POEME ROMÂNESTI ÎN LIMBI STRĂINE
Dumitru PĂCURARU
You Are My Love
burst forth, seized with remorse, with fevers
hot cry of the dark
painfully vaulting over the earth
huge trap of light you are my love
welcome me in the black box of your life
take me for the bait of your perdition
clogged loneliness between two bodies
grown mad with love
love grown mad with loneliness
you have cleft the death’s reservoir by coming to me
you have defiled the palate of your mouth whispering…my love
you are my love:
while the stars groan in the universe
while the words lose flesh, remain without teeth
hanging out of the pages like the lewd poets’ ruptures
God, during all this time you are my love
while
the stranger’s limousine bumps into a concrete pole
while the fat moon… or the female teenager with knees
of orange…
you are, my love,
may the dark bleed in the blind: you are my love
may the cocks’ song freeze in them: you remain my love
apocalyptical, glacialized, of words, of divinity,
of devil,
my love: snake skin from which the snake has run away
counting its broken vertebra
corspse from which death has run away frightened of
its aspect too human
you are my love struggling on a deserted beach
while the moon bears innumerable babes of sand
you rise in the place of the sun like figure 7
come nearer, all shivering, come nearer my hands have revived,
cold howls like some dead people come back from stillness
to their houses
gnashing your teeth come nearer, gnashing your teeth come nearer
like knees to knees
like knives to knives
with death treadding death
Of Love
I nourished your favourite season
to the saturation point
with my rains full of despair
my sun rose up
to your heart’s content
and you squashed it with your milk knees
like an adder’s young
your arm was the door of my house
your eyes the ability of the commando
sometimes
by the small flame of your breasts
I still write an elegy in cipher
to my statue of nerves
that erects all alone
carelessly
at the seashore
Love Poem
Yes I loved you
as the bullet, the recruit’s sweet flesh
as the old maple, the groan of the cherry blossom
as the noose, the hanger’s neck
I loved you until the minute hands of the clocks
could no longer be separated
until the sunrise and the twilight
began rustling
like the jaws of the same mouth
until the pity and patience of God
gathered up round our neck
like a criminal muffler
Yes, I loved you
until from your very couch
the sky began running on all fours
howling
and the stone of the sun kept hanging from its neck
like the sheep bell, exhausted,
and carried its stars in torrents to perdition
for you
for so much love
he stabbed them to bathe you
in their galactic blood
in the name of our love, come back
so that the whirl between the hips
may absorb the werewolves’ little ones in the moon
as soon as possible
before the sun has a fancy for
taking another lover
another sensual new moon
a sister of yours
with teeth of dew viper:
POETRY
Poem
love? what is love? it is what fire was
and fire? what is fire? it was already to the ground
when the civil firemen arrived
they twisted it, they smothered it
they tore it to syllables, small flame by small flame
it ended in the garbage like a rotten cabbage
like a tube of soporific that had expired
it is the height of impudence! there were women
and babes around
many watched them from afar
but, many more slept at that hour
was it night? it was night, of course.
they may have calmed down meanwhile I saw them as in a dream
spitting on the red-hot coals and on their unforgettable memories
I saw their bodies but I never saw them more and more lessened by excess and rhythms
by victories and a hidden past
becoming manifestos of mercy in bistros and bars
from their mouths the cigarettes spasmodically splashed words not smoke
the rhythm burnt smouldering: life-and-death… life-and-death
nothing started from where it had always started
and the feeling that all that was to love
had fed on error/horror
was more painful than never before.
They again came back annoyed, of course how is it possible gentlemen?
then trying on their own skin sunburnt by winds
and rains
they became aware of how chaste the fire was
not letting itself be kissed or touched
it throbs defending its intimate interests
there is so much femininity within it! and it does not beg! what could fire beg? or poetry?
we would cast pearls before swine, would we, Mister Rosewater?
they should have been aswered, but who to do it? fire?
the dance of the rain on the roof? the vodka?
we were already
the later great cold-hearted
as a matter of fact
all our ships had sunk
and we bathed in other waters
much clearer
Georg Trakl’s Shadow, Dream And Death
There is a cloud that carries my head
There is a way without return
The madman makes the sirens wail through the town’s belly
and then demonstratively dies
There is one who operates the owls’ eyes
There are yellow wounds in the snow
The alien woman eats clay from the man’s palm
The earth feeds the dead child
*
The stork flies over the house of the chemist-psalmist
Sad children turn the snow yellow
The red onion good for crying in chorus has come
The only reality where you are still able to multiply
Is the end of the poem.
The painter hires the dead child
Who is to open the doors? the men are at war
The Moon? a song igniting upon the pale lips
*
We grow up among the dead’s nails and hair
We recite our poems on the women’s croup
*
A little girl with knees broken by the wind’s rays
Sleeps with her brother’s image in her arms
Friday’s bride is dumbfounded before the altar
Love is a gold spoon in the devil’s hand
*
Like two cursed parents
Two trees move away talking
The night emerges from its sighs
I am the one who has killed you by mistake
*
They give black wages to some drunkards
A red-dark plasma sneaks into the words
The dog licks the remains of the last supper at the Grodek
For one moment one can see death’s oases
And the spirit of the nephews whom no one will bear
Traduceri de Olimpia IACOB si poeta Rebecca COOK
