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LUCIAN BLAGA (9.05.1885-6.05.1961)<\/p>\n1. Noi si pamantul<\/p>\n
At\u00e2tea stele cad \u00een noaptea asta.
Demonul noptii tine parca-n m\u00e2ni pam\u00e2ntul
si sufla peste-o iasca
naprasnic sa-l aprinda.
\u00cen noaptea asta-n care cad
at\u00e2tea stele, t\u00e2narul sau trup
de vrajitoare-mi arde-n brate
ca-n flacarile unui rug.
Nebun,
ca niste limbi de foc eu bratele-mi \u00eentind,
ca sa-ti topesc zapada umerilor goi,
si ca sa-ti sorb, flam\u00e2nd sa-ti mistui
puterea, s\u00e2ngele, m\u00e2ndria, primavara, totul.
\u00cen zori c\u00e2nd ziua va aprinde noaptea,
C\u00e2nd scrumul noptii o sa piara dus
de-un v\u00e2nt spre-apus,
\u00een zori de zi as vrea sa fim si noi
cenusa,
noi si \u2013 pam\u00e2ntul.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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We and the earth<\/p>\n
So many stars fall tonight.
the demon of the night seems to take hold of the earth
and blows over a tinder
fiercely to light it up.
In this night when
so many stars fall, her young
witch body burns into my arms
like the flames of a pyre.
Foul,
I stretch out my arms as tongues of fire
to melt the snow of your naked shoulders,
and to absorb, hungry to devour
your power, your blood, your pride, your spring, all.
At dawn when the day will ignite the night,
When the ashes of night will perish carried
to the west by a wind,
at dawn I\u2019d like to be both also
ashes,
we and \u2013 the earth.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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2. Vei plange mult ori vei zambi<\/p>\n
Eu
nu m\u0103 c\u0103iesc,
c-am adunat \u00een suflet \u015fi noroi-
dar m\u0103 g\u00e2ndesc la tine.
Cu gheare de lumin\u0103
o diminea\u0163\u0103-\u0163i va ucide-odat\u0103 visul,
c\u0103 sufletul mi-a\u015fa curat,
cum g\u00e2ndul t\u0103u il vrea,
cum inima iubirii tale-l crede.
Vei pl\u00e2nge mult atunci ori vei ierta?
Vei pl\u00e2nge mult ori vei z\u00e2mbi
de razele acelei dimine\u0163i,
\u00een care eu \u0163i-oi zice f\u0103r\u0103 umbr\u0103 de c\u0103in\u0163\u0103:
“Nu \u015ftii, ca numa-n lacuri cu noroi \u00een fund cresc nuferi?”<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Will you cry much, or will you smile?<\/p>\n
do not regret,
that I gathered in my soul also mud-
but I’m thinking about you.
With claws of light
one morning will kill once your dream,
that my soul is so pure,
as your thought wants it,
as the heart of your love believes it.
Will you cry much then, or will you forgive?
Will you cry much, or will you smile?
Of that morning\u2019s rays,
in which I will tell you with no shadow of remorse:
“Don\u2019t you know that only from the muddy bottom lakes grows the lotus?”<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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3. Scrisoare<\/p>\n
Nu \u021bi-a\u015f scrie poate nici acum acest r\u00e2nd,
dar coco\u0219ii au c\u00e2ntat de trei ori \u00een noapte \u2013
\u0219i-a trebuit s\u0103 strig:
Doamne, Doamne, de cine m-am lep\u0103dat?<\/p>\n
Sunt mai b\u0103tr\u00e2n dec\u00e2t tine, mam\u0103,
ci tot a\u015fa cum m\u0103 \u0219tii:
adus pu\u021bin de umeri
\u015fi plecat peste \u00eentreb\u0103rile lumii.<\/p>\n
Nu \u015ftiu nici azi pentru ce m-ai trimis \u00een lumin\u0103.
Numai ca s\u0103 umblu printre lucruri,
\u015fi s\u0103 le fac dreptate spun\u00e2ndu-le
care-i mai adevar\u0103t \u0219i care-i mai frumos?
M\u00e2na mi se opre\u0219te : e prea pu\u021bin.
Glasul mi se stinge: e prea pu\u0163in.
