POEME ROMÂNESTI ÎN LIMBI STRĂINE

Petre STOICA

 

My Poems

 

Oh how wrong you are oh

my poems don’t have the brilliance of the peacock tail

neither do they taste like almonds

pardon me my beautiful lady of Ilfov

I know you like the sonnets sprinkled with eau-de-cologne

and pardon me my respectable high-school teacher

I know you adore the poems whose meaning is obscure

otherwise your eyes wouldn’t cast a frowning look

even when you make love

and pardon me all of you over there in the upper circle

who have expected me to warble

long trills like a traditional nightingale

but my voice is hoarse from shouting in the desert

for so long

things are as they are I’m telling you frankly

my poems have the hardness of barren land

their perfume is the odour of flowers rotting in a ditch

they have the brightness of a smoked oil lamp chimney

they pant like a former century’s slave

they taste like fish oil

they taste like wild fruit

they taste like life denied

my poems children abandoned in the rain

my poems frozen fingers

my poems bags of rags

my poems yes my glorious poems

if you don’t like them

wipe your nose

and stone them

 

(English version: Gabriela PACHIA)