Vasile
PROCA
MANIFEST PENTRU O NOUĂ POEZIE / Manifesto For A New Poem
( the lives of the poet )
In my first life I’ll keep an eye on myself:
day,
night,
day-
to see whence I come
alone and urmuz and bitter
in my second life I’ll call my name:
just like that,
louder,
just like that….
to hear you to speak about myself and cold
and disgusted through myself I’ll go
and turn into the first state
where No One and Nowhere snow
dusks:
trees
made
of paing web
in the jungle of dreams, rains, oracles, harlequins
and strange signs
look, in the poems my sweethearts lie down like beasts
then in the second state
I row to the depths of a late hour:
more and more vivid
more and more deserted
and more and more
dirty
like the lime water
I turn into birds, the birds into hazards,
sometimes I pass away sometimes I am alive: I am the fire that burns you
and the water that drinks me
o, mystical vowel, letter A !
Note: urmuz stands for Urmuz, the pseudonym of Demetru Dem. Demetrescu- Buzău, (born at Curtea de Arges, in 1883, committed suicide in Bucharest in 1923) considered to be a forerunner of surrealism .
O ALTĂ POVESTE DE DRAGOSTE / Another Love Story
So many women keep undressing in my sleep
you imaginary woman
in a holy intoxication your hips your breasts I drink
so much love was crossing the bridge between
our looks
we were coming from Septentrion for to believe
with our hearts green fluttering through our bodies
and ready to say hello to us they pick up
the depths that are wells-
so much well in our being
gathers anxieties and years unlived
so many savage seasons on our way were turning out
begging woods and wind
for the holy birds, Our Lord, that keep falling ripe
from Your eye
OCHIUL CARE STRIGĂ / The Eye That Cries Out
A giant eye walks past my eye
and cries out blue
sky I write and water I write as
the colt’s life grows into the mare
there comes a big eye and cries out green –
forest I write and grass I write also
with the axe cold and blind of the wind
but there comes another eye and cries out red
my Lord, I can no longer go on writing:
I come out of the birds drowned in the word blood
so as to rot at the window of other sins
for a while I listen to the eye that cries out
in the black tear:
do roots need me? do you see me unforgiveness ?
you, sweetheart, you, memory blue and green and red
with your skin in flames, o, it is rustling so lovely-
from the beginning of the world just like the earth it’s been covering me
REFACEREA MEMORIEI / Restoring The Memory
Remember: there’s still something else
you have to tell !
-giants beating heavy drums are crossing my mind
o, the poets’ slumber rolling
and smelling of sweat and poems!
Remember: still you haven’t been born
for the second time
-I can no longer count the years
wild nerves keep absorbing them into the abysmal eye of the Great Man
remember: still you’ve never dwelt in a pyramid !
-the Ramses cloud with its veins cut off within myself
smokes now and then…
remember: still you haven’t gone beyond the first day !
-I’ve been told that new melancholy is coming
with its mirrors smelling of sensual dark
still you haven’t set free the springs on a holy day!
-from the big blue eye Orion keeps watching
the desert liquid
in heavens it’s high time for Our Lord’s waters
to start murmuring murmuring
I know- he tells me: you see a wall
that rises not
and the scare
that cannot be described
and the existences floating
at random
I know – I answer : still I can’t accept myself
as I am
still I haven’t arrived
since I left
still I keep suffering
in this patch of slum
because it’s day for three years: the night
in bits only
kisses me like a whip
-now I keep stringing bits of night
and cries out: man, the mouths of the river
rush into the home of your blood !
-now the sandy melancholy rustles in the flesh
of my time choosing the sense of contradictions
and, yet, remember: still there’s something else
you have to tell !
-day after day I have signs that Our Lord
gives me a bit of Dali….
to paint my scare, my scare, my scare
that cannot be painted
PRADA DIN RAI / The Prey from Heavens
Like the knave who wrote his prayer on Our Lord’s soul
you are one word older, brother Salvador, –cries out to me
the early morning of the grass burst out of the ground
on a way that seems neither to come nor to go
I’m going into the wide world and I feel myself just like the child
who once broke in turn its days
and I’m wondering how huge birds keep ploughing the skies
disturbing God’s wounds so that the journey
pagan and holy may start its heavy snow
look: the time of snows elapses holding me by the hand
I’m saying also: I’ve made the winter but I have no winter
and my body is not in the winter –
white wound that envelops me in its look
and the rustle of our bodies, brother Salvador, when the light
breaks the bodies and picks up the seasons which are mine and yours
fallen a prey to the traps growing in heavens
and believe me: I’ve also made the church where my followers
will come to unbury and listen to the voice of the bones-
but I’ve come off an unhappy sight and my hands all stretched out
the wheel of the days on the brow of the hill fire and chaos breathes out
I was leaving he was leaving an immense january was invading us
anxious to see in the horns of the beetle how the earth cries out:
from now on, old man, you are one verse younger!
