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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.

My novels

(works in progress)


Ana Believed


The Lilac Forest Teachings

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.