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STEFAN AUGUSTIN DOINAS (26.04.1922-25.05.2002)<\/p>\n
1. Astazi ne despartim<\/p>\nAst\u0103zi nu mai c\u00e2nt\u0103m, nu mai z\u00e2mbim.
St\u00e2nd la \u00eenceput de anotimp fermecat,
ast\u0103zi ne desp\u0103r\u0163im
cum s-au desp\u0103r\u0163it apele de uscat.<\/p>\nTotul e at\u00e2t de firesc \u00een t\u0103cerea noastr\u0103.
Fiecare ne spunem: – A\u015fa trebuie s\u0103 fie …
Al\u0103turi, umbra albastr\u0103
pentru adev\u0103ruri g\u00e2ndite st\u0103 m\u0103rturie.<\/p>\nNu peste mult tu vei fi azurul din m\u0103ri,
eu voi fi p\u0103m\u00e2ntul cu toate p\u0103catele.
P\u0103s\u0103ri mari te vor c\u0103uta prin z\u0103ri
duc\u00e2nd \u00een gu\u015f\u0103 mireasm\u0103, bucatele.<\/p>\nOamenii vor crede c\u0103 suntem du\u015fmani.
\u00centre noi, lumea va sta nemi\u015fcat\u0103
ca o p\u0103dure de sute de ani
plin\u0103 de fiare cu blan\u0103 v\u0103rgat\u0103.<\/p>\nNimeni nu va \u015fti c\u0103 suntem tot at\u00e2t de aproape
\u015fi c\u0103, seara, sufletul meu,
ca \u0163\u0103rmul care se modeleaz\u0103 din ape,
ia forma uitat\u0103 a trupului t\u0103u …<\/p>\nAst\u0103zi nu ne s\u0103rutam, nu ne dorim.
St\u00e2nd la \u00eenceput de anotimp fermecat,
ast\u0103zi ne desp\u0103r\u0163im
cum s-au desp\u0103r\u0163it apele de uscat.<\/p>\nNu peste mult tu vei fi cerul r\u0103sfr\u00e2nt,
eu voi fi soarele negru, p\u0103m\u00e2ntul.
Nu peste mult are s\u0103 bat\u0103 v\u00e2nt.
Nu peste mult are s\u0103 bat\u0103 v\u00e2ntul<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
Today we part<\/p>\nToday we no longer sing nor smile.
Sitting at the beginning of the season chant,
today we part facile
like the waters parted from the land.<\/p>\nAll is so natural in our silence.
We tell each other, “That’s the way it should be …”
Next to us, the blue reliance
for the thought-out truths is testimony.<\/p>\nSoon you will be the azure of the seas,
I will be the earth with all sins.
Big birds will look for you in the breeze
carrying the breath of food in their chins.<\/p>\nPeople will think we are enemies.
Between us, the world will stand still
like a forest for hundreds of years
full of beasts with striped fur twill.<\/p>\nNo one will know that we are still so close
and that, in the evening, my soul,
like the shore that from the water forms,
takes the forgotten shape of your whole…<\/p>\nToday we don’t kiss, each other we don’t want.
Sitting at the beginning of the season chant,
today we part facile
like the waters parted from the land.<\/p>\nNot too long ’till you’ll be the mirrored sky
I will be the black sun, the earth billow.
Not too long ’till wind will blow high.
Not too long ’till the wind will blow …<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
2. Mistretul cu colti de argint<\/p>\nUn prin\u0163 din Levant \u00eendr\u0103gind v\u00e2n\u0103toarea
prin inim\u0103 neagr\u0103 de codru trecea.
Croindu-\u015fi cu greu prin ha\u0163i\u015furi c\u0103rarea,
c\u00e2nt\u0103 dintr-un flaut de os \u015fi zicea:<\/p>\n– Veni\u0163i s\u0103 v\u00e2n\u0103m \u00een p\u0103duri nep\u0103trunse
mistre\u0163ul cu col\u0163i de argint, fioros,
ce zilnic \u00ee\u015fi schimb\u0103 \u00een scorburi ascunse
copita \u015fi blana \u015fi ochiul sticlos…<\/p>\n– St\u0103p\u00e2ne, ziceau servitorii cu goarne,
mistre\u0163ul acela nu vine pe-aici.
Mai bine s-abatem v\u00e2natul cu coarne,
ori vulpile ro\u015fii, ori iepurii mici …<\/p>\nDar prin\u0163ul trecea z\u00e2mbitor \u00eenainte
privea printre arbori atent la culori,
l\u0103s\u00e2nd \u00een culcu\u015f c\u0103prioara cuminte
\u015fi linxul ce r\u00e2de cu ochi sclipitori.<\/p>\nSub fagi el d\u0103dea buruiana-ntr-o parte:
– Privi\u0163i cum se-nv\u00e2rte f\u0103c\u00e2ndu-ne semn
mistre\u0163ul cu col\u0163i de argint, nu departe:
veni\u0163i s\u0103-l lovim cu s\u0103geat\u0103 de lemn!…<\/p>\n– St\u0103p\u00e2ne, e apa juc\u00e2nd sub copaci,
zicea servitorul privindu-l iste\u0163.
Dar el r\u0103spundea \u00eentorc\u00e2ndu-se: – Taci…
\u015ei apa sclipea ca un col\u0163 de mistre\u0163.<\/p>\nSub ulmi, el zorea risipite alaiuri:
– Privi\u0163i cum pufne\u015fte \u015fi scurm\u0103 stingher,
mistre\u0163ul cu col\u0163i de argint, peste plaiuri:
veni\u0163i s\u0103-l lovim cu s\u0103geat\u0103 de fier!…<\/p>\n– St\u0103p\u00e2ne, e iarba fo\u015fnind sub copaci,
zicea servitorul z\u00e2mbind \u00eendr\u0103zne\u0163.
Dar el r\u0103spundea \u00eentorc\u00e2ndu-se: – Taci…
\u015ei iarba sclipea ca un col\u0163 de mistre\u0163.<\/p>\nSub brazi, el strig\u0103 \u00eendemn\u00e2ndu-i spre creste:
– Privi\u0163i unde-\u015fi afl\u0103 odihn\u0103 \u015fi loc
mistre\u0163ul cu col\u0163i de argint, din poveste:
veni\u0163i s\u0103-l lovim cu s\u0103geat\u0103 de foc!…<\/p>\n– St\u0103p\u00e2ne, e luna lucind prin copaci,
zicea servitorul r\u00e2z\u00e2nd cu dispre\u0163.
Dar el r\u0103spunde \u00eentorc\u00e2ndu-se: – Taci…
\u015ei luna sclipea ca un col\u0163 de mistre\u0163.<\/p>\nDar vai! sub luceferii palizi ai bol\u0163ii
cum st\u0103 \u00een amurg, la izvor aplecat,
veni un mistre\u0163 uria\u015f, \u015fi cu col\u0163ii
\u00eel trase s\u0103lbatic prin colbul ro\u015fcat.<\/p>\n– Ce fiar\u0103 ciudat\u0103 m\u0103 umple de s\u00e2nge,
oprind v\u00e2n\u0103toarea mistre\u0163ului meu?
Ce pas\u0103re neagr\u0103 st\u0103-n lun\u0103 \u015fi pl\u00e2nge?
Ce ve\u015fted\u0103 frunz\u0103 m\u0103 bate mereu?…<\/p>\n– St\u0103p\u00e2ne, mistre\u0163ul cu col\u0163i ca argintul,
chiar el te-a cuprins, groh\u0103ind, sub copaci.
Ascult\u0103 cum latr\u0103 copoii gonindu-l…
Dar prin\u0163ul r\u0103spunse-ntorc\u00e2ndu-se. – Taci.<\/p>\nMai bine ia cornul \u015fi sun\u0103 \u00eentruna.
S\u0103 suni p\u00e2n\u0103 mor, c\u0103tre cerul senin…
Atunci asfin\u0163i dup\u0103 creste luna
\u015fi cornul sun\u0103, \u00eens\u0103 foarte pu\u0163in.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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The boar with silver fangs<\/p>\n
A Prince from Levant in love with the hunting
through dark forest\u2019s heart was making his way,
For finding his path through the bushes hard fighting,
was playing his bone flute and to his men he’d say:<\/p>\n– Let\u2019s go for the hunt in the deep wilderness
the hunt of the wild boar with silvery fangs,
who daily is shedding in hollowly stillness
the hoof and the fur and his glimmering glance…<\/p>\n– Mylord, said his servants with the bugle callings,
That boar, which you want, won\u2019t be coming this way.
