translated Romanian-English


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 16, 2021












Sunt bucurii care-ntristează,
Sunt întristări ce fericesc,
Sunt zile fără de lumină
Şi nopţi adânci ce strălucesc.

Sunt adevăruri ce doboară
Şi sunt minciuni care ridică,
Sunt împăraţi, atotputernici
Ce însă tremură de frică.

Sunt vieţi ce-au strălucit în viaţă,
Dar când s-au stins parcă n-au fost,
Palate care nu pot ţine
Cât o cocioabă adăpost.

Sunt oameni albi pe dinafară,
Dar negri în adâncul lor
Şi negri în afară, negri,
Da-n ei de-un alb strălucitor.

Sunt dulciuri ce-amărăsc ca fierea,
Dar şi amaruri ce-ndulcesc
Sunt nedreptăţi care îndreaptă,
Dreptăţi care nedreptăţesc.

Sunt multe contradicţii, multe:
Sunt uri adânci ce nasc iubiri,
Sunt suferinţi ce-aduc lumină
Şi fericiri nefericiri!…




There are joys saddening the life
There are sorrows that makes it glad,
There are days without light nor thrive
And deep nights shining with no shad’.

There are sometimes truths that knock down
And there are lies that elevate
There are strong kings, of great renown
Yet trembling with fear innate.

There are lives that have shone in life,
Yet they went out as if they were not,
Palaces that can’t hold a strife
No more than could a shelter hut.

There are white lads on the outside,
yet black they are in their depths
And black skinned there are, black with pride
Yet shining white in their strengths.

Bitter as gall there may be sweetness
Yet there is bitterness that’s sweet.
There is injustice that does justice
And justice with a deep mislead.

There are many misfits in things:
There is deep hatred with love’s brightness,
There is suffering that light brings
And some unhappy happiness…

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 16, 2021











Mi-a bătut în poartă Fericirea
Şi intrând în curte m-a strigat.
Eram dus alături cu iubirea.
A-nchis poarta iute şi-a plecat.

Mi-a bătut de-asemeni Bucuria.
A intrat, a stat sub pomii goi.
N-a văzut pe nimeni să-i vorbească
Şi-a plecat grăbită înapoi.

Într-o seară, luminând pe stradă,
Mi-a bătut şi Steaua mea — de sus
Tot aşa, eram plecat aproape,
Şi-a strâns fusta-n mână şi s-a dus.

Mi-a bătut în poartă şi Necazul.
Eram dus departe. Liniştit,
S-a întins pe ţolul de la uşă
Şi m-a aşteptat până-am venit.



From life

On my door once knocked the Happiness
Coming to the yard called me by name.
I was out, with love in tenderness.
Quickly closed the gate and left the same.

Also the Joy came to see me once.
Came inside and sat beneath bare trees.
Saw no one with whom to talk, and thus
Quietly, took her leave with much appease.

One blessed evening, shining on the street,
My Star also called me – from the sky
I was not gone far, just a few feet
She tightened her skirt and left me sigh.

On my door the Sorrow knocked one day.
Without worry far I have been gone.
She lay down on my doorstep to stay
And she waited until my return.

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela

Tare sunt singur, Doamne, si piezis! / I am so lonely, Lord, and torn!

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 15, 2021











Tare sunt singur, Doamne, si piezis! / I am so lonely, Lord, and torn!


Tare sunt singur, Doamne, si piezis!
Copac pribeag uitat in campie,
Cu fruct amar si cu frunzis
Tepos si aspru-n indarjire vie.

Tanjesc ca pasarea ciripitoare
Sa se opreasca-n drum,
Sa cante-n mine si sa zboare
Prin umbra mea de fum.

Astept crampeie mici de gingasie,
Cantece mici de vrabii si lastun
Sa mi se dea si mie,
Ca pomilor de rod cu gustul bun.

Nu am nectare roze de dulceata,
Nici chiar aroma primei agurizi,
Si prins adanc intre vecii si ceata,
Nu-mi stau pe coaja moile omizi.

Nalt candelabru, straja de hotare,
Stelele vin si se aprind pe rand
In ramurile-ntinse pe altare
Si te slujesc; dar, Doamne, pana cand?

De-a fi-nflorit numai cu focuri sfinte
Si de-a rodi metale doar, patruns
De grele porunci si-nvataminte,
Poate ca, Doamne, mi-este de ajuns.

In rostul meu tu m-ai lasat uitarii
Si ma muncesc din radacini si sanger.
Trimite, Doamne, semnul departarii,
Din cand in cand, cate un pui de inger,

Sa bata alb din aripa la luna,
Sa-mi dea din nou povata ta mai buna.



I am so lonely, Lord, and torn!

