The light that I feel
flooding my chest when I see you,
isn’t it, I wonder, a drop from the light
created on the first day,
from that light so thirsty of life?
The nothingness was lying in agony
when alone in the darkness it floated, and then
a sign made the Adamantine:
“Let it be light!”
and a storm with madness for light
appeared that moment:
the thirst was for elation, guilt, longing, passion,
the thirst was for a world and a sun.
But where did the blinding light of that time
The light that I feel rushing
into my chest when I see you, wondrous being,
may well be the last drop
from that light created on the very first day.
(Translated from Romanian by Lori Tiron-Pandit.)
Indeed, this is a worthy translation! It inspires me to go back and re-read the original. Thank you for making it public.
Thank you for reading!
Thank you, Rachel. I know I can always count on your support.
I adore your translations, Lori – would love to see a whole collection translated by you (not just Blaga’s either).
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