De ce m-ai trimis \u00een lumin\u0103, Mam\u0103,
de ce m-ai trimis?<\/p>\n
Trupul meu cade la picioarele tale
greu ca o pas\u0103re moart\u0103.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Letter<\/p>\n
I wouldn\u2019t write you even now this line,
but the roosters crowed three times in the night –
and I had to scream:
Lord, Lord, whom have I disowned?<\/p>\n
I’m older than you, Mother,
otherwise, the same, as you know me:
a little drooped
and bent over the world’s questions.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know even today why you sent me into the light.
Only to walk among things,
and do them justice by telling
who is the truer and who is more beautiful?
My hand stops: it’s too little.
My voice goes out: it’s too little.
Why you did you send me into the light, Mother,
Why did you send me?<\/p>\n
My
body falls at your feet
heavy like a dead bird.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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4. Ghimpii<\/p>\n
Eram copil. Mi-aduc aminte, culegeam
odat\u0103 trandafiri s\u0103lbatici.
Aveau at\u00e2\u0163ia ghimpi,
dar n-am vrut s\u0103-i rup.
credeam c\u0103-s muguri-
\u015fi-au s\u0103 \u00eenfloreasc\u0103.<\/p>\n
Te-am \u00eent\u00e2lnit apoi pe tine.
O, c\u00e2\u0163i ghimpi, c\u00e2\u0163i ghimpi aveai!
dar n-am voit s\u0103 te despoi –
credeam c-o s\u0103-nfloreasc\u0103.<\/p>\n
Azi toate astea-mi trec
pe dinainte \u015fi z\u00e2mbesc.
Z\u00e2mbesc \u015fi hoin\u0103resc prin v\u0103i
Zburdalnic \u00een b\u0103taia v\u00e2ntului.
Eram copil.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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The thorns<\/p>\n
I was a kid. I remember, I was picking
once wild roses.
They had so many thorns,
but I did not want to break them.
I thought them being buds-
that will flourish.<\/p>\n
Then I met you.
Oh, how many thorns, how many thorns did you have!
but I did not want to strip you –
I thought they will flourish.<\/p>\n
Today I see again all of these
and I smile
I smile and wander through the valleys
Sprightly in the wind.
I was a kid.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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5. Frumoase maini<\/p>\n
Presimt:
frumoase m\u00e2ni, cum \u00eemi cuprinde\u0163i ast\u0103zi cu
c\u0103ldura voastr\u0103 capul plin de visuri,
a\u015fa \u00eemi ve\u0163i \u0163inea odat\u0103
\u015fi urna cu cenu\u015fa mea.<\/p>\n
Visez:
frumoase m\u00e2ni, c\u00e2nd buze calde \u00eemi vor sufla
\u00een v\u00e2nt cenu\u015fa,
ce-o s-o \u0163ine\u0163i \u00een palmi ca-ntr-un potir,
ve\u0163i fi ca ni\u015fte flori,
din care boarea-mpr\u0103\u015ftie – polenul.<\/p>\n
\u015ei pl\u00e2ng:
ve\u0163i fi a\u015fa de tinere atunci, frumoase m\u00e2ni.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Beautiful hands<\/p>\n
I sense:
beautiful hands, as you hold today
with your warmth my head full of dreams,
thus, you will also keep once
the urn with my ashes.<\/p>\n
I dream:
beautiful hands when warm lips will blow
in the wind my ashes
that you\u2019ll keep between your hands like in a chalice,
you\u2019ll be like some flowers,
from which the breeze spreads – the pollen.<\/p>\n
And I cry:
you\u2019ll be so young then, beautiful hands.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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6. Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii<\/p>\n
Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii
\u015fi nu ucid
cu mintea tainele, ce le-nt\u00e2lnesc
\u00een calea mea
\u00een flori, \u00een ochi, pe buze ori morminte.
Lumina altora
sugrum\u0103 vraja nep\u0103trunsului ascuns
\u00een ad\u00e2ncimi de \u00eentuneric,
dar eu,
eu cu lumina mea sporesc a lumii tain\u0103 –
\u015fi-ntocmai cum cu razele ei albe luna
nu mic\u015foreaz\u0103, ci tremur\u0103toare
m\u0103re\u015fte \u015fi mai tare taina nop\u0163ii,
a\u015fa \u00eembog\u0103\u0163esc \u015fi eu \u00eentunecata zare
cu largi fiori de sf\u00e2nt mister
\u015fi tot ce-i ne\u00een\u0163eles
se schimb\u0103-n ne\u00een\u0163elesuri \u015fi mai mari
sub ochii mei-
c\u0103ci eu iubesc
\u015fi flori \u015fi ochi \u015fi buze \u015fi morminte.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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I do not crush the world\u2019s corolla of wonders<\/p>\n
I do not crush the world\u2019s corolla of wonders
and I don\u2019t kill
with my mind, the mysteries I meet
in my way
in flowers, in eyes, on lips or graves.
