Best Attila Poems
Attila the Hun was a kindly old soul
He raped and plundered the land
With the aid of his murderous henchmen all
A truly psychotic man
The kind of man you'd like as a friend
If you love to ransack and pillage
Hitler was another of these murderous souls
Marauding each town and village
Need more of the likes of Benito Mussolini
Such honourable leaders all
But I harken back to Attila the Hun
His exploits leave me enthralled
May seem like I've tumbled over the edge
But I blame it on dear Eileen Ghali
She poked and prodded me into submission
Could no longer dilly and dally
© Jack Ellison 2013
Dedicated to my dear good friend Eileen Ghali!
Ben Sana Mecburum: “You are indispensable”
by Attila Ilhan
translation by Nurgul Yayman and Michael R. Burch
You are indispensable; how can you not know
that you’re like nails riveting my brain?
I see your eyes as ever-expanding dimensions.
You are indispensable; how can you not know
that I burn within, at the thought of you?
Trees prepare themselves for autumn;
can this city be our lost Istanbul?
Now clouds disintegrate in the darkness
as the street lights flicker
and the streets reek with rain.
You are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...
Love sometimes seems akin to terror:
a man tires suddenly at nightfall,
of living enslaved to the razor at his neck.
Sometimes he wrings his hands,
expunging other lives from his existence.
Sometimes whichever door he knocks
echoes back only heartache.
A screechy phonograph is playing in Fatih ...
a song about some Friday long ago.
I stop to listen from a vacant corner,
longing to bring you an untouched sky,
but time disintegrates in my hands.
Whatever I do, wherever I go,
you are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...
Are you the blue child of June?
Ah, no one knows you—no one knows!
Your deserted eyes are like distant freighters ...
perhaps you are boarding in Yesilköy?
Are you drenched there, shivering with the rain
that leaves you blind, beset, broken,
with wind-disheveled hair?
Whenever I think of life
seated at the wolves’ table,
shameless, yet without soiling our hands ...
Yes, whenever I think of life,
I begin with your name, defying the silence,
and your secret tides surge within me
making this voyage inevitable.
You are indispensable; how can you not know?
Attila Ilhan (1925-2005) was a Turkish poet, translator, novelist, screenwriter, editor, journalist, essayist and reviewer. Keywords/Tags: Turkey, Turkish, Translation, City, International, Leaving, Depression, Absent, Absence, Parting, Separation, Distance, Loss, Break Up, Soulmate, Soulmates, Love, Lovers, Companionship, Passion, Desire, Longing
Attila The Hun Got Nuthin' On Us
By Roy Merritt
Barbarians these days
Fly around in jet planes
Ride around in big town cars
While scoutin' out terrain
Lookin' to go very far
They wear Armani suits and ties
Their wives dress like queens
And Attila the Hun
Got nuthin’ on them
They’s just as equally mean
Barbarians these days
They live on grand estates
They drink the finest of wines
They dine on the thickest steaks
And lookin' to have a good time
They always have servants
And always make the scene
And Attila the Hun
Got nuthin’ on them
They’s just as equally mean
Barbarians these days
Go to church and pray
But would rob you blind
If they ever got their way
Would rob you of every thin dime
They got most everything
More money than god has seen
And Attila the Hun
Got nuthin’ on them
They’s just as equally mean
Barbarians these days
They got their heads in sand
Think they can just keep stealin’
And we’ll never take a stand
Can keep us forever reelin'
But boy they're sure wrong
Our patience is wearin’ lean
And Attila the Hun
Got nuthin’ on them
They’s just as equally mean
Barbarians these days
They think we have no power
That we won’t ever rise up
On some future hour
That we'll forever take their stuff
But boy they're sure wrong
We just might turn into fiends
And Attila the Hun
Got nuthin’ on them
They’s just as equally mean
Barbarians these day
They think they could flee
When that time shows up
Payback for you and me
Retribution we've had enough
Frogs'll look like pikers as our terror starts to reign
And Attila the Hun
Got nuthin’ on us
We can be as equally mean
"So how are you today, Hun?"
I always picture myself in terrible armor when I hear this.
The Attila in me wants to run her through with my sword.
I look behind the couch.
Not there.
I look under the couch.
No.
Could it be stuck on something?
I find the sword three days later,
when I'm not in the mood to
even use it.
So what good is it anyway?
Which is why I
have trouble with the
cheapness of bullets.
Give them all the guns
and permits you want,
folks, but each
bullet should cost about
$100,000.
The Attila in me picks up the sword.
Got to go.
who is attila the hun...
no clue never taught
how do you make babies...
we dont god gives us from love
how...
delivered
where..
here
are you dead....
what is death
well do you sin...
what is a sin
what is growth...
growth is the difference
what is difference...
it is the path
whats a path...
a point to another
what is a point...
a billion atoms
what is an atom...
electrons and protons and neutrons
what is an electron...
i forgot
what is forget fullnesss...
remembrance is the brother of forget fullness
what is remembrence....
about love
THE CLASS WAS OVER
When the woods are full of the enemy
—start your fire at their backs
(From My Novel—Approaching Storm: June, 2023)
WALDERE: MODERN ENGLISH TRANSLATION
“Waldere” is an ancient Old English (i.e., Anglo-Saxon) poem that recounts the exploits of Walter of Aquitaine, a legendary king of the Visigoths. In the poem Waldere and Hildeguth or Hildegyth flee the court of Attila the Hun, where they were being held hostage, for Aquitaine. The poem mentions names that appear in “Deor’s Lament,” such as Theodric, Widia and Beadohild. Unfortunately, only 63 lines of “Waldere” survived, in two fragments of around 30 lines each.
Waldere Excerpt
Old English poem circa 1000 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thus Hildeguth spoke, heartening him:
“Surely the work of Wayland shall never fail,
the savage sword Mimming, when held by a man
who bolsters its blade. Felled, the fiercest fighters
lie broken, bleeding profusely from terrible wounds,
lords and aethelings laid low on the battlefield,
heirs of grim war-graves.
Son of Aelfhere, right hand of Attila,
best and boldest of his warlords,
don’t let your heart faint, nor your courage wilt.
The time has come to summon all your daring,
to gain glory or give up living for a long doom.”
…
Keywords/Tags: Waldere, translation, Hildeguth, Wayland, sword Mimming, man, men, fighters, war, battle, battlefield, grave, graves, Attila the Hun, heart, courage, time, glory, life, living, death, doom