POEME ROMÂNESTI ÎN LIMBI STRAINE

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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