January, 2022
NEBUNIA DE A GUSTA TRANDAFIR / THE MADNESS OF TASTING A ROSE
POSTED IN Mariana January 22, 2022
NEBUNIA DE A GUSTA TRANDAFIR / THE MADNESS OF TASTING A ROSELa radacina fireasca a răului
eu pun o irezistibila pofta de a-mi saruta
in voie miinile
(Ah, prietene
– nebunia de a gusta trandafir
atirnati cu o ureche de rozul bun simt)
La 17 ani,
la 23 si la iarna,
voi continua sa-mi amintesc de mine cu aceeasi precizie
diabolica
Ca si cum pleoapele mi-ar creste pe virful unghiei
– la batrinete mi-as rotunji buzele
pentru cuvintul acela croncanitor…
MARIANA MARIN
………………THE MADNESS OF TASTING A ROSE
At the natural root of evil
I lay an irresistible lust to kiss
my hands at will
(Ah, my friend – the madness of tasting a rose
hanging with an ear by the pink common sense)
at 17,
at 23 and in winter,
I will continue to remember myself with the same
devilish precision
as if my eyelids were growing on the tip of my fingernail
– in my old age, I’d round my lips
for that croaking word…traducere, M. M. Biela
NICI ASTAZI / EVEN TODAY
POSTED IN Claudiu January 19, 2022
NICI ASTAZI / EVEN TODAY
Nici astăzi nu ne-am spus vreo vorbă liniștitoare
nici astăzi soarele nu a fost blând
cu pitbulii muribunzi
a trecut vremea când foamea ne râcâia măruntaiele
și credeam că tăcerea ne va face iarăși vizibili
prin canioanele diferitelor
forme de fetișism ale minții
degetele mele mânjite de orez cu lapte de-abia
se abțin să-ți atingă bărbia
gorile cu semiautomate au pătruns în orașe
aici doar sudoare și trepidație maldăre de eroism
cabotin
întreabă-mă de câte ori nu m-am gândit
la tine în felul ăla
întreabă-mă cât de mult chili pun în mâncarea
asta de oameni înrăiți care
nu mai așteaptă nimic.CLAUDIU KOMARTIN
…………..EVEN TODAY
Even today we haven’t said a reassuring word
even today the sun wasn’t kind
with the dying pit bulls
gone are the days when hunger gnawed at our entrails
and we thought silence would make us visible again
through the canyons of different
fetishism of the mind
my rice-milk-stained fingers barely
refrain from touching your chin
gorillas with semi-automatics have entered the cities
here only sweat and trembling piles of cabotin
heroism
ask me how many times I haven’t thought
of you like that
ask me how much chili I put in this food
of hardened people waiting
for nothing.
traducere, M. M. Biela
HUNDSTOD / MOARTEA CÂINELUI / DOG DEATH
POSTED IN Roland January 19, 2022
HUNDSTOD / MOARTEA CÂINELUI / DOG DEATHAls wir den siechen Hund aus dem Haus fort trugen
im alten Wäschekorb
meiner Schwiegermutter
(noch aus der Nachkriegszeit),
da bäumte er sich ein letztes Mal auf
mit ungewöhnlicher Wucht,
als wollte er noch aus dem Weidenkorb springen,
trotzig weiter leben,
er, der seit Tagen nicht gefressen hatte,
nur apathisch auf seiner Decke lag,
nie einen Tropfen mehr trank.ROLAND ERB
……………….
MOARTEA CÂINELUI
Când am scos din casă câinele bolnav
în vechiul coș de rufe
al soacrei mele
(încă din perioada postbelică,
s-a ridicat pentru ultima oară
cu o forță neobișnuită,
de parcă ar fi vrut să sară din coșul de răchită,
sfidator sa traiasca
el care nu mâncase de zile întregi
care stătea întins apatic pe pătura lui,
care nu mai băuse macar un strop.……………….
DOG DEATHWhen we carried the ailing dog out of the house
in the old laundry basket
of my mother-in-law
(still from the post-war period),
he reared up one last time
with unusual force,
as if he wanted to jump out of the wicker basket,
live on defiantly,
he who hadn’t eaten for days
just lay apathetically on his blanket,
never drinking one more drop.traducere, M. M. Biela
ABSTELLKAMMER / THE STORAGE ROOM / CAMARA
POSTED IN Roland January 19, 2022
ABSTELLKAMMER / THE STORAGE ROOM / CAMARA
Ich weiß nicht,
es klang irgendwie nach Abschied,
als du das verbogene Blechding
an die Lippen hieltest,
nur so zum Spaß,
und aus dem Trichter ein paar
dumpfe, groteske Töne
presstest.
