translated English-Romanian

Alone / Singur

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 30, 2019












Alone / Singur

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—

Edgar Allan Poe

Copil fiind – n-am fost nicicand
Cum altii sunt – nicicand vazand
cum altii vad – nici dorul dor
nu-l baui din comun izvor-

Tristetea-mi nu putui simti
la fel cu altii – nici trezi
in inima-mi un cant silit –
Si singur iubii ce-am iubit.

Apoi – copil – in zori de zi,
‘n furtuna vietii – ma zmuci
Din bun si rau credint–adanca
Misterul ce ma leaga inca –

Din torent sau din fantana-
Din stanca rosie batrana-
Din a soarelui rotire
In tomnatica aurire-

De la fulgerul din cer
Ce trecu prin mine fier
De la tunet si furtuna
De la norul ce se-aduna

(Cand e-albastru Cerul tot)
Ca un demon eu socot –

Maria Magdalena


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 19, 2019













There is a Smile of Love
And there is a Smile of Deceit
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet

And there is a Frown of Hate
And there is a Frown of disdain
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain

For it sticks in the Hearts deep Core
And it sticks in the deep Back bone
And no Smile that ever was smild
But only one Smile alone

That betwixt the Cradle & Grave
It only once Smild can be
But when it once is Smild
Theres an end to all Misery


Exista un Zambet de Dragoste
Exista un Zambet Minciuna
Exista un Zambet al Zambetelor
In care cele doua se-aduna.
Exist-o-Ncruntare de Ura
Exist-o-Ncruntare Dispret
Ce vrei s-o uiti cu orice pret.
Caci ea se-nfige-n Inim-Adanc
Si se-nfige-n Oase profund
Si nu-i zambet ce fu vreodata zambit
Doar-acel singur zambet bland.
Care intre leagan si mormant
Poate fi zambit doar o data
Insa atunci cand cand este o data zambit
Se sfarseste suferinta toata.


Maria Magdalena


POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 19, 2019














Is there something down by the water keeping itself from us,
Some shy event, some secret of the light that falls upon the deep,
Some source of sorrow that does not wish to be discovered yet?

Why should we care? Doesn’t desire cast its rainbows over the coarse porcelain
Of the world’s skin and with its measures fill the air? Why look for more?


And now, while the advocates of awfulness and sorrow
Push their dripping barge up and down the beach, let’s eat
Our brill, and sip this beautiful white Beaune.

True, the light is artificial, and we are not well-dressed.
So what. We like it here. We like the bullocks in the field next door,
We like the sound of wind passing over grass. The way you speak,

In that low voice, our late night disclosures . . . why live
For anything else? Our masterpiece is the private life.


Standing on the quay between the Roving Swan and the Star Immaculate,
Breathing the night air as the moment of pleasure taken
In pleasure vanishing seems to grow, its self-soiling

Beauty, which can only be what it was, sustaining itself
A little longer in its going, I think of our own smooth passage
Through the graded partitions, the crises that bleed,

Into the ordinary, leaving us a little more tired each time,
A little more distant from the experiences, which, in the old days,
Held us captive for hours. The drive along the winding road

Back to the house, the sea pounding against the cliffs,
The glass of whiskey on the table, the open book, the questions,
All the day’s rewards waiting at the doors of sleep . . .

Capodopera noastra este viata intima

Exista ceva in josul apei ce  de noi se fereste,
vreo intamplare timida, vreun secret al luminii ce cade peste adanc,
vreun izvor al tristetii ce nu se vrea descoperit inca?

De ce ne-ar pasa? Dorinta nu-si arunca curcubeiele peste portelanul brut
al pielii lumii si cu propriile-i masuri umple aerul? De ce-am cauta mai mult?

Si-acum, pe cand adeptii groazei si durerii
‘S-imping salupa siroind in susul si-n josul plajei, hai sa mancam
Calcanul nostru, si sa luam o gura din frumosul Beaune alb.
Adevarat, lumina e artificiala, si nu suntem bine imbracati.
Si ce. Ne place aici. Ne plac boii de pe campul vecin,
Ne place sunetul vantului peste iarba. Felul in care vorbesti,
Cu vocea soapta, dezvaluirile noastre tarziu in noapte…de ce sa traiesti
Pentru altceva? Capodopera noastra este viata intima.

Stand pe chei intre constelatii Lebada Calatoare si Steaua Imaculata,
Respirand aerul noptii in timp ce momentul placerii luate
In placere disparand pare sa creasca, propria-i murdarita

Frumusete, care poate fi ceea ce-a fost, doar sustinandu-se
Putin mai mult in plecarea-i, ma gandesc la propria noatra trecere calma
Prin despartirile treptate, crizele ce sangereaza,

In cotidian, lasandu-ne putin mai obositi de fiece data,
Putin mai distanti de experientele, care, in zilele de-odinioara,
Ne tineau captivi ore intregi. Calatoria de-a lungul unui drum serpuit

Inapoi spre casa, marea lovindu-se de stanci,
Paharul cu whiskey pe masa, cartea deschisa, intrebarile,
Toata rasplata zilei astepand la usile somnului…


Maria Magdalena

The Word / Cuvantul

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 18, 2019











The Word / Cuvantul

Oh, a word is a gem, or a stone, or a song,
Or a flame, or a two-edged sword;
Or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume,
Or a drop of gall is a word.

You may choose your word like a connoisseur,
And polish it up with art,
But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays,
Is the word that comes from the heart.

You may work on your word a thousand weeks,
But it will not glow like one
That all unsought, leaps forth white hot,
When the fountains of feeling run.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

O, cuvantu-i o gema, o piatra, un cantec,
o flama, o spada cu dubla taiere;
o roza-nflorita, ori un dulce parfum,
ori o picatura de fiere.

