July, 2015
Evocare / Conjuring
POSTED IN translated Romanian-Finnish July 24, 2015
EvocareEa era frumoasa ca umbra unei idei, –
a piele de copil mirosea spinarea ei,
a piatra proaspat sparta
a strigat dintr-o limba moarta.Ea nu avea greutate, ca respirarea.
Râzânda si plângânda cu lacrimi mari
era sarata ca sarea
slavita la ospete de barbari.Ea era frumoasa ca umbra unui gând.
Între ape, numai ea era pamânt.NICHITA STANESCU
………………………………….
ConjuringShe was beautiful like an idea’s shade,-
her back was smelling like a child’s skin portrayed,
like a rock freshly wrung
like a cry in a dead tongue.She had no weight, like the breath.
Laughing and crying with big tears
she was salty like the salt strength
at feasts worshipped by the goths with cheers.She was beautiful like the shadow of a thought.
Between waters, only she was landspot.English version, Maria Magdalena Biela
Cantec de adormit genunchii / Lullaby for the knees
POSTED IN translated Romanian-English July 24, 2015
Cantec de adormit genunchiiSa nu tipati, genunchii mei.
Drum cu ferigi de nopti, de ploaie.
Genunchi de fier cum va îndoaie?
Va mân spre el ca pe doi miei.Pe drumul negurii va-mping.
Va vor lua poate între ei
genunchi ce strâng, zvâcnind si grei,
ca noptile de astrahan.
Si licurici de pasi se sting.Sa nu tipati, genunchii mei.
MARIA BANUS
……………………………….
Lullaby for the knees
Do not scream, my beloved knees.
Path filled with ferns of nights, of rain.
The iron knees’ ll bend you in pain?
I guide you to him, lambs of ease.
I push you on the path of mist.You will be captured hard of wheeze
by other knees which hold and squeeze,
like darkened nights of astrakhan.
And firefly steps don’t persist.Do not scream, my beloved knees.
English version, Maria Magdalena Biela
Sonet / Sonnet
POSTED IN translated Romanian-English July 17, 2015
Sonet / SonnetSurîd ? Obisnuinta… Cred c-as putea chiar rîde:
Tu spui cã-n cea mai dulce iubire-i o prigoanã ?
Îmî amintesc: pe-o veche si stranie icoanã
E un martir ce-si duce tãiatu-i cap la gâde.
Cu inima-mi asijderi s-a petrecut demult:
S-a strãmutat în tine si m-a lãsat strigoi…
Tu nu stii cã ea bate acuma pentru doi ?
Nu simti în piept adaos de glorios tumult ?
Necontenit în preajma-ti, sã sug rãsuflet, sînge,
M-aduce ca din groapa misterioasã sete…
Cînd plec, ajung acasã o umbra pe perete,
Ca-n palida icoanã ce-aievea mã rãsfrînge…
Zimbesc ? Obisnuinta… Cred c-as putea chiar rîde;
Stiu un nebun ce-si duce cap, inima… la gâde.V. VOICULESCU
…………………………………………………………………………………………………
I smile? A habit only…I’d even laugh defiant:
You say that in the sweetest love is a grinding?
An ancient and strange icon is always reminding
of a martyr that’s carrying his severed head to the tyrant.
The same thing happened also to my heart long ago:
She moved inside your body and left me as a ghost…
Don’t you know that she’s beating for you and I the most?
Don’t you feel an odd beating in a tumultuous echo?
Unceasingly around you, to suck your breath, your blood,
A mystic thirst wakes me, as from grave I’d been brought…
A shadow on the wall I go home like a thought,
like in the pallid icon that mirrors my own mud…I smile? A habit only…I’d even laugh defiant;
I know a madman carrying his head, heart…to the tyrant.
English version, Maria Magdalena Biela
Pamânt si stele / Earth and Stars
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 16, 2015
Pamânt si steleCând stelele mi-au spus
esti ca noi
a noastra
plamadita din noi
fata ta e luminoasa
esti frumoasa, frumoasa
parul tau
e aurul luminos stelar
am raspuns
voi îl vedeti astfel parul meu.
