Ideea / The Idea

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English April 11, 2019

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Ideea / The Idea
 

 

Bibliotecile cu rafturi si zabrele
Sunt pline
De tomuri grele
Pergamente si colectii vechi nepretuite
Legate-m marochine,
In care zac oranduite
Ierarhic subt capitole si titluri
Mii si milioane de idei,
In zeci de mii de tomuri, anexe
Si opuscule
Cu pagini incarcate de calcule subtile
Ca mici desemne
-Arabescuri-
De cercuri seci, de semne
Si magice majuscule.

Dar in ele
Nu sunt decat cadavre de idei,
Caci scrisul tot
E doar gandire vested conservata
Si-nchisa subt formule si subt chei.

Batranii in halaturi vechi,
Cu ochelarii petrecuti dupa urechi,
Uscara
Insectele-n vitrina,
Ca specii rare
Salbatecii codri in ierbare,
Pamantul necuprins, in petece de harti,
Ideile, in prafuite carti.

Si-acuma toate poarta cifre
Si litere latine
In tomuri sigilate-n marochine;
Iar poezia lor,
Astmatice avanturi de simboluri
Zadarnic incercand sa urce-n goluri.

Dar eu
Eu am vazut idei.

Intaia oara, brusc, fara sa stiu,
De dincolo de lucruri am vazut ideea,
Cum vezi, cand se despica norii grei
Si negri
Zigzagul de argint al fulgerului viu.

Si de atunci
-Nelinistit de departarea suava si adanca
De toate talcurile, cheile-
Ca un bolnav cu ochii tintuiti de luna
Pe care norul o ascunde inca,
Fara durere, fara bucurie,
Eu caut in natura pretutindeni, ideile.

Atent si rabdator
Deci le pandesc prelung staruitor
Cum asteptam pe cand eram copil,
Privind prin crapatura gardului
Ograda si ruina caselor pustii
Sa vad cum se ivesc stafii.

Crescut din zilele de ieri,
Nelinistit de marile taceri,
Pandesc si azi prelung staruitor,
Caci si acum din lucruri si vederi
Ideea se aduna
Stravezie, dar precisa si intreaga,
Asa cum se incheaga
Subt privirea unui dervis,
O figura, pe apa unui lac,
In umbra limpezita de copac.

Dar de cate ori descopar, uimit
Cu-nfiorari de vesti rostite-n soapte,
-Freamat nocturn de ulmi-
Ca ideile-s de mult
Alaturea de mine, culmi
Imense si nebanuite, sosite-n noapte…

De-atatea ori
Ca niste munti colosi de ghiata
Plutind subt apa, venind prin palele de ceata.

Eu sunt dintre acei
Cu ochi halucinati si mistuiti launtric,
Cu sufletul marit
Caci am vazut idei.

CAMIL PETRESCU
——————————
THE IDEA
 

 

Libraries with shelves and lattices
are full
of heavy volumes
Parchments and old priceless collections
Bound in morocco,
In which lay arranged
Hierarchical under chapters and titles
Thousands and millions of ideas,
In tens of thousands of tomes, annexes
And opuscule
With pages loaded with subtle calculations
Like small designs
-Arabesques-
Of dry circles, of signs
And magical capitals.

But in them
There are only bodies of ideas,
Because all that’s written
It’s just withered preserved thinking
Closed under formulas and under keys.

The elders in old dressing gowns,
With glasses ,
Dried
The insects in the show-window,
As rare species
The wild woods in herbariums,
The infinite earth in shreds of maps,
Ideas, in dusty books.

And now they all carry numbers
And Latin letters
In toms sealed in Morocco;
And their poetry,
Asthmatic soars of symbols
In vain trying to climb into hollows.

But I
I have seen ideas.

First, suddenly, without knowing,
From beyond things I saw the idea,
How you see, when heavy black clouds split
The silver zigzag of the live lightning.

And since then
-Restless by the suave and deep remoteness
Of all the allegories,the keys,
Like a sick one with the eyes pinned by the moon
Which cloud still hides,
Without pain, without joy,
I look for ideas in the nature, everywhere.

Careful and patient
So I’ve been looking for them for a long time tenaciously
As I was waiting, as a child,
Looking through the crack of the fence
The yard and the ruin of deserted houses
To see how the ghosts get out.

Grown from the yesterdays,
Restless with the big silences,
I spy also today, long time persistently
For even now, from things and views
The idea is gathering
Transparent, but precise and whole,
As it curdles
Under the eyes of a dervish,
A figure, on the water of a lake,
In the clear shade of a tree.

But whenever I discover, amazed
With shivers of whispered news
-Nocturnal rustle of elms-
That ideas are many
Near me,
Immense and unsuspected peaks, in night arriving…

So many times
Like some giant ice mountains
Floating under the water, coming through the fog blades.

I am one of those
With hallucinated eyes, inward consumed
With an increased soul
Because I saw ideas.

Maria Magdalena Biela

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