Ach, dass es selten glückte,
den grauen Kittel
vom Körper zu reißen, ich
schalt dich, du solltest
dein Strahlendes zeigen, mit Freude
spalten
den widerborstigen Kern.
Du wolltest jetzt
Frühjahrsputz halten,
aussortieren
das Alte, Zerscherbte,
andres in Angriff
nehmen, da
klang es auf einmal,
nicht aufzuhalten,
aus rostiger Fanfare
Adieu.………………
THE STORAGE ROOM
I don’t know,
it felt a bit like farewell
when you held the twisted metal thing
to your lips
just for fun,
and squeezed out a few
muffled, grotesque sounds
out of the funnel
pressing the tones.
Alas, how rare it was to succeed
in tearing the gray coat
from the body, I
scolded you, you should
show your radiance, cleave
with joy the recalcitrant core.
You were about
to do some spring-cleaning,
sort out
what’s old and broken,
tackle other things
when all of a sudden
unstoppable,
the rusty fanfare
sounded
adieu.………………
CAMARA
Nu știu,
a sunat ca un ramas bun
cand ai dus la buze
chestia aia de metal
incolacita
doar pentru a te distra,
si ai stors
niste sunete
inabusite si grotești
din palnie,
apasand notele.
O, ce rar era sa reusesti
sa rupi
haina cenusie
de pe trup,
te-am mustrat
ar trebui sa-ti arati strălucirea,
sa despici cu bucurie
miezul rebel.
Voiai
sa faci curatenie de primavara,
sa sortezi
ce e vechi, ce e stricat,
sa te ocupi
de altceva
cand, dintr-o data,
de neoprit,
fanfară ruginită
a sunat
adio.traducere, M. M. Biela
10 FEBRUARIE, SAMBATA SEARA, ACUM / the 10th of FEBRUARY, SATURDAY EVENING, NOW
POSTED IN Mariana January 16, 2022
10 FEBRUARIE, SAMBATA SEARA, ACUM / the 10th of FEBRUARY, SATURDAY EVENING, NOW
Ea astepta sosirea musafirilor in marea sufragerie.
Nici unul dintre gesturile ei ascutite nu avea
capul insîngerat.
Nici o portocala nu fusese taiata atît de frumos.
Nimic din ce ar putea face un salt mortal in fictiune.(s-a mai spus:
o femeie, o oglinda, trei papagali nemuritori
o arma de foc, un testament rautacios, ceasuri pictate
cu fructe
o rochie de bal, un soldat de plumb, o piele de capra
un zepelin rosu, un fluier de bîlci, un caftan
neverosimil)
Descrierea este aproape exacta.
Lipsesc eu, memorie a celor 5 4 3 2 1 etaje
numarate incet de ochiul egiptean,
proaspat vopsit.
MARIANA MARIN……………..
the 10th of FEBRUARY, SATURDAY EVENING, NOW
She was waiting for her guests to arrive in the large living room.
None of her sharp gestures had
their head bloodied.
No orange had ever been cut so beautifully.
Nothing that could make a deadly leap into fiction.(it’s been said before:
a woman, a mirror, three immortal parrots
a firearm, a wicked will, fruit-painted clocks.
a ball gown, a lead soldier, a goatskin
a red zeppelin, a fair whistle, an implausible
caftan)
The description is almost exact.
I’m missing, memory of the 5 4 3 2 1 floors
counted slowly by the Egyptian eye,
freshly painted.traducere, M. M. Biela
MIHAI EMINESCU, the greatest Unknown Romantic of Europe
POSTED IN Romanian January 15, 2022
MIHAI EMINESCU, the greatest Unknown Romantic of Europe…15.01.1850 – 15.06.1889
GLOSSADays go past, and days come still,
All is old and all is new,
What is well and what is ill,
You imagine and construe
Do not hope and do not fear,
Waves that leap like waves must fall;
Should they praise or should they jeer,
Look but coldly on it all.Things you’ll meet of many a kind,
Sights and sounds, and tales no end,
But to keep them all in mind
Who would bother to attend?…
Very little does it matter,
If you can yourself fulfill,
That with idle, empty chatter
Days go past and days come still.
Little heed the lofty ranging
That cold logic does display
To explain the endless changing
Of this pageantry of joy,
And which out of death is growing
But to last an hour or two;
For the mind profoundly knowing
All is old and all is new.
As before some troupe of actors,
You before the world remain;
Act they Gods, or malefactors,
‘Tis but they dressed up again.
And their loving and their slaying,
Sit apart and watch, until
You will see behind their playing
What is well and what is ill.
What has been and what to be
Are but of a page each part
Which the world to read is free.
Yet who knows them off by heart?
All that was and is to come
Prospers in the present too,
But its narrow modicum
You imagine and construe.
With the selfsame scales and gauges
This great universe to weigh,
Man has been for thousand ages
Sometimes sad and sometimes gay;
Other masks, the same old story,
Players pass and reappear,
Broken promises of glory;
Do not hope and do not fear.
Do not hope when greed is staring
O’er the bridge that luck has flung,
These are fools for not despairing,
On their brows though stars are hung;
Do not fear if one or other
Does his comrades deep enthral,
Do not let him call you brother,
Waves that leap like waves must fall.
Like the sirens’ silver singing
Men spread nets to catch their prey,
Up and down the curtain swinging
Midst a whirlwind of display.
Leave them room without resistance,
Nor their commentaries cheer,
Hearing only from a distance,
Should they praise or should they jeer.
If they touch you, do not tarry,
Should they curse you, hold your tongue,
All your counsel must miscarry
Knowing who you are among.
Let them muse and let them mingle,
Let them pass both great and small;
Unattached and calm and single,
Look but coldly on it all.
Look but coldly on it all,
Should they praise or should they jeer;
Waves that leap like waves must fall,
Do not hope and do not fear.
You imagine and construe
What is well and what is ill;
All is old and all is new,
Days go past and days come still.
MIHAI EMINESCUTranslated by
CORNELIU M. POPESCU ( 1958 – 1977)
CONTRASTE / CONTRASTS
POSTED IN Romanian January 15, 2022
CONTRASTE / CONTRASTSUn om e cald şi altul este rece,
Un tren sosi şi altul o să plece,
Doi ochi sunt trişti şi nu au nicio vină
Că alţi doi ochi fugiră de lumină.Un suflet iartă, altul se răzbună,
Un gând aduce soare sau furtună,
Un om iubeşte, altul îl sfidează,
În noi e zi, în noi se înnoptează.O mână strânge, alta dăruieşte,
Un om oferă, altul îl răneşte,
O viaţă-ncepe, alta se sfârşeşte,
Un ceas a stat şi altul ne vorbeşte.O mamă râde şi o alta plânge,
Un vis se naşte, altul se va frânge,
Un om învaţă, altul nu ia seamă,
O faptă e curaj şi alta-i teamă.Un trup e umbră, altul e credinţă,
Un gest e laş şi altul e voinţă,
Un vers nu e nimic sau este artă,
O viaţă-i de valoare sau deşartă.Un dor e taină, altul e durere,
Un foc e neputinţă sau putere,
Un om trăieşte, altul doar există,
O lacrimă zâmbeşte ori e tristă.O vârstă-i număr sau înţelepciune,
Un loc e beznă, altul rugăciune,
Un om e gol sau este de valoare,
O dragoste se naşte, alta moare.Doi ochi sunt trişti şi nu au nicio vină
Că alţi doi ochi fugiră de lumină.
Un om e cald şi altul este rece,
Nimic nu-i permanent şi totul trece.ALEXANDRA MIHALACHE
…………….
CONTRASTS
One man is warm, another is detached,
One train arrives, another is dispatched,
Two eyes are sad and have no blame
That other two eyes flee from the light’s flame.One soul forgives, another vengeance seaks,
One thought brings sunshine or storm peaks,
One man can love, another one can mock,
In us is day, in us it’s getting dark.One hand just takes, another one just gives,
One man just offers, another mischiefs,
One life begins, another one ends thus,
One clock stood still, another speaks to us.One mother laughs and another one cries,
One dream is born and another one dies,
One man gains knowledge, another-is unread,
One deed is courage, another is dread.One body is shadow, another is creed,
One act is cowardly, one else is deed,
A verse is either nothing or art’s pain,
A life is either value or in vain.One longing’is mystery, another blight,
One fire is helplessness or might,
One man lives, other only exists,
A tear smiles or is sad to bits.An age is number or a wisdom bearer,
One place is gloom, another one is prayer,
A man is either empty or is worth,
One love is born, another dies at birth.Two eyes are sad and have no blame
That other two eyes flee from the light’s flame.
One man is warm, another is detached,
Nothing will last and all by time is snatched.
traducere, M. M. Biela
nu toţi sîntem egali în faţa ficţiunii / we are not all equal before fiction
POSTED IN Mariana Codrut January 14, 2022
nu toţi sîntem egali în faţa ficţiunii / we are not all equal before fictionnumele e o limită, faţa e o limită,
toată fiinţa mea e o limită. o frontieră
la care se opresc cei care scriu prezentul
îngropaţi pînă la gît în ficţiune.doar eu în miezul meu (în care-mi uit
numele, faţa, întreaga fiinţă),
cînd trag propria lume din mine
milimetru cu milimetru,
cum face păianjenul
cu pînza din pîntecul lui ca să trăiască,
simt că toate-s altfel.nu toţi sîntem egali în faţa ficţiunii
cum sîntem în faţa morţii.MARIANA CODRUT
…………..
we are not all equal before fiction
the name is a limit, the face is a limit,
my whole being is a limit. a border
at which those who write the present stop
buried up to their neck in fiction.only me in my core (in which I forget
name, my face, my whole being),
when I draw my own world out of me
millimeter by millimeter,
as the spider does
with the web in its belly to live,
I feel that everything is different.we are not all equal before fiction
as we are before death.
traducere, M. M. Biela
DIE MITBEWOHNERIN / THE WOMAN NEXT DOOR / VECINA
POSTED IN Roland January 13, 2022
DIE MITBEWOHNERIN / THE WOMAN NEXT DOOR / VECINAStehst mit uns im Hausflur
auf der glitschigen Treppe,
dein dicker gesteppter Mantel
aus der Nachkriegszeit,
der dir nicht passt,
den dir ein Nachbar geschenkt hat
kannst ihn im Spiegel nicht sehn,
und auch nicht den Schmutz ringsum.
Du sagst was vom plötzlichen Tod
der kränkelnden Frau vom Parterre,
die so bärbeißig war,
der du immer die Suppe gekocht hast,
und wir schütteln den Kopf,
sind verlegen, stimmen dir zu.
Und ich will endlich hier weg gehn,
will nicht dran denken,
wie lange du es schon aushältst
hier in dem Haus mit dem zerlöcherten Notdach,
dem abgebrochenen Treppengeländer,
dem Quartalssäufer im ersten Stock,
dem arglistigen Hausbuchführer.
Ohne je aufzugeben,
ohne kurz angebunden zu sein,
ohne zu jammern,
seltsame alte Frau,
die du stets meinen Zorn erregst,
weil du mit einem alten Kinderwagen herumläufst
und uns Töpfe mit Essen
von der Volkssolidarität vor die Tür stellst.
Hier in dem Haus, das unweigerlich
verfällt.ROLAD ERB
………………..
THE WOMAN NEXT DOOR
Standing with us in the hallway
on the slippery stairs
your thick quilted coat
from after the war,
that doesn’t fit you
that a neighbor gave you
can’t be seen in the mirror
nor the dirt around it.
You say something about the sudden death
of the ailing woman on the ground floor,
who was so grumpy
whom you always made the soup for,
and we shake our heads
embarrassed, agreeing with you.
And I want to leave here at last
don’t want to think about
how long you’ve put up with it
here in the house with the perforated roof,
the broken banister,
the drunkard on the first floor,
the malicious house accountant.
Without ever giving up
without being short-tempered,
without complaining
strange old woman
you always arouse my anger,
because you walk around with an old stroller
and you put in front of our door
pots of food
from People’s Solidarity.
Here, in this house that inevitably
falls apart.………………..
VECINA
Stand cu noi pe hol
pe scarile alunecoase
haina ta groasă matlasată
de dupa razboi,
care nu ti se potriveste
pe care ți-a dat-o un vecin
nu se vede în oglindă
nici murdăria din jur.
Spui ceva despre moartea subită
a femeii bolnave de la parter,
care era atât de morocănoasa
careia ii făceai mereu supa,
iar noi dam din cap
stanjeniti, de acord cu tine.
Și vreau să plec în sfârșit de aici
nu vreau să mă gândesc la
cat timp ai stat
aici în casa cu acoperișul improvizat gaurit,
balustrada sparta,
alcoolicul de la primul etaj,
contabilul viclean al casei.
Fără să renunți vreodată
fără sa fii irascibila,
fără să te plângi
bătrână ciudată
imi trezesti mereu furia,
pentru că te plimbi cu un cărucior vechi
și pui in fata usii noastre
oale cu mâncare
de la Solidaritatea Populara.
Aici, în aceasta casă care, inevitabil
se duce de rapa.
traducere, M. M. Biela
NÄKY RAUNIOILLA / VIEW INTO THE RUINS / VEDERE ÎN RUINE
POSTED IN Eeva Liisa Manner January 9, 2022
NÄKY RAUNIOILLA / VIEW INTO THE RUINS / VEDERE ÎN RUINE
(13.3.1941)Kerran tunsit: ikuisuuden mereen
vajonnut on kotikaupunkisi.
Linnan varjo veteen haudanmustaan
kuvastui, kun alkoi pakoretkes.
Autiossa satamassa turhaan
kiinnekohtaa taivaalta sa etsit.
Verenpunaisena hulmus meren ääri,
itätuuli vonkui yllä aavain.
Levisi jo roihu hävityksen
sieluusi, sun sisimpääsi asti.Silloin kaikki oli sulta kuollut.
Uneesi sen jälkeen usein kuulit
hartaat lyönnit tutun tornikellon.
Vainajien lepoa ne soitti –
soittaneet ei sieluusi ne rauhaa.Unessasi usein myöskin kuljet
lapsuusaikojesi pihamaalle
läpi kujien ja yli vallein.
Pihan pimennossa kotis eessä
portahilla, joit’ on lieska nuollut,
istuu Suru, katseessansa tyhjyys.
Tarttuin sua, ystäväänsä käteen
taluttaa hän sinut raunioille,
taakse aikain katsoo: ”Murskatusta
tuhannesti taas on aloitettu.”Kaikkialle Suru sua saattaa,
halki pihain, yli vallihautain,
yli sammalen ja soran, tuhkan.Näet ohitsesi vuosisatain
kumarassa vaeltavan verkkaan.
Aamuhämärästä uusi suku
vastaan kirkastunein otsin astuu.Tunnet: minkä vuosisatain käsi
kerran muuriksi loi yötä vastaan,
sitä murenna ei Vihan miekka.Aavistat nyt, että kaupunkisi
jälleen nouseva on tuhon yöstä.
Linnan varjo taivaalle jo piirtyy.
Aamunkoitossa ui meren ääri,
itätuuli tyyntyy yllä aavain.Pyhän tornikellon lyönnit jostain
uskoa ja rauhaa sieluus soittaa.EEVA-LIISA MANNER
……………..
VIEW INTO THE RUINS
Once you felt it: in the sea of eternity
your hometown has sunk.
The shadow of the castle shone in the water
as black as the grave, when your flight began.
In the deserted harbor in vain
you’re looking for an anchor in the sky.
The edge of the sea flickered red as blood,
the east wind blew across the sea.
The flame of devastation was already spreading
in your soul, to the depths of your nature.
Then everything died for you.
After that, in your sleep you often heard
the pious beat of the kind tower-clock.
For the rest of the dead they beat –
not for the peace of thy soul.In your sleep, you often go
to the yard of thy childhood
through alleys and across the valleys.
In the dark, on the front steps of the house
that have been licked by the flame,
sits Sadness, staring into the void.
Holding you with the hand of a friend
leads you to the ruins,
looking back in time: “From those ground
a thousand times a new beginning was born.”
Sadness takes you everywhere,
through the yards, over the ditches,
over moss and gravel, and ash.You see how the ages beside you
they pass hunchbacked, walking on.
From the mist of dawn a new nation
greets you with bright foreheads.Feel: what the hand of centuries
once built a wall against the night,
shall not be broken by the sword of wrath.You feel now, that your city
will rise again from the night of fate.
The shadow of the fortress already on the sky is drawing.
At dawn, the edge of the sea swims,
the east wind calms down over the seas.The beating of the holy tower-clock somewhere
sings faith and peace in your heart.
traducere, M. M. Biela