I am so lonely, Lord, and torn!
A solitary tree forgotten in the plain,
With bitter fruit and foliage scorn
Thorny and harsh with an embitter strain.

I long for a bird chirping loud
To stop on her way, for me
To sing in me and fly to cloud
Through my shadow of smoke to flee.

I wait for little bits of tenderness,
Small songs of martins and of sparrows
To be given to me no less
Like to fruit trees with taste thoroughs.

I have not nectar filled with sweetness pink
Not even sour grapes’ flavor,
And between ages and fog I sink
On my shell don’t sit caterpillars ever.

High chandelier, guarding the Psalters
The stars come and light now and then
In the branches stretched out on altars
I serve you; but, Lord, until when?

To be flourished only in holy fires strings
To bear fruits only metals, penetrated
By heavy commandments and teachings,
Maybe, Lord, that’s enough for me intended.

You have forsaken me in my goal
And I toil from my roots and bleed.
Send me, Lord, the sign of distant soul,
From time to time, a little angel seed.

To flutter its wings white to the moon,
To give me still your best advice abloom.

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 15, 2021














De cînd ma stii, am luat asupra mea
Povara-ntodeauna, Doamne, cea mai grea.
Si tot urcînd în coasta, vream s-arat
Ca nu ma dau poverile-ndarat.

O suferinta între alte doua
N-am socotit-o suferinta noua.
Haide si tu, aseaza-te-n spinare.
Ma simt voinic. Pe cine ce-l mai doare?
Cine-i strein si singur, cine?
Sa urce-n cîrca, pe samar, la mine.

Hai, ticalosii, blînzii, toti de-a valma,
Cîti ati întors obrazul, cîti l-ati batut cu palma,
Însarcinare, poate, am de la Satan
Sa va ridic la cer prin uragan.
Sînt robul vostru, hotarît de sus,
Sa fiu caricatura lui Isus.

De cîti în seama mi v-a dat
Vreau sa raspund pe fata si curat.
Nu-l uit pe cel ce pîine da si nici
Pe cel ce da catuse, pravila si bici.
Sînteti ai mei, si rai si buni. Veniti.
Dator sînt sa va fac si fericiti.

Dar ostenit în drumul meu îngust,
Ca sînt ales la mila cu dezgust,
Scîrbit de om, jignit de omenire,
Sa-mi duc poverile la mîntuire,
As cauta zadarnic a-ntelege
De ce mi-ai pus porunci de-atare lege.

Eu, Doamne, le-am primit si ma supun,
Stapîne drag, gingas ca un lastun.
Vreau sa te-ntreb: cînd m-ai ales, ai fost nebun?



Since you know me

Since you know me, upon me I bestowed
Lord, always the heaviest load.
By climbing so, I wanted to prove that
No burden makes me to give up.

A suffering between two other
I didn’t see as a new bother.
Come also you, on my back stand.
I feel strong. Who else feels pain’s hand?
Who is a stranger and alone, who?
Climb on my back, my burden, too.

Come, all of you, the evil, the good grace
Those who turned the cheek, those who slapped his face.
Maybe I have a task from Satan wry
Through storm to lift you to the sky.
I am your servant, by heaven’s decree,
To be of Christ a parody.

For those given to my account
I want to answer honest throughout.
I won’t forget the one who gives bread, nor
The one who handcuffs, rules, whips. I deplore
You are all mine, both evil and good. Come.
I am obliged to give you happy home.

But tired in my narrow path with dust,
That I’m chosen at my mercy with disgust,
Disgusted by man, by mankind offended
To carry my burdens to a point intended,
I’d try in vain to understand
Why did you give me such command?

I, Lord, received them and obeyed I had
Dear master, gentle like a martin bird.
I want to ask you: when you chose me, were you mad?

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 14, 2021















Dragii mei, o sa ma joc odata
Cu voi, de-a ceva ciudat.
Nu stiu cand o sa fie asta, tata,
Dar, hotarat, o sa ne jucam odata,
Odata, poate, dupa scapatat.

E un joc viclean de batrani
Cu copii, ca voi, cu fetite ca tine,
Joc de slugi si joc de stapani,
Joc de pasari, de flori, de cani,
Si fiecare il joaca bine.

Ne vom iubi, negresit, mereu
Stransi bucurosi la masa, Subt
coviltirele lui Dumnezeu.
Intr-o zi piciorul va ramane greu,
Mana stangace, ochiul sleit, limba scamoasa.

Jocul incepe incet, ca un vant,
Eu o sa rad si o sa tac,
O sa ma culc la pamant.
O sa stau fara cuvant,
De pilda, langa copac.

