POEME ROMÂNESTI ÎN LIMBI STRĂINE

Vlad NEAGOE

***
To where the ephemeral bears us
a serpent is crawling among roots
at twilight an undulating night
is rustling half hidden, mourning
into the wood unable to be passed
by the silhouette of leafs, twigs.

***
Got to the cross of the vault
the way, sorrow, youth, abandoned
life get smitten and disappear,
the pitch darkness is growing
with the glides of clouds.

***
A beautiful woman is gathering the sons
of the Ego where I myself stand in ancient
tribulations as the light of the thought
and the whole history is running on lonesome
marrow when her footstep breezes through heart.
 
THE MUSE
Her mysterious body grows in halo
the tyrannical window takes her breath away –
she steps in the streets as a crimson locust
in the moonlight.
***
You hear the living thrills, profound
vibration of the leaf of grass into the mouth
of love it fills a world with harmonies
before it gets broken by wind.

***
The immortal bird bearer of hues
slips the seed into the sun
comforting hand heals crusts,
destroyed shrubs are bleeding
along with it the flashlight
depicts the giant oak that suffers
along with us filling our mouth,
eyes with golden darkness.

***
Don’t take heed to the paths that are alluring
you how thin is the membrane that separates you
from the world, from the muddy way at twilight –
we cannot see them, we just hear them through
the autonomous wind circling the autonomous
wheel-mill  according to physics’ laws in this
age and in this moment a very scrupulous scientist
will tell an alternative story the true target hundred percent attained: on the bank of a river
emotive people are throwing themselves into
a whirlpool in order to make clear the minds creating a long sadness as food for fish –
his subtle smile was suggesting that all of us are wandering into a plane that whether you like it
or not is going to have an emergency landing.
Don’t take heed to paths alluring you, prepare your landing strip; the truth of the story is forcibly insinuated, the world didn’t delay to tumble down: even though it is likely otherwise you fall asleep, the sky moves and you feel the stories again.

 

***
The smile of the withered flower is falling
over the endless ruins of an already fallen
empire makes you complete how proud he is
being a slave the priest and grave digger
chattering next to the corpse – there is
no way of hoping when so many a flower
are falling as snow on the tombstone –
no occasion to die ever existed the life
at turning point seems to you a bit hunchbacked
as if it struggled to tell you: go ahead,
don’t be afraid, I’m giving you the great
Potion until I can see you until you have
the share to kill the time – it is the only
music you endure into the heresy’s precipice
too many a flower are blossoming
into the Ego’s clearing. 

***
I can hear how of so much silence the lonesomeness
is growing into the mountains you don’t make
the slightest thing so as the reasonable invention
of life should get out of crowd death took its wing the trumpets are announcing man has nothing
to destroy: now  you are reviving alive, Beloved, and you are no more than a photo of the Last Judgment having no bridegroom as judger.  

***
Called with one hope we make up a single
body, a single Spirit we were sealed into One
frozen into the doctrinal gold we gather
the margins of the universe around Him
celebrating His last Supper… Hear since God
is speaking through many a voice, it might be
the last Summons we hear: here is the way,
follow it in his eternal glory, but all
of these are smiting me since I was born
till this day, God knows, the more the days
are departing the more I return into the heart
of the single body. God doesn’t forget,
everything can be researched even the sorrow
and song covered with the murmur of the seas
the pure grief of the wind after the poor and just
life as a smile relieved of distress.

 

Translated from Romanian into English by Liviu NEAGOE