The light of others
strangles the spell of the impenetrable hidden
in the depths of darkness,
but I,
I with my light enlarge the mystery of the world –
and as the moon with her white rays
doesn\u2019t diminish, but quivering
enhances even more the mystery of the night,
so, I enrich the unknown horizon
with wide shudder of holy mystery
and all that is unknown
becomes even greater unknown
under my eyes,
for I love
flowers and eyes and lips and graves.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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7. Liniste<\/p>\n
At\u00e2ta lini\u015fte-i \u00een jur de-mi pare c\u0103 aud
cum se izbesc de geamuri razele de lun\u0103.<\/p>\n
\u00cen piept
mi s-a trezit un glas str\u0103in
\u015fi-un c\u00e2ntec c\u00e2nta-n mine-un dor
ce nu-i al meu.<\/p>\n
Se spune c\u0103 str\u0103mo\u015fii cari au murit f\u0103r\u0103 de vreme,
cu s\u00e2nge t\u00e2n\u0103r \u00eenca-n vine,
cu patimi mari \u00een s\u00e2nge,
cu soare viu \u00een patimi,
vin,
vin sa-\u015fi tr\u0103iasca mai departe
\u00een noi
via\u0163a netr\u0103ita.
At\u00e2ta lini\u015fte-i \u00een jur de-mi pare c\u0103 aud
cum se izbesc de geamuri razele de lun\u0103.
O, cine \u015ftie – suflete,-n ce piept \u00ee\u0163i vei c\u00e2nta
\u015fi tu odat\u0103 peste veacuri
pe coarde dulci de lini\u015fte,
pe harf\u0103 de-ntuneric – dorul sugrumat
\u015fi fr\u00e2nta bucurie de via\u0163\u0103? Cine \u015ftie?
Cine \u015ftie?<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Silence<\/p>\n
There\u2019s so much silence around that it seems to me that I hear
how the moon rays hit the windows.
In my soul
awoke a strange voice
and a song sings in me a longing
which isn\u2019t mine.<\/p>\n
It is told that the ancestors that died before their time
with blood still young in their veins,
with great ardor in blood,
with lively sun in their ardor,
return
return to live forwards
in us
their unlived life.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s so much silence around it seems to me that I hear
how the moon rays hit the windows.<\/p>\n
Oh, who knows, – my soul – , in whose chest you will sing
yourself once over centuries
on sweet chords of silence,
on the darkness\u2019 harp \u2013 your strangled longing
and your broken joy for life? Who knows?
Who knows?<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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8. Lacrimile<\/p>\n
Cand izgonit din cuibul vesniciei
intaiul om
trecea uimit si-ngandurat prin codri ori pe campuri,
il chinuiau mustrandu-l
lumina, zarea, norii — si din orice floare
il sageta c-o amintire paradisul –
Si omul cel dintai, pribeagul, nu stia sa planga.
Odata, istovit de-albastrul prea senin
al primaverii,
cu suflet de copil intaiul om
cazu cu fata-n pulberea pamantului:
“Stapane, ia-mi vederea,
ori daca-ti sta-n putinta impainjeneste-mi ochii
c-un giulgiu,
sa nu mai vad
nici flori, nici cer, nici zambetele Evei si nici nori,
caci, vezi — lumina lor ma doare”.
Si-atuncea Milostivul intr-o clipa de-ndurare
ii dete — lacrimile.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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The tears<\/p>\n
When banished from the nest of eternity
the first man
was passing meditative and astonished through the woods or on the fields
scolded and tormented
by the light, the horizon, the clouds \u2013 and from each flower
the paradise was piercing him with a memory –
and the first man, the wanderer, didn\u2019t know to cry.
once, exhausted by the too clear blue
of the spring,
with the soul of a child the first man
fell on his face in the dust:
“Master, take my sight,
or if you can blur my eyes
with a shroud,
not to see
neither flowers nor heaven nor the smiles of Eve nor clouds,
for, you see, their light hurts. “
And then the Merciful in a moment of grace
gave him – the tears.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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9 C\u00e2ntec \u00een doi<\/p>\n
\u015ei vine toamna iar
ca dup-un psalm aminul.