Traducere de Olimpia IACOB
Un autre silence (O altă tăcere)
– Sauve-toi avec encore une douleur
homme qui marches sur les traces de la peine
... un silence: dans le cerveau de la nuit
dernière avec difficulté parlaient
l’eau la forêt et le troupeau de fauves:
sept étaient les épreuves et des chasses toutes les sept
... un autre silence: de nouveau la balle
se rêvait de blessure
le sang était la croix portée d’un éclat:
sept étaient les jours et tous ceux-ci étaient fêtes
L’air vert (Aerul verde)
– Elle t’aime vraiment – dit le bacillaire
en comptant les sangliers du champ de maïs
... je t’ai vue aujourd’hui aussi courir nue
parmi mes morts alignées pareilles aux falots
dans la rue principale
avec des nuits je t’embrasse tu me pardonnes avec
des matins
... je laisse le sang siffler jusqu’à ce qu’il réveille l’air
vert du triangle des grues:
septentrion échevelé j’ai rêvé de toi ma chérie
... même aujourd’hui je t’ai vue courir nue
parmi mes morts alignées pareilles aux mendiants
dans la rue principale
Sans nom (Fără nume)
– Un homm’ qui n’est pas saint renaît tous les jours sans relâche
après avoir flairé ton corps de femme
il faudrait que tu saches il faudrait que tu saches:
tu es le tremblement qui fonde encore une âme
... on célèbre la noce de mon oeil et ton corps
ton corps avec mes lèvres mesuré:
tu défais la Nuit ô Marie qui m’adore
l’eau offerte au sauvage qui saura t’adorer cent années
... de ta peau en flammes couvre-moi de nouveau
ou laisse-moi sous les couteaux de la pluie qui m’excite:
sans nom disparaître de ta chair brûlant sans repos
dans un silence féroce: silence vous dites?
Monté dans l’hiver (Urcati în iarnă)
– Avec la Mort respirant dans la poitrine de mes jours:
sur une rivière de voix je t’ai posée et celle-ci
va couler jusqu’à ce que nous apprenions le vol
... et moi en pensant: en t’ouvrant telle une porte
ma bien-aimée j’ai découvert l’alphabet de l’existence et nommés ceux
de sacre silence:
c’est comme ça qu’on a été monté dans l’hiver
... c’est comme ça qu’on attend
les solitudes de cinq cents
statues
Traduceri de Ion ROSIORU
MANIFEST PENTRU O NOUĂ POEZIE / Manifesto For A New Poem
( the lives of the poet )
In my first life I’ll keep an eye on myself:
day,
night,
day-
to see whence I come
alone and urmuz and bitter
in my second life I’ll call my name:
just like that,
louder,
just like that….
to hear you to speak about myself and cold
and disgusted through myself I’ll go
and turn into the first state
where No One and Nowhere snow
dusks:
trees
made
of paing web
in the jungle of dreams, rains, oracles, harlequins
and strange signs
look, in the poems my sweethearts lie down like beasts
then in the second state
I row to the depths of a late hour:
more and more vivid
more and more deserted
and more and more
dirty
like the lime water
I turn into birds, the birds into hazards,
sometimes I pass away sometimes I am alive: I am the fire that burns you
and the water that drinks me
o, mystical vowel, letter A !
Note: urmuz stands for Urmuz, the pseudonym of Demetru Dem. Demetrescu- Buzău, (born at Curtea de Arges, in 1883, committed suicide in Bucharest in 1923) considered to be a forerunner of surrealism .
O ALTĂ POVESTE DE DRAGOSTE / Another Love Story
So many women keep undressing in my sleep
you imaginary woman
in a holy intoxication your hips your breasts I drink
so much love was crossing the bridge between
our looks
we were coming from Septentrion for to believe
with our hearts green fluttering through our bodies
and ready to say hello to us they pick up
the depths that are wells-
so much well in our being
gathers anxieties and years unlived
so many savage seasons on our way were turning out
begging woods and wind
for the holy birds, Our Lord, that keep falling ripe
from Your eye
OCHIUL CARE STRIGĂ / The Eye That Cries Out
A giant eye walks past my eye
and cries out blue
sky I write and water I write as
the colt’s life grows into the mare
there comes a big eye and cries out green –
forest I write and grass I write also
with the axe cold and blind of the wind
but there comes another eye and cries out red
my Lord, I can no longer go on writing:
I come out of the birds drowned in the word blood
so as to rot at the window of other sins
for a while I listen to the eye that cries out
in the black tear:
do roots need me? do you see me unforgiveness ?
you, sweetheart, you, memory blue and green and red
with your skin in flames, o, it is rustling so lovely-
from the beginning of the world just like the earth it’s been covering me
REFACEREA MEMORIEI / Restoring The Memory
Remember: there’s still something else
you have to tell !