Voi îl luminati
stralucesc
iar fata mea la fel.
Mi-am privit apoi degetul cel mic
pe care unghia era asezata
putin strâmb
am zâmbit trist.Când pamântul mi-a spus
privindu-ma din profunzimile-i îndoielnice
într-o noapte care din el izvora
si care era a lui
fara stele…
Un pamânt
negru si cenusiu
Pamânt bogat
si cenusiu
geana ta e si a pamântului
gustul lamâiei e acelasi la tine
si la pamânt.
Ciutele când alearga în hohotul lor
nestavilit de râs
lasa aceeasi urma de lut ars
acelasi miros de ambra
în inima ta
si în inima pamântului
parul tau e întunecat
precum acesta noapte grea
din care am fost plamaditi.Pamântule,
Stelelor,
am strigat din toata puterea
(si cu toate acestea
nici Pamântul
nici Stelele
n-au ascultat chemarea)
Nu sunt nici
stele
nici pamânt.
Am sânge de tigan împarat.
În mine sunt pasari
si târâtoare
vulturi
meduze
pantere
pauni
privighetori
tigri
antilope
cameleoni.
Din toate acestea
m-am nascut eu
care contin
fara a fi continuta,
luminata de stele
întunecata de pamânt
am fost astfel
de la primul zvâcnet în forma de cruce
care mi-a însufletit
trupul
(si) care a fost o imensa cruce.**********************************************************
Earth and Stars
When the stars told me
you are like us
ours
created from us
your face is irradiant
you’re beautiful, beautiful
your hair
is stellar bright gold
I answered
you see my hair so.
You light it
I glow
and my face too.
Then I looked at my little finger
on which the nail was placed
a bit crooked
I smiled sadly.When the earth sad to me
watching me from his doubtful
depths
one night that rose from him
and that was his
without stars…
A black and grey
earth
A wealthy earth
and grey
your lash is of the earth’s as well
the lemon’s taste is the same to you
as it is to the earth.
When the roes run in their abandoned laughter
they leave the same trail of burnt clay
the same smell of amber
in your heart
and in the earth’s heart
your hair is dark
like this deep night
that we were created from.Earth,
Stars,
I shouted with all my strength
(but
neither the Earth
or the Stars
listened to my call)
I am not
stars
nor earth.
I have the blood of a gypsy king.
In me there are birds
and crawlers
eagles
jellyfish
panthers
peacocks
nightingales
tigers
antelopes
chameleons.
Of all this
I was born
that I bear
without being borne
brightened by stars
darkened by earth
I was so
from the first crossed twitch
that inspirited
my body
(and) that was a great cross.IRINEL FRANCU
Si a stiut sa scrie viata / And he could spell Life
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 16, 2015
Si a stiut sa scrie viata
Un baiat nu stia
Sa scrie decât propriul sau nume
Nu conteaza care
Era acel nume
Atunci se îndragosti de o fata.
O fata cu ochi adânci si frumosi,
Ochi care l-au învatat sa citeasca.
O fata vie si calda
Ca o vara.
El
Îi iubea miscarea plina de viata
Cu care îsi scutura parul plin de toate sclipirile soarelui
Si ochii care îl învatasera
sa citeasca.
Învata sa-i scrie numele, caci
O iubea.
Si începu sa-i scrie de multe, multe ori
Numele.
Si iata intr-o zi
Când îi tot scria numele
gândindu-se
La minunata ei gropita din barbie
Si la faptul ca
Întreaga ei fiinta aducea a zbor de ciocârlie
Simti ca trebuie sa scrie
Si alte cuvinte,
Cum ar fi soare, floare, viata,
Pentru ca fiinta
Ei
Înseamna viata, soare, floare.
Si a stiut sa scrie viata.***********************************************************
And He Could Spell Life
One boy knew
Only how to spell his name
It doesn’t matter what
Was that name
Then he fell in love with a girl.
A girl with deep and beautiful eyes,
Eyes that taught him to read.
O warm and alive girl
Like summer.
