George BACOVIA
LACUSTRINE DWELLINGS
For nights I hear now the rain,
I hear matter cry in vain…
I am alone – the hunted game
In wooden dwellings on the lakes.
It seems I sleep on soaking boards,
My back is hit by waves and roar –
In dream I startle asking if
I pulled the bridge off from the shore.
A void has stretched through history
In those old times I am alone…
And feel the pillars soaked with rain
Collapsing heavily like stone.
For nights I hear now the rain,
Keep trembling, waiting, timeless pain…
I am alone thinking back then –
Endangered lacustrine dump dwellings.
DECEMBER
Just look at the snowing December,
My love, through the windows, watch higher –
And tell them to bring us some embers,
I'll hear the cracking of fire.
And close to the stove push my chair
In the chimney I'll hear the roar
Of my days or the blizzard – the same –
I wish I learned their symphony score.
And also some tea you should order
And my darling, come closer and sit
Now read me some tales of the ice lands,
Let it snow…be the snow our crypt.
And all in the house is so sacred,
And here with you is so warm –
Just look at the snowing December,
Don't laugh…lie back…and read on.
And also the lamp you should order
It is daylight, so dark and so cold –
Behold, the snow has buried the fence
All night white frost has coated the bolt.
A terrible flood shatters the earth…
Today I will not be going home,
Just look at the snowing December,
Don't cry…lie back…and read on.
LEAD
Deep sleep was clutching at the coffins' lead
And flowers' lead and funerary shroud –
I waited lonely in the vault…the wind blew loud…
And made the wreaths squeak their heavy lead.
She slept turned on her side, my love of lead
On flowers' lead, I called her – dreadful scream –
Alone next to the dead…in freezing dream…
Her wings hung lame, laden and lifeless lead.
FURNACE
There are some dead people in town, my love,
That's why I've come, just to tell you; the heat,
Outside, on the boiling dim catafalque,
Is melting slowly corpses bit by bit.
Even the live ones move now decomposed
Sweating in scorch with their moldy clay
There is a stink of cadavers, my love,
And even your breast is lower today.
Pour off on the carpets strong perfumes,
Bring roses, with them I will cover you;
There are some dead people in town, my love,
Slowly, the dead are turning into glue.
SPRING NOTES
Unripe green, unripe green
White sprout, pink, of pure hue
I still sees you, I still hear you
Dream of blue and of serene!
Overwhelm me with your flame
Sun, oh, mighty sun…
All my body's painful sun,
Caught in hinges of time's game.
From a sweet flute of a willow,
Unripe spring, without a stain,
A young girl rests by the well
Echoing your song
On a clear plain.
Unripe green, unripe green
White sprout, pink, and hue of pure
I still see and hear your dream
Trance of blue and of azure.
Translated by Liviu GEORGESCU
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