Doi suntem gata s\u0103 gust\u0103m
cu miere-amestecat veninul.<\/p>\n
Doi suntem gata s-ajut\u0103m
brindu\u015file ardorii
s\u0103 \u00eenfloreasc\u0103 iar \u00een noi
\u015fi-n toamna-aceasta de apoi.<\/p>\n
Doi suntem, c\u00e2nd cu umbra lor
ne \u00eempresoar\u0103-n lume norii.
Ce g\u00e2nduri are soarele cu noi —
nu stim, dar suntem doi.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Song for two<\/p>\n
And autumn comes again
as after’a psalm the amen.
We both are ready to degust
the honey-mixed venom then.<\/p>\nWe both are ready now to help
the crocuses of ardor
to blossom yet again in us
and in this late fall, thus.<\/p>\nWe are two, when with their shadow
the clouds surround us in the world.
What thoughts does the sun have with us –
we don’t know, but there’s two of us.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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10. Cantare vantului<\/p>\n
“\u00cen iubire nimeni, nimeni
nu-\u015fi \u0163ine cuv\u00e2ntul.
Ve\u015fnic str\u00e2ns \u00eembr\u0103\u0163i\u015fat
te-a \u0163inea numai p\u0103m\u00e2ntul.”<\/p>\n
Astfel c\u00e2nt\u0103 sf\u00e2\u015fiat
l\u00e2ng\u0103 mine v\u00e2ntul,
c\u00e2nd la dreapta, c\u00e2nd la st\u00e2nga,
l\u00e2ng\u0103 mine v\u00e2ntul.”<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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A Song to the Wind<\/p>\n
“In love no one, no one
ever keeps their promise.
Held forever you will be
only by grave’s solace.”<\/p>\n
Thus sings the wind, brokenhearted
nearby my place.
Right and left, right and left
the wind by my place.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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11. De Profundis<\/p>\n
Inca un an, o zi, un ceas –
si drumuri toate s-au retras
de sub picioare, de sub pas.
inca un an si-un vis
si-un somn si-oi fi
pe sub pamanturi
domn al oaselor
ce drepte dorm.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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De Profundis<\/p>\n
Another year, and day, and hour
and all the roads retreat their power
from under feet and the step\u2019s bower.
Another year, and dream, and kip
and I\u2019ll be King under lands deep
of all the bones in righteous sleep.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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12. 9 Mai 1895<\/p>\n
Sat al meu, ce porti \u00een nume
sunetele lacrimei,
la chemari ad\u00e2nci de mume
\u00een cea noapte te-am ales
ca prag de lume
si poteca patimei.<\/p>\n
Spre tine cine m-a-ndrumat
din strafund de veac,
\u00een tine cine m-a chemat
fie binecuv\u00e2ntat,
sat de lacrimi fara leac.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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The 9th of May 1895<\/p>\n
Village of mine carrying in your name
sounds and letters of the tear
to deep call of mothers’ claim
in that night I chose you
threshold of the worldly flame
path of passion of my peer.<\/p>\n
Whoever sent me to your core
From the depths of time,
Whoever called me to your door
Blessed be forevermore,
Village of tears without shore.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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13. Dorul<\/p>\n
Setos i\u0163i beau mireasma \u015fi-\u0163i cuprind obrajii
cu palmele-am\u00e2ndou\u0103, cum cuprinzi
\u00een suflet o minune.
Ne arde-apropierea, ochi \u00een ochi cum st\u0103m.
\u015ei totu\u015fi tu-mi \u015fopte\u015fti: “Mi-a\u015fa de dor de tine!”
A\u015fa de tainic tu mi-o spui \u015fi dornic, parc-a\u015f fi
pribeag pe-un alt p\u0103m\u00e2nt.<\/p>\n
Femeie,
ce mare por\u0163i \u00een inim\u0103 \u015fi cine e\u015fti?
Mai c\u00e2nt\u0103-mi \u00eenc-o dat\u0103 dorul t\u0103u,
s\u0103 te ascult
\u015fi clipele s\u0103-mi par\u0103 ni\u015fte muguri plini,
din care \u00eenfloresc aievea – ve\u015fnicii.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Longing<\/p>\n
Thirsty I drink your fragrance and I grab your face
with both my hands, as you embrace
a wonder in your soul.
The closeness is burning, as we sit eye to eye.
Yet back you whisper: \u201cI miss you so!\u201d
So cryptically you tell me this and so desirous, as if I\u2019d be
a wanderer on another land.<\/p>\n
Woman,
what sea you carry in your heart and who are you?