He
Loved her lively movement
Of shaking her hair full of all glowing of the sun
And the eyes that taught him how to read.
He learned to spell her name, for
He loved her.
And he began to write many, many times
Her name.
And then one day
When he was writing her name over and over again thinking of
Her adorable dimple in her chin
And of the fact that
Her entire being resembled a lark’s flight
He felt he had to write
Other words too,
Like sun, flower, life,
For
Her being
Meant life, sun, flower.
And he could spell life.IRINEL FRANCU
Happy Birthday, my dearest Father!
POSTED IN Stories July 14, 2015
Happy Birthday, my dearest Father!The table of shadows invites everybody to take a sit and tell a story.
The old Jewish house of my childhood does not exist anymore, but in my memories. Late in the heart of night, when every soul sleeps, my friend, Insomnia, opens to me old windows that in the light of day seem to be locked. I see myself, a four-year-old, running wildly between the trees of our orchard, climbing and hiding and running away from brothers, sisters and especially my mother. They always threatened me with ”lunch, dinner”, awful words, scary sentences for a four-year-old who loved climbing the trees and eating their fruits only.
I see my father, tall, dark, pale, a Poet, gathering us together, five children, and organizing a poetry contest, behind the house.
There he would improvise a stage where we would recite poems, to be rewarded for the best acting ever.
I see myself fidgeting, fighting my tears and my fears, climbing the stage behind the improvised curtain, trying to remember my poem.
Of course, I always won!
Everybody would be ready to give up their own pride only to see my serious and proud face receiving the chocolate trophy from my father’s hands.
My brothers used to sing but I, with my small voice, I would recite classic love poems not knowing the meaning of the words, and I would say ”I love you forever” with the same passion, hunger, delight, that I would eat my chocolate prize with.
I never smiled. Yet, in my father’s arms, I would hug him strongly, thankfully, collecting his tears with my fingers and wondering where they come from.
I would caress his face and dry his tears of love silently.
He loved through me, he recited with me, he cried for divine love having me in his arms.
Whose voice recited those poems? My voice or my Father’s?
I would not know….I do not know…I will never know.Maria Magdalena Biela
The Wild Flower’s Song
POSTED IN classic poetry July 14, 2015
The Wild Flower’s Song
As I wander’d the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a wild flower
Singing a song.I slept in the Earth
In the silent night,
I murmur’d my fears
And I felt delight.In the morning I went
As rosy as morn,
To seek for new joy;
But O! met with scorn.
William Blake
Time and Eternity
POSTED IN classic poetry July 14, 2015
Time and EternityI lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found?
You ’ll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound.A rich man might not notice it;
Yet to my frugal eye
Of more esteem than ducats.
Oh, find it, sir, for me!Emily Dickinson
Io guardo per li prati ogni
POSTED IN classic poetry July 14, 2015
Io guardo per li prati ogni
Io guardo per li prati ogni fior bianco,
per rimembranza di quel che mi face
sì vago di sospir ch’io ne chieggo anco.
E’ mi rimembra de la bianca parte
che fa col verdebrun la bella taglia,
la qual vestio Amore
nel tempo che, guardando Vener Marte,
con quell sua saetta che più taglia
mi diè per mezzo il core:
e quando l’aura move il bianco fiore,
rimembro de’ begli occhi il dolce bianco
per cui lo mio desir mai non fie stanco.
Cino da Pistoia
Florile culese
POSTED IN classic poetry July 14, 2015
Florile culeseFlorile culese în pahare plâng
Si visând la fluturi, la livezi cu soare
Florile culese în pahare mor.Tristele potire picura-asa jalnic
Pete de lumina.
Lunca toata crede ca sunt doar petale.
Numai eu stiu însa ca sunt lacrimi grele,
Sfarmaturi de suflet.Un bondar le-aduce vesti de la surori.
Creste nostalgia vestedelor flori.Florile culese, florile de câmp
Mor de nostalgie, mor visând la fluturi,
La livezi, la soare.8 aprilie 1929
Eugen Ionesco
