anything that is to eat
and he slowly moves his jaw
slowly
and he creaks his teeth slowly
because the world pays off his head
and he can do nothing against this world
and he counts on his finger one two three
one two three
it’s been three days he ate
and it may repeat itself for three days
it can’t last
it lasts
three days
three nights
without eating
and behind these windows
these pasties, these bottles, these conserves
dead fish protected by boxes
boxes protected by windows
windows protected by cops
cops protected by fear
what barricades for six unhappy sardines..
A little further the bistro
coffee with cream and warm croissants
the man hesitates
and inside his head
a mist of words
a mist of words
sardines to eat
hard-boiled egg coffee with cream
coffee and rum
coffee with cream
coffee with cream
coffee with crime laced with blood! ..
A highly esteemed man in his neighborhood
was slit in broad daylight
the assassin vagabond stole him
two francs
fair enough for a laced coffee
zero franc seventy
two buttered sandwiches
and twenty-five cents for the boy’s tip.
It is terrible
the sound of the broken hard-boiled egg
on a tin counter
this sound is terrible
when it moves in the memory of a hungry man.

Benyamin Bensalah

13.03.2020

Translated from the French poem of Jacques Prévert, “La Grasse Matinée*”.

*La Grasse Matinée: Sleeping late and eating well in the morning