E jocul sfintelor Scripturi.
Asa s-a jucat si Domnul nostru Isus Hristos
Si altii, prinsi de friguri si de calduri,
Care din cateva sfinte tremuraturi
Au ispravit jocul, frumos.

Voi sa nu va mahniti tare
Cand ma vor lua si duce departe
Si-mi vor face un fel de inmormantare
In lutul afanat sau tare.
Asa e jocul, incepe cu moarte.

Stiind ca si Lazar a-nviat
Voi sa nu va mahniti, s-asteptati,
Ca si cum nu s-a intamplat
Nimic prea nou si prea ciudat.
Acolo, voi gandi la jocul nostru, printre frati.

Tata s-a ingrijit de voi,
V-a lasat vite, hambare,
Pasune, bordeie si oi,
Pentru tot soiul de nevoi
Si pentru mancare.

Toti vor invia, toti se vor intoarce
Intr-o zi acasa, la copii,
La nevasta, care plange si toarce,
La vacute, la mioare,
Ca oamenii gospodari si vii.

Voi cresteti, dragii mei, sanatosi,
Voinici, zglobii, cu voie buna,
Cum am apucat din mosi-stramosi.
Deocamdata, fetii mei frumosi,
O sa lipseasca tata vreo luna.

Apoi, o sa fie o intarziere,
Si alta, si pe urma alta.
Tata nu o sa mai aiba putere
Sa vie pe jos, in timpul cat se cere,
Din lumea ceealalta.

Si, voi ati crescut mari,
V-ati capatuit,
V-ati facut carturari,
Mama-mpleteste ciorapi si pieptari,
Si tata nu a mai venit…

Puii mei, bobocii mei, copiii mei!
Asa este jocul.
Il joci in doi, in trei,
Il joci in cate cati vrei.
Arde-l-ar focul.




Hide and seek

My dears, once I will play
With you, of something strange at sight.
Your Father doesn’t know when is that day
But, definitely, once we will play,
Once, maybe, after the twilight.

It’s of elders’ a cunning game
With children, like you, with girls with frocks
Game of servants and of masters, the same,
Game of birds, of flowers, of dogs
Which everyone plays to aim.

We will always love each other, agreed
Happy around the table skimp,
Under God’s roof kneed.
One day the leg will be limp,
The hand uncertain, tired the eye, the tongue grimp.

The game starts slowly, like a wind,
I will laugh and silent I’ll be
On the ground I will lie with descend
I will stay saying no thing,
For example, near a tree.

It is of Holy Scriptures game secrete.
This is how our Lord Jesus Christ played
And others, caught in the cold and heat,
With a few of holy tremors beat
They finished the game, beautifully obeyed.

Do not grieve too much overall
When they will take me far away
And will make me a kind of funeral
In the loose or hard clay.
That’s the game, starts with death, of all.

Knowing that also Lazarus rose at call
You do not worry but wait,
As if nothing happened at all
Nothing too new and too big or small.
There, I’ll think of our game, with my fate.

Father knew in his care how to keep
He left you cattle, barns, all
Pastures, huts and sheep,
For all kind of needs in deep
And food, for the long haul.

Everyone will rise, everyone will return
Home, to the kids, one blessed day
To the wife, who cries, spins yarn
To the cows, to the sheep, to discern
Like all people thrifty, alive, gay.

You grow up, my dear ones, healthy and worth,
Strong, joyful, always with smile,
How it was meant by my ancestors.
For now, my beloved treasures
Father will be missing for a while.

Then there will be a delay,
Another one, and then another.
Father will no longer find the way
To walk back, as you would pray
From one world to the other.

And you grew up, far
Did something with your life track
Some of you have became scholar,
Mother knits stockings and coat ajar
And Father did not come back…

My babies, my darlings, my plea!
This is the game.
You play it in two, in three,
You play it in as many could be.
May it burn in flame!

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 13, 2021













Dogma: Şi duhul Sfânt se
purta deasupra apelor

E dat acestui trist norod
Si oul sterp ca de mâncare,
Dar viul ou, la vârf cu plod,
Făcut e să-l privim la soare!

Cum lumea veche, în clestar,
Înoată, în subtire var,
Nevinovatul, noul ou,
Palat de nuntă si cavou.

Din trei atlazuri e culcusul
În care doarme nins albusul
Atât de gales, de închis,
Cu trupul drag surpat în vis.

Dar plodul?
De foarte sus
Din polul plus
De unde glodul
Pământurilor n-a ajuns
Acordă lin
Si masculin
Albusului în hialin :
Sărutul plin.


Om uitător, ireversibil,
Vezi Duhul Sfânt făcut sensibil?
Precum atunci, si azi — întocma :
Mărunte lumi păstrează dogma.

