Translated poems and other writings.

            Fill your arms with these written leaves and throw them in the air.

                                    Or kick them with your foot.

                                            In any case, there will be floating.

"Psalm"

by Lucian Blaga

translated from Romanian by Loredana Tiron-Pandit

Painful your hidden loneliness has always been to me,

but, God, what was I to do?

As a child I used to play with you

and in my mind I used to take you apart like a toy.

Later my wilderness grew,

my songs disappeared,

and without ever having had you too close

I lost you forever,

in the dust, in fire, in air and on the water.

Between the rising of the sun and sunset

I am but dirt and wound.

In the sky you closed yourself, like in a coffin.

Oh, if you were not closer to death

than life,

you would speak to me. From where you are,

from the earth or from myth you would speak.

In the thorns from around here, show yourself, God,

to say what you're expecting of me.

Do you want me to catch in the sky the venomous spear

thrown by another to pierce you under the wing?

Or maybe you don't want anything?

You are a mute and unmovable entity,

(intrinsically round, a is a)

you do not ask for a thing. Not even that I pray.

Look, the stars enter the world

along with my questioning sadness.

Look, it is night without windows outside.

God, what am I to do now?

In your midst I undress. I take off my body

like a coat that you leave on the road.

"Foremothers"

by Loredana Tiron-Pandit

I was wondering

if you even remember

the beginning

the end,

when it was revealed

that the holy one was a man

that the child

was a boy.

It was the time that wrote me

a prostitute and witch

and left me

outside of the revelation.

Loving and accepting,

eager to be allowed back

into the story

I followed you.

I chose faith,

I lengthened my skirts and hated my body

to please,

I covered my hair,

and walked a few steps behind.

I allowed you to keep me hidden,

in back rooms,

amidst your gold treasures

and our very dark secrets.

I let you take over everything I had

even the daughters I failed

and were not allowed a chance breathe,

even the daughters they raped

and had to be honorably killed.

Today, this history is writing its own demise

and I rise

to speak loud

outside

under the sun,

in front of my people.

And I vow

that the story will never be stolen

from our daughters.

No more.

They will not be a footnote

like our foremothers.

They will be forging new chapters

new times

and new light,

for themselves and for all the following others.