Sing me once more your longing,
so, I\u2019d listen to you
and all the moments would appear to be some full buds,
from whom shall blossom truly – eternities.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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14. Primavara<\/p>\n
A cunoaste. A iubi
\u00cenc-o data, iar si iara
a cunoaste-nseamna iarna
a iubi e primavara.<\/p>\n
A iubi – aceasta vine
tare de departe-n mine.
A iubi – aceasta vine
tare de departe-n tine.<\/p>\n
A cunoaste. A iubi.
Care-i drumul? Ce te-ndeamna?
A cunoaste – ce \u00eenseamna?
A iubi – de ce ti-e teama?
printre flori si-n mare iarba?<\/p>\n
Printre flori si-n mare iarba,
patima fara pacate
ne rastoarna-n infinit,
cu rumoare si ardoare
de albine re-ncarnate.<\/p>\n
\u00cenc-odata, iar si iara,
a iubi e primavara.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Spring<\/p>\n
To have knowledge or to love
one more time and then again
to have knowledge means the Winter,
to love means the Springtime’s reign.<\/p>\n
This, to love, it comes, you see,
way too from afar in me.
This, to love, it comes, who knew
way too from afar in you.<\/p>\n
To have knowledge or to love.
Where’s the path? What compels you?
To have knowledge – what is new?
To love – what is scaring who?
Amid flowers, in tall grass?<\/p>\n
Amid flowers, in tall grass,
Passion without any sins,
Overturns us in the vast
With the rumor and the ardor
of reincarnated bees.<\/p>\n
One more time and then again
to love means the Springtime’s reign.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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15. Autoportret<\/p>\n
Lucian Blaga e mut ca o leb\u0103d\u0103.
\u00cen patria sa
z\u0103pada f\u0103pturii \u0163ine loc de cuv\u00e2nt.
Sufletul lui e \u00een c\u0103utare,
\u00een mut\u0103, secular\u0103 c\u0103utare,
de totdeauna,
\u015fi p\u00e2n\u0103 la cele din urm\u0103 hotare.
El caut\u0103 apa din care bea curcubeul.
El caut\u0103 apa
din care curcubeul
\u00ee\u015fi bea frumuse\u0163ea \u015fi nefiin\u0163a.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
16. Selfportrait<\/p>\n
Lucian Blaga is silent like a swan.
In his country
the snow of the being replaces the word.
His soul is in pursuit
in a silent, secular pursuit
from always
until the last root.
He seeks the water from where the rainbow drinks
He seeks the water
from where the rainbow
drinks its beauty and non-existence.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
16. Izvorul noptii<\/p>\n
Frumoaso,
\u0163i-s ochii-a\u015fa de negri \u00eenc\u00e2t seara
c\u00e2nd stau culcat cu capu-n poala ta
\u00eemi pare
c\u0103 ochii t\u0103i, ad\u00e2nci, sunt izvorul
din care tainic curge noaptea peste v\u0103i
\u015fi peste mun\u0163i \u015fi peste se\u015furi
acoperind p\u0103m\u00e2ntul
c-o mare de-ntuneric.
A\u015fa-s de negri ochii t\u0103i,
lumina mea.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
The spring of night<\/p>\n
Beautiful,
your eyes are so black that in the evening
when I lie down with my head in your lap
It seems to me
that your eyes, the deep, are the source
from which mysteriously the night flows over the valleys
and mountains, and planes
covering the earth
with a sea of darkness.
So black are your eyes,
my light.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
17. Psalm<\/p>\nO durere totdeauna mi-a fost singuratatea ta ascunsa,
Dumnezeule, dar ce era sa fac?
Cand eram copil ma jucam cu tine
si-n inchipuire te desfaceam cum desfaci o jucarie.
Apoi salbaticia mi-a crescut,
cantarile mi-au pierit,
si fara sa-mi fi fost vreodata aproape
te-am pierdut pentru totdeauna
in tarana, in foc, in vazduh si pe ape.<\/p>\nintre rasaritul de soare si-apusul de soare
sunt numai tina si rana.
in cer te-ai inchis ca-ntr-un cosciug.
O, de n-ai fi mai inrudit cu moartea
decat cu viata,
mi-ai vorbi. De-acolo unde esti,
din pamant ori din poveste mi-ai vorbi.<\/p>\nin spinii de-aci, arata-te, Doamne,
sa stiu ce-astepti de la mine.