Să vezi la bolti pe Sfântul Duh
Veghind vii ape fără stuh,
Acest ou — simbol ti-l aduc,
Om sters, uituc.

Nu oul rosu.
Om fără sat si om nerod,
Un ou cu plod
Îti vreau plocon, acum de Paste :
Îl urcă — în soare si cunoaste!


Si mai ales te înfioară
De acel galben icusar,
Ceasornic fără minutar
Ce singur scrie când să moară
Si ou si lume. Te-înfioară
De ceasul, galben necesar…
A mortii frunte — acolo-i toată.
În gălbenus,
Să roadă spornicul albus,
Durata-înscrie-în noi o roată.
Întocma — dogma.


Încă o dată :
E Oul celui sterp la fel,
Dar nu-l sorbi. Curmi nuntă-în el.
Si nici la closcă să nu-l pui!
Îl lasă — în pacea — întâie-a lui,

Că vinovat e tot făcutul,
Si sfânt, doar nunta, începutul.



The Dogmatic Egg

Dogma: And the Spirit of God
was hovering over the face of the waters

It’s given to these humble folk
The barren egg for daily meal,
The egg with life, topped with the yolk ,
Was meant in light his seal reveal!

As the old world, in crystal prime,
Swims, in the thin intended lime
The innocent, new egg encrypt
A wedding palace and a crypt.

Of satins three the shelter is
In which the egg snow whitely sleeps
So passive, so enclosed in beam
With a dear body lost in dream.

But what of seed?
From very tall
From the plus pole
Where mud of need
Has never touched the very soul
He offers keen
And masculine
To the whites in hyaline
A kiss pristine.

Careless man, beyond the render
Do you see Holy Spirit tender?
Today as long ago – the same
Small worlds keep dogma as a frame.

To see The Spirit in vault creeds
Watching live waters without reeds,
This egg – symbol to you I bring,
Dull, careless being.

Not the red egg.
Man without village, barren speck,
An egg alive
I want it pledge, for Easter thrive:
Put it – in sunlight, look and strive!


And most of all shudder you must
Seeing that yellow coin withstand,
Old clock without a minute hand
Which itself writes when to die just
Egg and world both. So shudder fast
At the clock, yellow needed stand.
death’s forehead – it is all there.
Inside the yolk,
To bear the potent egg white soak,
Time – inscribes – a wheel in us, fair.
A karma – dogma.

And one more time :
The egg with life ‘s one with the dead,
Don’t eat. You’ll kill the inner wedd.
Don’t give it to the broody either
Leave – him alone – be a believer.
For guilty ‘s all that one is doing
But holy, just the wedd, the beginning.

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 12, 2021













Dintr-atatia frati mai mari:
Unii morti,
Altii plugari
Dintr-atatia frati mai mici:
Prunci de treaba,
Scunzi, peltici,
Numai eu rasad mai rău
Mai nauc, mai natarau,
Dintr-atatia (prin ce har?)
Mă brodisem sui, hoinar.

Eram mult mai prost pe-atunci…

Când Paresim da prin lunci
Cu pietrisul de albine,
Ne parea la toti mai bine:
Tanci ursuzi,
Desculti si uzi
(Cozi plavane)
Infasate-n lungi zavelci
O porneau în turma bleaga
Să culeaga
Ierburi noi, craite, melci…

Era umed la bordei
Si tuleam si eu cu ei.


Tot asa o data, iar,
La un sfant prin Faurar
Ori la sfintii Mucenici
Tarla noastra de pitici
Odihnea pe creasta, sus,
– Eu voinic prea tare nu-s.
Rupt din fuga
Subt o gluga
De-alunis, pe-o buturuga
Si eu curand..

Vezi, atunci mi-a dat prin gând
Ca tot stand si alegand
Jos pe vraful de foi ude
Prin lastari si vrejuri crude,
S-ar putea să dau de el,
Melcul prost, incetinel…
In ungher adânc, un gând
Imi soptea ca melcul bland
Din mormant de foi, pe-aproape
Cheama Omul să-l dezgroape…

Si pornii la scotocit
(Cu noroc, căci l-am gasit)
Era tot o mogaldeata
Ochi de bou, dar cu albeata:
Intre el si ce-i afar’
Strejuia un zid de var.
-Ce să fac cu el asa?
Să-l arunc nu îmi venea…
Vream să vad cum se dezghioaca
Pui molatic, din ghioaca :
Vream să vad cum iar invie
Somnoros, din colivie…

