POEME ROMÂNESTI ÎN LIMBI STRĂINE

Grigore VIERU

 

The Harp

 

I used to think that snakes could sing,

I set them for my harp’s grave strings,

Next to the string of fruit,

Close to my mother’s sacred hair were they put.

And I would sit, harp in my hands, under ripe apples.

And they would sweetly sing. Yet in the night’s darkness,

While through the woods I passed so lonely

They started hissing, oh, so fiercely,

They darted forward to bite my hand, my face,

To wear the song out of its life embrace.

Under fir trees, I sounded my mother’s hair, enthralling,

There rushed my friends to meet my calling.

When from my dream I stepped away,

One of my strings had grown grey.

 

The Ring Engraved with Your Name

 

Your starlit name

Has coiled

Around my right finger.

 

With your name

I sprinkle my eyes at dawn.

With your name

I pick the apple from the tree,

I caress my child

With your name.

I shake the women’s hands

With your name.

When I seek,

I struggle,

With a heavy heart,

I raise your name

To my forehead.

Your name.

With your name

I master the racket.

My cheeks falls asleep

By the side of your name.

 

Oh, the enemies ! –

They are on the watch

To sever my fingers.

I shall strangle them

With your name !

(English version: Gabriela PACHIA)