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MUTILAREA ARTISTULUILA TINERETE \/ ARTIST’S MUTILATION IN YOUTH<\/p>\n
O cas\u0103 nou\u0103,
ca un alt morm\u00e2nt,
mai aproape parc\u0103 de cel definitiv,
mai aproape de ceasul
pentru care at\u00e2t am trudit.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
Nu mai aveam \u00eencredere \u00een mine.
Disp\u0103ruse furnica de la care \u00eenv\u0103\u0163asem
s\u0103 pun pe picioare orice dezastru,
s\u0103 \u00eenving f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 r\u0103nesc
nici m\u0103car aerul pe care-l respir.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
P\u00e2n\u0103 \u015fi poezia
(ea, urm\u00e2nd existen\u0163a, niciodat\u0103 \u00eenlocuind-o)
uitase s\u0103 mai pun\u0103
sticla de lapte \u00een fa\u0163a u\u015fii.
Uitase s\u0103-\u015fi mai aduc\u0103 aminte de mine.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
Atunci s-a \u00eent\u00e2mplat.
Printre d\u0103r\u00e2m\u0103turi \u015fi abur proasp\u0103t de ceai
s-a a\u015fezat la masa mea,
a aranjat cu grij\u0103
cele dou\u0103-trei firimituri insomniace de p\u00e2ine,
\u015fi-a aplecat u\u015furel capul (ciud\u0103 copil\u0103roas\u0103!)
\u00een semn de trecerea timpului,
a bolborosit printre col\u0163oasele-i falduri:<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u00eencrederea \u00een sine vine \u015fi pleac\u0103
dup\u0103 cum de la \u00eenceput
ai stat ghemuit la p\u0103m\u00e2nt
sau ai privit stelele drept \u00een fa\u0163\u0103.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
Vei mai r\u0103sturna zaruri
\u015fi lehamitea te va \u00eembl\u00e2nzi
\u00een dulce scorpie parfumat\u0103.
Vei mai at\u00e2rna de obsesii
cu acela\u015fi scris larg la pung\u0103,
p\u00e2n\u0103 c\u00e2nd frumuse\u0163ea va zorn\u0103i
\u015fi-n casa s\u0103racului
\u015fi-n galeria de c\u00e2rti\u0163\u0103.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
Vei mai da ceva de ron\u0163\u0103it gurilor rele
precum sexul, alcoolul
\u015fi pisica rupt\u0103-n dou\u0103 din suflet.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
Te vei gol\u0103ni tot mai mult.
Doar la apusul soarelui
vei \u00eencepe cu adev\u0103rat s\u0103 tr\u0103ie\u015fti
printre tufi\u015furi \u015fi sperme galinacee
de refacere a echilibrului psihic.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
Va r\u00e2de lumea de tine
c\u00e2nd \u00een pas coco\u015fat
vei debita despre munci \u015fi zile
cu pagina alb\u0103.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
Va hohoti duhoarea de proast\u0103
ag\u0103\u0163at\u0103 de al\u0163ii mai pro\u015fti dec\u00e2t tine
dar cu \u015ffan\u0163 \u015fi cu \u015ftaif,
numit stil c\u00e2teodat\u0103\u201d.<\/p>\n.<\/p>\n
O cas\u0103 nou\u0103,
ca un alt morm\u00e2nt,
mai aproape parc\u0103 de cel definitiv,
mai aproape de ceasul
pentru care at\u00e2t am trudit.<\/p>\n
MARIANA MARIN (Madi)
……………….<\/p>\nARTIST’S MUTILATION IN YOUTH
A new house,
like another grave,
closer to the final one,
closer to the hour
for which I toiled so hard.
.
I didn’t trust myself anymore.
Gone was the ant from whom I’d learned
to get any disaster up and about,
to win without hurting
even the air I breathe.
.
Even poetry
(it, following the existence, never replacing it)
had forgotten to put
the milk bottle in front of the door.
It had forgotten to remember me.
.
Then it happened.
Amidst the rubble and fresh tea steam
sat down at my table,
arranged carefully
the two or three insomniac crumbs of bread,
bowed its head slightly (childish spite!)
as a sign of the passage of time,
muttered through its crooked folds:
.
“Self-confidence comes and goes
as from the beginning
you’ve been crouching on the ground
or staring straight ahead at the stars.
.
You’re gonna roll some more dices
and the disgust will tame you
into a sweet-scented shrew.
You’re gonna hang on to obsessions
with the same generous handwriting,
until the beauty shall rattle
in the poorhouse
as well in the mole’s gallery.
.
You’re gonna give to the bad mouths some more to nibble on
such as sex, alcohol
and the torn in two cat from the soul.
.
You will get more and more naughty.
Only at sunset
will you truly begin to live
among bushes and fowl sperms
to restore mental balance.
.
People will laugh at you
when with a hunched step
you’ll talk of toils and days
with a blank page.
.
Will roar the stench of dumb girl
hanging on to others dumber than you
but with a buck and swagger,
sometimes called style \u201d.
.
A new house,
like another grave,
closer to the final one,
closer to the hour
for which I toiled so hard.<\/p>\n
traducere, Maria Magdalena Biela<\/blockquote>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u00a0 \u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[37],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10430","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-mariana"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10430","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10430"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10430\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10432,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10430\/revisions\/10432"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10430"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10430"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10430"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}