Si de-a lungul, pe pământ
M-asezai cu acest descant :
– “Melc, melc,
Ghem vargat
Si ferecat;
Lasa noaptea din gaoace,
Melc natang si fă-te-ncoace
Nu e bine să te-ascunzi
Sub paretii grei si scunzi
Printre vreacuri cerne soare,
Colti de iarba pe razoare
Au zvacnit iar muguri noi
Pun pe ramura altoi.
Melc, melc,
Iarna leapada cojoace
Si tu singur în gaoace!
Hai, iesi,
Din cornoasele camesi!
Scoate patru firisoare
Stravezii, tremuratoare,
Scoate umede si mici
Patru fire de arnici;
Si agata la festile
Ciufulite de zambile
Sau la fir de margarint
Inzauatul tau argint…

Peste gardurile vii
Dinspre vii,
Ori de vrei si mai la vale,
In tarlale
-Tipareste brau de bale…”

Dupa ce l-am descantat
L-am pus jos
Si-am asteptat…

Inserase mai de-a bine
Crengi uscate peste mine,
Bazaind la vantul stramb
Imi ziceau rastiti din dramb…

Nazdravana de padure
Jumulita de secure,
Scurt, furis
Inghitea din luminis.
Din lemnoase vagauni,
Ii vedeam piezisi cum casca
Buze searbade de iasca;

Si intorsi
Ochi bubosi
Innoptau sub frunti pestrite
De parose
Si barboase

Si cum stau sub vant si frig
Strans carlig,
-Iscodind cu ochii treji
Mai de sus de brana, drumul
Unde seara tese fumul
Multor mreji;
De sub vreascuri vazui bine
Repezita inspre mine
O gusata cu gateji.

Cata la cale:
De pe sale,
Când la deal si când la vale,
Curgeau betele taras.
Iar din plosca ei de gusa
De matusa
Un taios, un aspru: hârrsi..

Plans prelung cum scoate fiara,
Plans dogit,
Când un sarpe-i musca ghiara,
Muget aspru si largit
De vuia din funduri seara…
-Mi-a fost frica, si-am fugit!


Toata noaptea viscoli…
In sat inca n-ajunsesem
Ca porni duium, să vie
O vifornita tarzie
De Paresemi.
Vântura, stârnind gâlceava
Alba pleava;
Si cadeau si maruntei
Bobi de mei…
(Ningea bine, cu temei).
In bordei
Foc vârtos mânca napraznic

Pe coliba singur paznic
M-au lasat c-un vraf de pene…
Rar, le culegeam alene:
Mosul Iene
Razbatea de prin poiene
Să-mi dea genele prin gene.
Si trudit,
Langa vatra prigonit
Privegheam prelung tăciunii…
Umbre dese,
Ca paunii,
Imi roteau pe hornul sui
Leasa ochilor verzui.

Si-mi ziceam în gând:
“Dar el,
Melcul, prost, incetinel?
Tremura-n ghioaca, varga,
Nu cumva un vant să-l sparga:
Roagă vantul să nu-l fure
Si să nu mai biciuiasca
Barbi de muschi, obraji de iasca,
Prin padure.
Roaga vantul să se-ndure”

De la jarul straveziu,
Mai tarziu,
Somnoros venii la geam.
(Era ‘nalt, nu ajungeam.)
Dar prin sticla petecita,
Si prin ghiata încâlcita,
Fulgera cand des, cand rar,
Prapadenia de-afar’:
Podul lumii se surpase
Iar pe case,
Pana sus, peste colnic,
Ori foioase
Cadeau cepi de arbagic.

Mi-adusei atunci aminte.
C-auzisem mai ‘nainte,
De o noapte intre toate
Când, pe coate,
Guri spurcate
Suflă vant
Să dărâme
Din pământ…
Când, pe-un sloi, rupând din pita,
Baba Dochia-învălită
Cu opt sarici
Sta covrig,
Sta, înghite
Si sughite
Si se vaicara
De frig.
– Hei, e noaptea-aceea poate!

La fulgii moi
Cumpenind a somn, pe coate,
Cu tot gandul, sus, la-el,
“Melc incetinel,
Cum n-ai vrut să iesi mai iute!
Nici vifornită, nici mute
Prin paduri nu te-ar fi prins…
Iar acum, când focu-i stins,
Hornul nins,
Am fi doi s-alegem pene
Si alene
Să chemam pe mosul Iene
Din poiene,
Să ne-nchida:
Mie, gene;
Cornul drept,
Cel stâng,
Pe când se frâng
Lemne-n crâng,
Melc natâng,
Melc natâng!”


