From days of yore/ Din orice timp
Nothing is as it was
and nothing will be as it is.
Just mere thoughts that remain
forgotten from days of yore within us,
as summer is still alive in apple-trees
though the sun is carried away
by the spell of heavy snows,
as the mill consumed of the olden time
slowly still revolves within myself
though from Macedonia my ancestor
who went northwards is no longer as he was
se as we’ll also come to be
when mere thoughts engrafted within us
of days of yore keep joining us.
Nothing is as it was
and nothing will be as it is.

Some people know/ Unii stiu
Some people do know dying
quickly and slowly near a spider
climbing the air up and down
from a pendulum suspended
when the shadow follows the sun close behind
and the sea embraces the stars
but they tell nobody about dying
though they do know dying.

Snow/ Zãpada
Nobody knew to embrace
the stirring still of the lane
the last whispers outside the gate,
the dust in which our feet we laved
and the barrel also smelling of greyish dust
nobody but snow knew to embrace
though nobody but snow could fly
so gently amidst the bell tongues
for not to ever come
to vanquish.

Lighted our stars are/ Ni-s stelele aprinse
I don’t know how it is that warm bones
we keep on carrying on our shoulders
though on a hill over there in winter
never do we move the snow.

I don’t know how it is that the same air
on the same hill keeps on burning us
when heavy empires on our shoulders
sleep under the same snow.

But lighted our stars are
so long as the silence of old people
hidden in your life and in my life
keep on haunting us.

Skiing/ Schi
On the track where never break
their solitary triumphant descent
the skiers seem to recreate in white
the eternal rhythm of dark procreation.
Among fir trees as if among saw teeth
there hardly comes down a green sun
towards the solitude
we also soothe through rhythm and sun.
The wilderness lies beyond mountains
that could dissolve even the fleshless death,
that’s why we walk on winding
without stops,
without wildly looking back
also affrighted by the fright of solitude.
On the track where never break
the skiors seem to recreate
birth with its rhythms and the eternal way.

Independence/ Independentã
Carried along by the forest air turned green
we try to learn the size of our palms
and upwards somewhere above us
a hatchet toiling as usual we hear
and the sun quite worried looks for a place to rest,
the earth, shrouded in the smell of pantry of the leaves.
I try to throw two words
over the hands in search of their size
but they fall down as if two heavy apples
one from the tree top reddened and shaken by winds
the other from a branch thick but tired
and resigned close to the ground.
And both fall down
from different places at different speed
and can’t make out their fate
like the two words fallen down over the shell of the arms.
And again we yield to the voice of the forest
that embraces our neck as if it were a muffler,
and our fingers all in a daze
for the fond sqeeze of our palms,
and carried away we float through the forest
which has never hindered our feet
as birds touching the skies
their nests.

A forest in autumn/ Pãdurea în toamnã
As the green leaf and the new shadow
become one shadow and the other leaf
so does love: a forest in autumn
that flows into shadow and burns in words
that rushes to hide under the first snow
and fated is to know the rest
of clear waters and deep waves.

Traduceri de Olimpia IACOB