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“Poetry” by NICHITA STANESCU
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, my 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.
October 30, 2009
“Poezia” de NICHITA STANESCU
translated from Romanian by Lori Tiron-Pandit
Poezia este ochiul care plânge.
Ea este umărul care plânge,
ochiul umărului care plânge.
Ea este mâna care plânge,
ochiul mâinii care plânge.
Ea este ţapa care plânge,
ochiul călcâiului care plânge.
O voi, prieteni,
poezia nu este lacrimă
ea este însuşi plânsul,
plânsul unui ochi neinventat,
lacrima ochiului
celui care trebuie să fie frumos,
lacrima celui care trebuie să fie fericit.