Dintre pene si cotoare
Gata nins,
Cum mija un pic de soare
Pe întins
(In câmpie
Razboind cu lunecusul
Şi pieziş la povârniş
Din ţăpoi săltând urcuşul,)
Mă-ntorsei sub aluniş
Şi-l zării lângă culcuşu-i
De frunziş
Era, tot, o scorojita
Limba vanata, sucita,
O nuia, ea un hengher
Il tinea în zgarzi de ger!
Zale reci,
Aspre benti ce se-întretaie,
Sus, pe vreascurile seci,
Il prindeau:
O frunza moarta, cu pastaie.
Si pe trupul lui zgarcit
M-am plecat
Si l-am bocit:

– “Melc, melc, ce-ai făcut
Din somn cum te-ai desfacut?
Ai crezut în vorba mea
Prefacuta… Ea glumea!
Ai crezut ca ploua soare,
C-a dat iarba pe razoare,
Ca alunul e un cantec…
– Astea-s vorbe si descantec!

Trebuia să dormi ca ieri,
Surd la cânt si imbieri,
Să tragi alt oblon de var
intre trup si ce-i afar’…
– Vezi?
Iesisi la un descantec;
Iarna ti-a muscat din pântec…
Ai pornit spre lunci si crâng,
Dar pornisi cu cornul stâng,
Melc natâng,
Melc natâng!”

Iar când vrui să-l mai alint
Intinsei o mâna-amara
De plans mult….
si, dârdâind,
Doua coarne de argint
Rasucit, se fărâmară.
Ca e ciunt, nu m-am uitat…
Ci, în punga lui cu bale,
Cu-insutite griji, pe cale
L-am purtat

Punga mica de matasa…
Iar acasa
L-am pus bine
Sus, în pod
(Tot langa mine),
Ca să-i cânt din când în când
Fie tare
Fie-n gând:
“Melc, melc,
Ploua soare
Prin fâneturi si razoare,
Lujerii te-asteapta-în crâng

Dar n-ai corn
Nici drept,
Nici stâng;
Sunt în sân la mosul Iene
Din poiene:
Cornul drept,
Cornul stâng…

– Iarna coarnele se frâng,
Melc natâng,
Melc natâng!”



Looking for snails

Of so many elder brothers:
Some dead,
Ploughmen being the others
Of so many younger brothers:
Good kids,
Short, lisping the others,
Only me, bad egg, you see,
Silly, goofy, that was me,
Of so many (by what grace?)
I turned out an oddball, scarce.

I was way much foolish then …

When Lent over grove began
On the gravel with bee buzz
We were happier, all of us:
Sulky brats set
Barefoot, wet
Charming girls
(Blond hair tails)
Wrapped in long skirts with details
In a foolish flock they were
Looking for
Fresh herbs, marigolds and snails …
The hut was a damp mayhem
So I’d hit the road with them.


Once again, the same way,
on a Februar’saint Day
Or the holy Martyrs time
Our whipsters’ herd with grime
Was resting up on the ridge
– I’m not thougher than a snitch.
Run I could
Under a hood
Of hurst, sitting on a wood
Soon I’ve rested

Then it crossed my mind, you see
As I stood there on my knee
Down the pile of wet leaves tween
Through the twigs and haulms too green
I might find him, small and frail
The naive, slow-moving snail …
From deep corner, a thought pale
Whispered me that gentle snail
From a pile of leaves, close by
Calls the Man to dig him high …

And rummaging through I started
(With good luck, because I found it)
It was all a thing abstract
Ox eye with a cataract.
Between him and outside
Was guarding a wall to hide.
-What to do with him like that?
To throw it, I had no heart …
I wanted to see him hatch
Soft chick, from eggshells detach:
I wanted to see reviving
Sleepy, from the cage of hiding …

And along the ground in panting
I sat down, with quiet chanting :
– “Snail, snail,
Dearest frail,
Striped ball
Confined all;
Leave the darkness of the shell,
Snail naive and get rebel
It’s not good to hide your soul
Beneath the heavy, straight wall
Through the brushwood sifts the sun
Blades of grass grew more than one
Throbbing green and new born buds
On each branch they put their grafts

Snail, snail,
Dearest frail,
Winter sheds its coats with spell
And you hide alone in shell!
Come on, out,
From your many shirts of doubt!
Bring out four gentle threads
Pellucid, quivering heads
Bring out wet, and small, alive
Four twisted threads to revive ;
And cling to the rushlight scents
Disheveled of hyacinths
Or to lily of the valley
Your silver sheathing challis …

Over hedges vagary
From grapery,
Or much further down the valley,
On fields dally
-Print your slobber belt of doily… “

Slowly, after I enchanted
I put it down
And I waited …

It was really getting dark
Dry branches over me lurk,
Crackling in the crooked wind
Yelled at me with harsh entwind…

The bewitched forest chucked
By the hatchet stripped and plucked
Stealthily, fast
Swallowed the clearing amassed.
From the hollows of the trees,
Ogre seize
I’d see open large, askew
Dried lips of a spongeous shrew;
Twisted lies
Bubbling eyes
Hidden under huge foreheads
Of some hairy
Bearded scary
Witchy dreads.

