Romanian

Poemul ca loz câştigător / The poem as a winning lottery

POSTED IN Romanian May 1, 2021

Poemul ca loz câştigător / The poem as a winning lottery

Vă spun:”E neagră”, însă nu e neagră.
Vă spun:”E cioară”, însă nu e cioară.
Ordinea ciorii negre este alta.

Vă spun:”E verde”, însă nu e verde.
Vă spun:”E iarnă”, însă nu e iarnă.
Dar eu posed acum o iarnă verde.

Poemul e un loz care câştigă
mereu. Jucaţi pe cioară: iată cioara.
Jucaţi pe mine: iat-o iarnă verde.

Esenţiala diferenţă dintre
aceste lucruri n-are corp: trăieşte
ca un abis cu buzele lipite.

STEFAN AUGUSTIN DOINAS

………………………………………………………

The poem as a winning lottery

I’m telling you, “It’s black,” but it’s not black.
I’m telling you, “It’s a crow,” but it’s not a crow.
The order of the black crow is another.

I’m telling you, “It’s green,” but it’s not green.
I tell you, “It’s winter,” but it’s not winter.
But I now own a green winter.

The poem is a lottery that wins
always. Play on the crow: here is the crow.
Play on me: here’s a green winter.

The essential difference between
these things has no body: it lives
like an abyss with its lips glued together.

Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela

Urletul limbii la naşterea poetului / The howl of the language at the birth of the poet

POSTED IN Romanian May 1, 2021

Urletul limbii la naşterea poetului / The howl of the language at the birth of the poet

într-o noapte în timp ce vuia
codrul din creştete
Dumnezeu mă soma c-o nuia
moale: rosteşte-te!

mă rosteam însă cum să-mi înalţ
slava cu ţipete?
nici o scară spre cerul de smalţ
nici un scripete

mă rosteam însă vai! ce arbust
gingaş e sîngerul:
cum să-ncapă în trunchiu-i îngust
dracul şi îngerul?

mă rosteam şi dansau tot mai jos
astrele sprintene
Dumnezeu apăsîndu-mi gelos
burta sub pintene

mă soma şi-am urlat ca din teasc:
fiara luminii mă
cotropeşte şi – iată: îmi nasc
propria inimă!

Stefan Augustin Doinas

…………………………………..

The howl of the language at the birth of the poet

One night while roaring each tree
from the woods on their dwelf
with a wand God was daring me
softly: utter yourself!

I was uttering but how can I rise
my glory with shouts?
not one ladder to the enamel skies
not one pulley clouts.

I was uttering but alas! how
a frail shrub like dogwood
to fit in its narrow trunk bough
devil and angel could?

I was uttering and they danced low and lower,
the lightsome nimble stars
God pressing with jealousy knower
my belly under spurs.

He dared me and I howled like from press:
the beast of light
seizes me and – behold: I give birth
to my own heart!

Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela

EXISTA / THERE IS

POSTED IN Romanian April 27, 2021

EXISTA / THERE IS

exista
o multime de chipuri
in care n-am sa te pot pastra

exista
milioane de cuvinte
ce-mi vor putrezi in ureche

exista
o iarba
care se va da la o parte
ca tu sa poti creste
necontenit alta

fii
zi de zi
binevenita!

STEFAN AUGUSTIN DOINAS

……………………….

THERE IS

there is
a lot of faces
I won’t be able to keep you in

there are
millions of words
that will rot in my ear

there is
a grass
that will sidestep
so that you can grow
incessantly another

Be
every day
welcomed!

Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela