POEME ROMÂNESTI ÎN LIMBI STRĂINE

George COSBUC

 

The Poet and the Critic

 

“I know your ways, it is no secret –

Please, leave alone the muse,

Since you’re the less gifted poet

In Syracuse.

Cripple trochees and iambs so rigid ;

And you’re so bad at imitating !”

 

He hadn’t even finished since Dionysus,

Like another mythic Ajax,

Laughed out of rage and he imprisoned

The critic in a tower.

One can deny a poor Homer ;

When he’s a prince, things can turn over.

 

Since any poet is but a bad king ;

But any king a poet can be,

A genius as never has there been !

So one can see

Why, dying, Neron was upset

Not as an emperor, but as a poet.

 

And the poor critic, most embittered

With the employees’ insults,

Three quarters of the day was forced

For long to listen

The iambs he had considered

The worst in the world that were ever written.

 

Since daybreak a slave performed his task

By his bed, reading for him as late as dusk ;

So was it yesterday and so today

Tomorrow’s on the way.

And all the ceiling was apainted

With lines that Dionysus has created.

 

When a whole year had elapsed,

An official came and announced

That by the noble tyrant he was forgiven

And as well invited

To the palace to show up thereafter.

The poet welcomed him and gave a laughter.

 

“I have more lines ! A volume new,

All critics highly praise me, that is true.

Look ! Now I think that I can make

Better dactyls.

I have no line cripple or ill,

I would like to hear your verdict still !”

 

And from his roll, in bold and high,

There came the odes, one after the other.

In an Olympian and sacred voice

The poet read on like no other.

The courtiers, in delight, shouted loud,

“Oh, how artistic ! How profound !”

 

“What do you say now ? Have I improved ?”

Polyxenus, with a shaking foot,

Meekly to the door he moved,

Giving his officials a look,

“Is there the cell key with you ?

Come, take me back to the doom !”

 

(English version: Gabriela PACHIA)