As I stood in the cold nook,
Tight as hook,
Peering with eyes widely scanning
The road, from above the trail
Where the evening weaves the veil
of lots cunning,
Under brushwood I saw well
Jumping at me from the hell
A goiter with throats all strumming.

poked prying the way:
now the hill and now the valley,
Ugly rags were flowing crawling ,
From her huge goiter askant
Of an aunt
It came a sound deeply blunt…

Roaring howl as from a beast
When a snake bites its claw, pierced
Rough, wide bellow from astray
That the night rumbled its twist …
– I was scared and ran away!


All night blizzard had its say …
Hadn’t reached the village yet ,
When deluge was storming raw
Late and heavy fall of snow
Easter lent.
Wind quarreling with the snow,
White chaff though
Falling little snowflakes streams
Jolly beans …
(Snowing rightly so, it seems)
The hut dreams
Hungry fire wildly eating
Woody sticks.

In the whole hut lonely guarding
Been left with a feathers’ pile,
Picking them up for a while …
Sandman’s smile
Kept coming from clearings’ mile
To close my eyelids with guile .
Tired face
By fireplace ,
Lingeringly over embers looking …
Thick shadows like peacocks peeking
Spinning on my chimney highs
Trellis of the greenish eyes.

Talking to myself:
“But he,
Silly, slow snail, who can’t see?
Shivers in his shell, alone
Any wind could break his bone,
Beg the wind to steal him not
And stop whipping over peaks
Muscle beards, spongious cheeks
Forest lot.
Beg the wind for mercy aught.”

From the embers’light upon
Later on,
I came to the window spot
(it was tall, I’d reach it not.)
Yet through all the patched glass,
And through all the tangled ice,
Flashed often or rare with glide
The havoc of outside
The world’s attic broke in ravage
And on cottage,
Everywhere up to the hill,
Whitish seals
many peels
Little onions falling still.
I remembered then, abhor,
Something that I’ve heard before,
Of a night like no one other
Cursed, when wicked creatures smother,
Filthy mouths blow wind around
To tear down all from the ground …
Breaking pita, on icefloe
The Old Dokia – wrapped in snow
With eight coats
sits curled up,
When she swallows
hiccup follows
And she grumbles
in cold’s trap.
– Hey, that night could be, who knows!

No breaks,
Back to the soft flakes
Sleepy, standing on my elbows,
Thinking of him, no avail
“Snail, slowly snail,
Why you didn’t go out faster!
No storm, no other disaster
Wouldn’t catch you in the wood…
And now, when fire is mute,
Chimney snowed
We’d be both feathers to choose
And at ease
We’d call Sandman from the trees
To close:
To me
To you,
Right horn,
then the left,
While they break with cleft
Wood bereft,
Snail not deft
Snail not deft!


From the fluffy feathers flowed,
Really snowed,
How a little sun was shining
On wide road
(On the field
way revealed
Strongly with the slipper fighting
And elope to the slope
With pitchfork pushing the climbing,)
I returned to coppice, hope
And I saw him, his declining
Foliage top
He was just a shriveled thing
Bruised and twisted tongue in ring
Frozen ice wand, with a spite
Held him in collar frostbite!
Frozen slime,
Harsh ribbons that intertwine
Up on the dry brushwood grime
They caught him:
A dead leaf with soul so fine.
On his body dead and slim
I bowed
And I mourned for him:

“Snail, snail, in my keep,
Why you got out of your sleep?
You believed my word pretending
Fake word, snail…I was just kidding!
You thought it was raining light
and the fields with grass delight ,
That the coppice all is well…
These are only words and spell!

Should have slept like yesterday,
Deaf to the song, lure astray
Put another shutter shell
Between you and what’s out there …
– See?
You came out to a spelly;
Winter has bitten your belly …
You set off for meadows trail,
But the left horn’s starting fail
Naiv Snail,
Naiv Snail!”

When I wanted to caress him,
I held out my bitter palm
Of much crying …
And shivering,
Two horns with a silver beam
Twisted, they shattered in spasm.

That was crippled, I didn’t care,
And in his slobber display,
Worried deeply, on the way
I carried it
Rocking fit:
A small silky bag as dome
And at home
I put him well
In the attic
(Both to dwell),
Sometimes to sing him so kind
Either loud or in my mind:
“Snail, snail
Dearest frail,
It’s raining sun
Through the hayfields and groves’ run,
Flowers call you to the heft,

But no horn
Not right,
Not left;
They’re at Sandman’s bosom sough,
From the meadow:
The right horn,
The left horn …

Winter leaves you for the mourn,
Snail torn
Snail torn! “

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 6, 2021












Dacă tu ai dispărea
Într-o noapte oarecare
Dulcea mea, amara mea
Aş pleca nebun pe mare.