Sa prind din vazduh sulita veninoasa
din adanc azvarlita de altul sa te raneasca subt aripi?
Ori nu doresti nimic?
Esti muta, neclintita identitate
(rotunjit in sine a este a) ,
nu ceri nimic. Nici macar rugaciunea mea.<\/p>\nIata, stelele intra in lume
deodata cu intrebatoarele mele tristeti.
Iata, e noapte fara ferestre-n afara.
Dumnezeule, de-acum ce ma fac?
in mijlocul tau ma dezbrac. Ma dezbrac de trup
ca de-o haina pe care-o lasi in drum.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
Psalm<\/p>\n
Always sadness to me has been your concealed loneliness,
But, Lord, what was I to do?
As a child I used to play with you
and in my mind, I took you to pieces like a toy.<\/p>\nThen wilderness grew stronger inside me,
my songs died,
and without ever feeling you close
I lost you forever
In dust, in fire, in the air, and on waters.<\/p>\nFrom sunrise to sunset
I am only clay and wound.
You closed yourself in Heaven as in a coffin.
Oh, weren\u2019t you kin more to death
than you are to life,
you would talk to me. From where you are
from earth or from the tale – you would talk to me.<\/p>\nAmong the thorns here, show yourself, Lord,
So, I\u2019d know what you expect of me.
Shall I catch in the air the venomous spear
from the depths thrown by another to hurt you beneath your wings.
Or don’t you want anything of me?
You are the mute, still identity
(Rounded itself a is a),
you ask for nothing. Not even for my prayer.<\/p>\nLook, the stars appear into the world
along with my questioning sadness.
Look, it is a night without windows outside.
Lord, from now on what am I to do?
In you I become naked. I take off my mortal flesh
as if it were a coat left on the way.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
18. Trei fete<\/p>\n
Copilul r\u00e2de:
“\u00cen\u0163elepciunea \u015fi iubirea mea e jocul! “
T\u00e2n\u0103rul c\u00e2nt\u0103:
“Jocul \u015fi-n\u0163elepciunea mea-i iubirea! “
B\u0103tr\u00e2nul tace:
“Iubirea \u015fi jocul meu e-n\u0163elepciunea! “<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
Three faces<\/p>\n
The child laughs:
“My wisdom and love are the game!”
The young man sings:
“My game and wisdom are love!”
The old man is silent:
“My love and game are wisdom!”<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
19. Gorunul<\/p>\n
\u00cen limpezi dep\u0103rt\u0103ri aud din pieptul unui turn
cum bate ca o inim\u0103 un clopot
\u015fi-n zvonuri dulci
\u00eemi pare
c\u0103 stropi de lini\u015fte \u00eemi curg prin vine, nu de s\u00e2nge.<\/p>\n
Gorunule din margine de codru,
de ce m\u0103-nvinge
cu aripi moi at\u00e2ta pace
c\u00e2nd zac \u00een umbra ta
\u015fi m\u0103 dezmierzi cu frunza-\u0163i juc\u0103u\u015f\u0103?<\/p>\n
O, cine \u015ftie? – Poate c\u0103
din trunchiul t\u0103u \u00eemi vor ciopli
nu peste mult sicriul,
\u015fi lini\u015ftea
ce voi gusta-o \u00eentre sc\u00e2ndurile lui
o simt pesemne de acum:
o simt cum frunza ta mi-o picur\u0103 \u00een suflet –
\u015fi mut
ascult cum cre\u015fte-n trupul t\u0103u sicriul,
sicriul meu,
cu fiecare clip\u0103 care trece,
gorunule din margine de codru.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
The oak<\/p>\n
In the clear distance I hear from a tower’s chest
how a bell beats like a heart
and in sweet echoes
It seems to me
that through my veins flow drops of silence, not blood.
Oak from the edge of the forest
why it defeats me
with soft wings so much peace
when I lie in your shadow
while you caress me with your playful leaf?<\/p>\n
Oh, who knows? – Maybe
from your trunk it will be carved
not long after, my coffin,
and the peace
which I will taste between its boards
I probably feel it now:
I feel it as your leaf drips it into my soul –
and silenced
I hear the coffin growing in your body,
my coffin,
with each passing moment,
Oak from the edge of the forest.<\/p>\n
traducere, M. M. Biela<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[40],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10569","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-romanian"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10569","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=10569"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10569\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10571,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10569\/revisions\/10571"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10569"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10569"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10569"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}