Vasile PROCA

    ES

A doll…two rolls… and a host of daemons
I found on the way of the souls this morning:
May the snow owl give you a kiss, say to me the experts in the coldness of the weather and go on casting the dice when in the pub with gods while you take Es out of the tremendous menagerie: he stands giving off haughty indifference as if a bear from a royal flush:

…unfortunately, the things now  stand thus since the priest of Bîrsana says, it is as bad as bad can be, this boy it is definitely bad : he does leave this world at the appointed time and leaves behind but his body just like a ghost on the steeple of the church, which gets you angry, especially, when you hear him: look here, I open the half of my planet at ten o’clock but can’t find my words in my half of cold: this matter’s lasted since I worked at the People’s House and I felt pain in the central committee for all that national hysteria about the comunism achievement…and: now the homeland is the broken line surrounding the god sentenced to speak in my place

then Es adds: I’m going to lean my head against this hour in order to take a nap a little farther: meanwhile, maybe, Ion  Hăbăgan is here with that liqueur from violets so that I can be myself: so says he the emperor of the steppe in the White Lake when…pop the vulture passes over his eye and pecks his rainbow


The Tear  Of  The Bird

They ask me to draw a circle or a cross
with my pace: with the last pace to measure the hope (I say to myself) that does not even exist: lay the earth before you (I say to myself) as if it were a presence you await: you stride through the winter bored with its white:
how nicely you smile wandering through some truths already forgotten:
that’s why you can hardly be found  when you pass straight through a heart

…I stand above me (I say to myself) and listen to the song of the Tibetans: and I go off         and I go off           and I go off
to bring the rains: I prepare the rhythm of my being and so I have to listen to the wells: I feel as if I were part of nature:
how nicely you smile say the buds in the tear of the bird

    KRK (the second letter from the islet)

I must tell you that I am sadder than my last day
that waits somewhere else and I know that its name
is  different: the sky torn off by the white of the crosses is on its way to your place
…the other day we were climbing up with our bodies dirty   crippled:
we were climbing up the dignity of the blade of grass:
just like some Christs come beyond the thought: a gutter of bodies struggling to climb up the height of the look of the eyes

…I am sadder than the body that falls down striking against the struggle of something white: yes, there is an absence that troubles me too soon:
as if I looked at the history turned into statues

look, I am the blind man groping through my death

…sadder than myself is the icon that stands
on the left by Lenin’s face:      now I find out the one who can no longer know his God.

    Traduceri Olimpia Iacob
     (din CONVORBIRI LITERARE, ianuarie No.1/(97)