Cu un sac întreg de lut
Şi-o spinare de nuiele
Să te fac de la-nceput
Cu puterea mâinii mele.

Lucru lung şi monoton
Să te înviez, femeie,
Eu, bolnav Hyperion
Hai şi umblă , Galatee !

Dacă tu ai dispărea
Fi-ţi-ar moartea numai viaţă
Dulcea mea, amara mea
Aş pleca în ţări de gheaţă.

Să te fac din ţurţuri reci
Să te-mbrac în promoroacă
Şi apoi să poţi să pleci
Orişiunde o să-ţi placă…

De-ai cădea într-adevăr
În momentul marii frângeri
Aş veni la tine-n cer
Să te recompun din îngeri.

Şi pe urmă aş pleca
Umilit şi iluzoriu
Unde este casa mea
O mansardă-n purgatoriu.

Dacă tu ai dispărea
Şi din râsu-mi, şi din plânsu-mi
Te-aş găsi în sinea mea
Te-aş zidi din mine însumi!

Adrian paunescu


If you were to disappear

If you were to disappear
One night, matters not, you see
Oh my sweet and bitter dear
I’d go crazy on the sea.

With a bag of molding clay
And a full back of fine twigs
to make you from scratch I may
With the power of my wings.

Long and monotonous toil
just to resurrect you, woman,
I, Pygmalion in turmoil
Galatea, once more human!

If you were to disappear
Full of life your death may be,
Oh, my sweet and bitter dear
To the lands of ice I’d flee.

From cold icicles to make you
Cover you in frost carefree
Then do what you want to do
and be who you want to be.

If indeed you’d fall from blessings
At the time of great tearing
I would come to you in heavens
And of angels make your being.

Then would be my time to leave
Humbled deeply and dramatic
Back where is my house, to grieve
In the purgatory – attic.

If you were to disappear
From my laughing, from my crying
Within me I’d find you, dear
From myself I’d build you sighing.

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela

Ții minte focul… / Do you recall the fire …

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 6, 2021











Ții minte focul… / Do you recall the fire …

Ții minte focul, chinul, primăvara,
Tot viscolul aprins ce bântuise?
El ne adunase, el ne învrăjbise,
El ne mâna, învolburându-și para.

Dar de pe-atunci, când nu se potolise
Furtuna vârstei, cea dintâi, amara,
Când tinereții-i mai duceam povară,
Noi încă ne uneam prin alte vise.

Și dacă azi nimic nu ne desface,
Și trecem în deplina-mbrățișare,
E că-mpreună nu aflarăm pace,

Ci căutarăm focu-ncins în zare,
Și rostul lumii care se preface,
Și-al nostru, celor trecători sub soare.

Maria Banus


Do you recall the fire …

Do you recall the fire, the torment, the spring,
All kindled blizzard haunting us with blame
It put together us, also discord to bring
It drove us, swirling its flame.

Since then, when yet it did not subside
The storm of age, the first and bitter one
When yet we were carrying the youth tide
We still were one in all that dreams begun.

And if today nothing can break us ever,
And we could go into the full embrace,
It’s because we didn’t find peace together,

But we sought fire in the horizon’s lace,
The purpose of the changing world forever,
And ours, those passing under sun’s pace.

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 6, 2021











Nici suferințele nu sînt la fel.
Unul apasă, altul rabdă-n el.
Pe unu-l doare talpa, pe celălalt grumazul,
Pe cei mai tari trufia, pe cei mai slabi necazul.

Tu gemi că eşti puternic, el geme că-i sărac,
Pe amîndoi jurat sînt să vă-mpac.
Un vinovat îndură, alt vinovat înfrînge.
Tu dai otravă, semenul dă sînge.

Nefericiți și crînceni amîndoi.
Care-i mai teafăr dintre voi?
Cînd schimb pe cel mai mare, de sus, cu cel mai mic,
În cumpăna întoarsă nu s-a schimbat nimic.



Even the sufferings are not the same

Even the sufferings are not the same.
One pushes, other bears it in selfsame.
One’s foot sole hurts, another’s neck is pain,
The strong are hurt by pride, the weakest by disdain.

You moan because you’re strong, because he’s poor he moans
I swear to reconcile you both .
One culprit suffers, one defeats the lad.
One give the poison, fellow man gives blood.

Bitter and grumpy both of you
Which one is sanest of you two?
When, from the top, the strong one to the weak I exchange
In the reverse balance nothing will ever change.

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela