The thunder of music cuts the clouds
it slits, but they still
it roars, but they still
the painful clouds of clamorous silence.
The murmur of movies drains the clouds
it blurs, but they still
it rains, but they still
and each drop screams up in silence.
The clatter of glasses blows the clouds
it whirls, but they still
it dopes, but they still
and each breeze stinks nauseous silence.
The crackle of cigarettes hides the clouds
it burns, but they still
it chokes, but they still
and each ashen knock groans in silence.
The amble of paces flees the clouds
it begs, but they still
it shakes, but they still
and each painful cloud shrills in silence.
I give you a fist big ruby diamond,
Hang it around your neck and watch it shine on
Above your heart, in the middle of your breast,
Marvel how it glows, like embers, its lustre.
I weave a crown with my eyes for you,
As a goddess, I come to you so
I lay your way with silk and rhymes,
But don’t walk on it – it grows sighs.
If you’re thirsty, I’ll give you the finest wine,
But I leave a few darkening tears inside
And if you feel that the taste is bitter -,
Just drink it, there is no sweeter.
When your body feels cold, I give you my soul,
I wrap your two shoulders with velvet shawl.
And my trembling brain if you’re hungry -,
With me, you’ll be never needy.
And if your tired body wants to rest,
Rest in my arms, – there is no softer bed
And because you will need protection one day:
Accept, please, accept my arms to stay.
Accept them, and do with them whatever you feel,
Though you can’t be cruel to me.
Even if you don’t come, they will all remain yours,
They won’t be called back by weak hours.
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “NAGY AJÁNDÉKOK TORA” (1922).
Have you ever asked the toy
you were playing with
if it liked to be your toy?
It is all nice that it’s a toy,
fulfilling its purpose
to play with, innit?
No matter leaving it
in the darkness of the night
for hours, right?
Or forgetting it in hurry
for a hell of a weekend.
No thoughts of such
as the first minute hurts
just as the 1440th and so.
The minute of turning off the light
heading out or to the fridge
hurts the same infinity.
You haven’t thought about it
how is it to be alone
How is it to swing
between having a purpose
and being in senseful nonexistence?
Oh, how would you
when your grief lasts no more
than a minute when it disappears?
Limbic system overloads.
Memory is full.
Blocked from further access.
Being a spiral of humans.
Limbo painted grey realities.
Merging with the void.
Bored of facing this alone.
The very moment I felt peace
had no aggregate;
I could not grave in stone as I wished,
had no time;
as if I’ve been such happy timelessly,
had no details;
only peace in my heart and mind,
but it had a name
which is yours
such as I am.
Floating silhouettes in the darkness of the space;
history formed us through eras
from simple solid objects with fix dynamics
into an unknown, hideous mass.
We share the shape that’s not our shape,
only the abstract play of our past;
how and what lightbeam we hide away,
push away and blend is mistery.
We share a space that’s not our space,
what we lived surpasses all;
then, when we collide we create a new,
another place never seen.
We share an age that’s not our age,
our past is mere illusion,
faintly reflecting on the present
that is already unknown.
Floating mysterious mass of data,
we are nothingness- and infinity-close
big noisy-silent mess of backholes.
You may have been born with struggles,
you may be a little bit of mess,
but you are the most worth of my snuggles,
the one I will ever miss.
You made me cry out of happiness,
your voice echoes in my brain,
you are the cure of my chronic loneliness,
you’ve been born with my key.
A key I’ve lost without ever having,
you found me with it in your hands,
I’ve lost the human ability of begging,
but I can’t face that this feeling ends.
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.