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It’s a rustling spread of poems, some that I have written and others that I translated from the works of my favorite Romanian poets. You might also step on excerpts from the two novels I am working on.
Feel free to fill your arms with my leaves and throw them in the air. Or even kick them with your foot. In any case, there will be floating.
TRANSLATION:
Poetry
by NICHITA STANESCU
translated from Romanian by Lori Tiron-Pandit
Poetry is the eye that cries.
It is the shoulder that cries,
The eye of the shoulder that cries.
It is the hand that cries,
the eye of the hand that cries.
It is the sole of the foot the cries
the eye of the heel that cries.
Oh, you, friends
poetry is not tear
it is crying itself,
the crying of a not-invented eye,
the tear of the eye
of the one who has to be beautiful,
the tear of the one who has to feel bliss.
Translated poetry
TUDOR ARGHEZI
~ You had just left (De-abia plecasesi)
~ Morgenstimmung (Morgenstimmung)
~ Mildew Flowers (Flori de mucigai)
GEORGE BACOVIA
LUCIAN BLAGA
~ The light of yesterday (Lumina de ieri)
~ The old monk whispers to me from the threshold (Calugarul batran imi sopteste din prag)
~ I do not trample over world’s corolla of wonders (Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii)
~ From your hair (Din parul tau)
~ Will you cry heavy tears or will you smile? (Vei plange mult or vei zambi?)
~ The light from heaven (Lumina raiului)
~ Metaphysical sadness (Tristete metafizica)
MAGDA ISANOS
ION MINULESCU
MARIN SORESCU
NICHITA STANESCU
ORIGINAL:
Shadow of doubt
by Lori Tiron-Pandit
I stopped her right there:
It remains to be seen, I said,
someday I am going to show you
that I
am the chosen, the beautiful,
the magical one.
But the incredible shadow on the living room wall
didn’t leave.
She stared at me through veils of dusk
and linen curtains.
She looked at me with eyes
of knotted tree branches.
I am not scared!
Just wait and see what I can do
Who I am.
I’ll prove it
I am
like someone told me once...
that I was ...
And that was the only truth
because it came from the one who mattered,
from the builder of magnificent abodes.
You,
pathetic shimmering shadow,
if I turn on the lights now
you will be gone.
You will never have entered
this shattered room
where I live by day,
where in spite of all my sweat
the walls are starting to thin out.
But it is mine and I need to protect
these moldy, transparent corners.
I have sworn to shed light and life in their gloom,
compassion and understanding in their despair.
You are not going to take that away.
Oh no,
not for as long as I live here,
not until the fresh air comes rushing in,
dislocating my being,
or until the true light spreads out uninhibited
in spider web pattern,
not
until the walls break down to dust
from having had their time come.
As long as I still have
this thinning cover over my head
I am the only one reigning inside,
and only what I say goes.
Only what the mirror shreds on my floor still show me
is the acceptable truth,
and I won't look for it in your troubling eyes.
So good bye.
I am closing the shutters now
in your face.
Same place, same time on the other side?
I’ll miss you.
Good night.
Copyright 2008-2010 Lori Tiron-Pandit
All rights reserved.