POEME ROMÂNESTI ÎN LIMBI STRĂINE
Marin SORESCU
Story
Your soul works on firewood,
Whilst mine on electricity,
Your love furnishes the sky with smoke,
My ardour is woven of immaculate flames.
Yet we’ll wander together for some span,
For some good stretch of land,
For some good patch of blue,
For some good moon wedge.
We’ll treasure the grass
And the lake,
We’ll laugh for the tree,
We’ll extol the path of righteousness
in turns with each kiss
And we’ll pause in a moment of remembrance
For each twist of fate’s crooked way.
We’ll follow my shadow
Which walks ahead,
We’ll follow the first thought,
We’ll follow two or three words.
Until Saint Friday
Crosses our way
To remind us, among other things,
That we’re no longer young.
Therefore she will provide
Neither electricity for flames,
Nor firewood for the smoke.
Blindman’s Buff
Let’s believe everything we say,
It’s such a captivating game,
You’ll tell me, “I love you”
And I’ll rejoice childishly,
As if your gift were a bone-handled
Penknife.
You’ll tell me frankly
What you think
About your neighbours, about the universe
And about the rain;
Or you may tell me nothing
And all my thoughts will nod
In approval.
And I’ll tell you,
“On this nail there lies a deep lake
And on the others there lies a sea.
If you move your fingers over my days,
You can rouse Niagaras.”
And from my words, till the night falls,
There’ll rise tall grass
Whose ears will penetrate the sky,
Bearing our clay on their heads,
Or some star seed.
And you’ll believe in my grass.
You’ll believe it all, blindly.
And, a step behind you, I’ll believe
Chivalrously.
September Summer
Dreaming with my hand under my head,
I find out the autumn is splendiferous
In that (this) town
Yet I can’t behold its still green leaves.
I prefer this dreamy season
“You’re like a miracle
Sent to me as a present.”
I would’ve liked to utter this first,
You’re not aware what a source of inspiration you are,
All your poetry needs is to be written, it lies in there,
All you need is the proper eyes to notice it
And a soul in particular...
Like a funnel-shaped crater, ready to absorb you...
To let you slip down into the smouldering fire…
(“I’ve also put some dots.”)
(“Leave them there, you never know
When you might need them”.)
You have the profile of an ancient goddess,
Of a contemporary goddess,
Stepping from the antiquity – just like that, standing in profile,
To let the centuries admire you –
To let me catch you in my arms.
Protect you from falling, in the end, breaking your nose,
Or from breaking your arm
Like that maimed goddess. Nestle in my arms.
Your heat is absolutely contemporary,
I am contemporary with your heat,
And all your gestures
Are designed for me, they blow me kisses
I’ll confiscate the statue “Shall I write this?”
“Please, do, if you can.”
You’re well wrought, finely chiselled.
Will autumn arrive on time this year?
English version by Gabriela PACHIA