Poti alege cuvantu-ti ca un connnoisseur,
si cu arta lustruieste-ti-l bine,
dar cuvantul ce mi?ca, freamata, ramâne,
este cel ce din inima vine.

Poti lucra cuvantu-ti mii de saptamani,
nu va straluci ca acel
care necautat, rasare alb si cald,
cand sentimentele curg rebel.


Maria Magdalena

The Tyger / Tigrul

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 18, 2019











The Tyger / Tigrul
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Tirgu, Tigru viu arzand,
In ai noptii codri stand;
Ce ochi, mana nemurinda,
Sculpta simetria-ti flamanda?

In ce adancimi sau ceruri
ars-a focul ochilor?
Ce aripa indrazneste?
Ce mana focu-mblanzeste?
Cine ti-a creat, ce arta
Muschii inimii in dalta?
Inima-ti batu nascuta,
A cui mana prea temuta?

What the hammer? what the chain,
Care ciocan, lant, cuptor
Creierului tau fu sculptor?
Nicovala? Teama crunta,
Ti-a dat puterea ce-nspaimanta
Cand stelele-au sagetat
Si-apa-n cer a lacrimat:
Zambi EL vazandu-si Arta?
El ce mielului dadu soarta?

Tirgu, Tigru viu arzand,
In ai noptii codri stand;
Ce ochi, mana nemurinda,
indrazni simetria-ti flamanda?


Maria Magdalena

Afternoon On A Hill / Amiaza pe-o colina

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 17, 2019











Afternoon On A Hill / Amiaza pe-o colina

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!

Edna St. Vincent Millay
Amiaza pe-o colina

Voi fi cea mai fericita
in asta lume!
Voi alinta sute de flori
Neculegand anume.

Voi privi dealuri si nori
cu ochi tacand
Privind vantu-nclinand iarba,
Si-iarba crescand.

Cand lumini dinspre oras
vor straluci,
Voi sti care-o fi a mea,
Si-oi cobori!

Maria Magdalena

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – / “Speranta”-i ceva cu pene –

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 16, 2019











“Hope” is the thing with feathers – / “Speranta”-i ceva cu pene –

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

Emily Dickinson

“Speranta”-i ceva cu pene –
“Speranta”-i ceva cu pene –
Ce-n suflet e-ncuibata –
Si fredoneaza-o melodie –
Far-a se-opri vreodata –
Dulce-n – Vant tare – se-aude –
Si-amar-o fi furtuna –
Ce umileste-un Cant ce-n trude
Ferici multi intruna –
L-auzii pe-un rece pamant
Si pe-o Mare straina –
Dar orisicat a suferit
Nu mi-a cerut farama.


Maria Magdalena

Wild nights – Wild nights! / Salbatice nopti – salbatice!

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 16, 2019












Wild nights – Wild nights! / Salbatice nopti – Salbatice!

Wild nights – Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile – the winds –
To a Heart in port –
Done with the Compass –
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden –
Ah – the Sea!
Might I but moor – tonight –
In thee!

Emily Dickinson

Salbatice nopti – Salbatice!

Salbatice nopti – Salbatice!
Cu tine de-as fi
Noptile-ar deveni
doar frenezii!

Zadarnic – vanturile –
Pentru o inimă-n port –
De Compas nu-i nevoie-
Nici de Harta raport!
Cu barca prin Eden –
Ah – Marea!
As putea-n noaptea asta –
In tine acosta!


Maria Magdalena

If I can stop one Heart from breaking / De-as opri-ntr-o inima plansul

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 15, 2019











If I can stop one Heart from breaking / De-as opri-ntr-o inima plansul
If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain

Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.
by Emily Dickinson

De-as opri-ntr-o inima plansul

De-as opri-ntr-o Inima plansul
Degeaba n-as trai;
De-as usura-ntr-o Viata påsul,
ori Durerea de-as opri,
Ori s-ajut un Prihor
‘Napoi in cuib de-a fi,
Degeaba n-as trai.

Maria Magdalena

My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun / Viata-mi statu – ‘ncarcat pistol

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 15, 2019











My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun / Viata-mi statu – ‘ncarcat pistol


My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –
In Corners – till a Day
The Owner passed – identified –
And carried Me away –


And now We roam in Sovreign Woods –
And now We hunt the Doe –
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply –


And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow –
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through –


And when at Night – Our good Day done –
I guard My Master’s Head –
’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s
Deep Pillow – to have shared –


To foe of His – I’m deadly foe –
None stir the second time –
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye –
Or an emphatic Thumb –


Though I than He – may longer live
He longer must – than I –
For I have but the power to kill,
Without – the power to die –



Viata-mi statu – ‘ncarcat pistol


Viata-mi statu – ‘ncarcat pistol
In colt – pan-ntr-o zi –
Cand posesorul – cel stiut –
Ca sa ma ia veni –


Si hoinarim prin mari paduri –
Caprioara vanand –
Si oricand pentru el vorbesc
Muntii ecou raspund –


Si cand zambesc, scantei lumina
Peste vale luceste –
Precum o fata vezuviana
Placerea-si domoleste –


Si-n Noapte, cand – satisfacuti –
Pazesc Stapanu-mi inca –
Mai bine ‘cat sa-mpartasim
O perna moale, -adanca –


Dusmanul lui – e-al meu dusman
unu-nu mai misca – moare –
pe cine pun un lucind Ochi –
Ori degetu-mi cel mare –


Desi eu oi trai mai lung
El trebuie-a trai –
Eu-am doar puterea sa ucid,
Fara-a putea muri –


Maria Magdalena