-giants beating heavy drums are crossing my mind
o, the poets’ slumber rolling
and smelling of sweat and poems!
Remember: still you haven’t been born
for the second time
-I can no longer count the years
wild nerves keep absorbing them into the abysmal eye of the Great Man
remember: still you’ve never dwelt in a pyramid !
-the Ramses cloud with its veins cut off within myself
smokes now and then…
remember: still you haven’t gone beyond the first day !
-I’ve been told that new melancholy is coming
with its mirrors smelling of sensual dark
still you haven’t set free the springs on a holy day!
-from the big blue eye Orion keeps watching
the desert liquid
in heavens it’s high time for Our Lord’s waters
to start murmuring murmuring
I know- he tells me: you see a wall
that rises not
and the scare
that cannot be described
and the existences floating
at random
I know – I answer : still I can’t accept myself
as I am
still I haven’t arrived
since I left
still I keep suffering
in this patch of slum
because it’s day for three years: the night
in bits only
kisses me like a whip
-now I keep stringing bits of night
and cries out: man, the mouths of the river
rush into the home of your blood !
-now the sandy melancholy rustles in the flesh
of my time choosing the sense of contradictions
and, yet, remember: still there’s something else
you have to tell !
-day after day I have signs that Our Lord
gives me a bit of Dali….
to paint my scare, my scare, my scare
that cannot be painted
PRADA DIN RAI / The Prey from Heavens
Like the knave who wrote his prayer on Our Lord’s soul
you are one word older, brother Salvador, –cries out to me
the early morning of the grass burst out of the ground
on a way that seems neither to come nor to go
I’m going into the wide world and I feel myself just like the child
who once broke in turn its days
and I’m wondering how huge birds keep ploughing the skies
disturbing God’s wounds so that the journey
pagan and holy may start its heavy snow
look: the time of snows elapses holding me by the hand
I’m saying also: I’ve made the winter but I have no winter
and my body is not in the winter –
white wound that envelops me in its look
and the rustle of our bodies, brother Salvador, when the light
breaks the bodies and picks up the seasons which are mine and yours
fallen a prey to the traps growing in heavens
and believe me: I’ve also made the church where my followers
will come to unbury and listen to the voice of the bones-
but I’ve come off an unhappy sight and my hands all stretched out
the wheel of the days on the brow of the hill fire and chaos breathes out
I was leaving he was leaving an immense january was invading us
anxious to see in the horns of the beetle how the earth cries out:
from now on, old man, you are one verse younger!
Traducere de Olimpia IACOB
Un autre silence (O altă tăcere)
– Sauve-toi avec encore une douleur
homme qui marches sur les traces de la peine
... un silence: dans le cerveau de la nuit
dernière avec difficulté parlaient
l’eau la forêt et le troupeau de fauves:
sept étaient les épreuves et des chasses toutes les sept
... un autre silence: de nouveau la balle
se rêvait de blessure
le sang était la croix portée d’un éclat:
sept étaient les jours et tous ceux-ci étaient fêtes
L’air vert (Aerul verde)
– Elle t’aime vraiment – dit le bacillaire
en comptant les sangliers du champ de maïs
... je t’ai vue aujourd’hui aussi courir nue
parmi mes morts alignées pareilles aux falots
dans la rue principale
avec des nuits je t’embrasse tu me pardonnes avec
des matins
... je laisse le sang siffler jusqu’à ce qu’il réveille l’air
vert du triangle des grues:
septentrion échevelé j’ai rêvé de toi ma chérie
... même aujourd’hui je t’ai vue courir nue
parmi mes morts alignées pareilles aux mendiants
dans la rue principale
Sans nom (Fără nume)
– Un homm’ qui n’est pas saint renaît tous les jours sans relâche
après avoir flairé ton corps de femme
il faudrait que tu saches il faudrait que tu saches:
tu es le tremblement qui fonde encore une âme
... on célèbre la noce de mon oeil et ton corps
ton corps avec mes lèvres mesuré:
tu défais la Nuit ô Marie qui m’adore
l’eau offerte au sauvage qui saura t’adorer cent années
... de ta peau en flammes couvre-moi de nouveau
ou laisse-moi sous les couteaux de la pluie qui m’excite:
sans nom disparaître de ta chair brûlant sans repos
dans un silence féroce: silence vous dites?
Monté dans l’hiver (Urcati în iarnă)
– Avec la Mort respirant dans la poitrine de mes jours:
sur une rivière de voix je t’ai posée et celle-ci
va couler jusqu’à ce que nous apprenions le vol
... et moi en pensant: en t’ouvrant telle une porte
ma bien-aimée j’ai découvert l’alphabet de l’existence et nommés ceux
de sacre silence:
c’est comme ça qu’on a été monté dans l’hiver
... c’est comme ça qu’on attend
les solitudes de cinq cents
statues
Traduceri de Ion ROSIORU