Let\u2019s rather go hunting the horn headed beings,
or red coated foxes, or small hares astray…<\/p>\nBut the Prince passed on smiling pursuing his road
contemplating in silence the colorful trees,
he paid no attention to the kind doe\u2019s abode
nor to lynx always smiling with bright eyes at ease.<\/p>\nBeneath the tall beeches he passed branches taming:
– Behold how he\u2019s spinning our distance to narrow
the silver fang boar not too far from our aiming
let\u2019s hit him at once with one strike wooden arrow!…<\/p>\n– Mylord, is the water under the foliage lush,
said shrewdly the servant with a voice like a pang
Yet he turned and he answered kindly: – Hush\u2026
and the water was shining like a boar silver fang.<\/p>\nBeneath elms he was hurrying the scattered cortege,
– Behold how he\u2019s roaring and grubbing his marrow:
the silver fang boar not too far from our edge
let\u2019s hit him at once with one strike iron arrow!…<\/p>\n– Mylord, is the grass quivering in a rush,
said daring the servant with a smile like a pang.
Yet he turned and he answered kindly: – Hush…
and the grass was shining like a boar silver fang.<\/p>\nBeneath firs he was shouting urging them to the crest.
-Behold where it is his place to retire
the boar silver fang from the tales I possessed:
let\u2019s hit him at once with a strike fire arrow!…<\/p>\n– Mylord, is the Moon shimmering in a gush
said with spurn the servant with a laugh like a pang.
Yet he turned and he answered kindly: – Hush…
and the moon was shining like a boar silver fang.<\/p>\nAlas! while the pale stars on heaven all sang
As he bent over water while the sun set it must
appeared a gigantic wild boar and his fang
ripped him wildly through the red bloody dust.<\/p>\n-What strange beast attacks me and lets me for bleeding
and stops without mercy my boar silver\u2019s hunt?
What dark bird in moonlight is crying my pleading?
What dead leaf, unseen leaf is beating me blunt?…<\/p>\n– Mylord, the boar with the fangs like the silver
himself roaring took you under trees for the smash.
You can hear the bark of bloodhounds with a quiver…
Yet the Prince turned, and he answered kindly: – Hush…<\/p>\nBetter take the horn and ceaselessly blow it,
and blow \u2018till I’m dead to the heavenly plead…<\/p>\nThen the moon disappeared slowly from its moonlit
and the hunt horn was blowing, but too little indeed.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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3. Foamea de Unu<\/p>\n
Voi, numere-n delir, scrumite grupuri, cum pot sa va slavesc?
Iubire, tu -fii vantul rosu ce-a batut prin trupuri si, timp de-o clipa,-n carnea lor facu sa arda-ntregul: cel ce ca un umar de zeu luceste, care nu e nici absenta numarului, dar nici numar! invata-ma cum sa hranesc aici o pasare ce n-are timp sa zboare caci piere – pui – in propriul ei ou, o boare ce respira-n alta boare, un cantec care nu-i decat ecou; si, mai ales, aceste vagi rasfrangeri intr-o oglinda sparta, ca si cum oceanul ar scuipa pe tarmuri ingeri exact in patu-n care noi zacum.
Al cui nisip suntem?
Cel ce nu poate sa numere (de-a pururea fiind doar
Unu) vai! e numarat in toate fragmentele – ce-l neaga putrezind.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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The hunger for one<\/p>\n
You, numbers in delirium, ashen groups, how can I glorify you?
Love, you – be the red wind that blew through the bodies and, for a moment, in their flesh made the whole burn: he who shines like a god’s shoulder, who is neither the absence of number, nor number! teach me how to feed here a bird that has no time to fly because it perishes – chick – in its own egg, a breath that breathes into another, a song that is nothing but an echo; and, especially, these vague reflections in a broken mirror, as if the ocean were spitting angels on the shores right in the bed we were lying in.
Whose sand are we?
He who cannot count (always being only
One) alas! is counted in all the fragments – which denies it rotting.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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4. Amintirea poetului<\/p>\n
Zvelt, \u00eente\u0163ind sub asfalt o furtun\u0103
de sunete, vesel \u015fi-n grab\u0103 trecea
ca ploaia cu fluiere lungi, cu profilul
abia \u015flefuit de idei.<\/p>\n
Ochi pe sub fixe pleoape poroase,
cum numai Sibiul deschide, citeau
\u00een zodia lui, l\u0103crimau l\u00e2ng\u0103 Pe\u015ftii
cu gurile pline de m\u00e2l.<\/p>\n
O, \u00eens\u0103 ce este trecerea unui
poet, dac\u0103 nu sf\u00e2\u015fiere \u015fi vis
cu care suav-\u00eennoptatele Genii
\u00ee\u015fi satur\u0103 gravele corzi?<\/p>\n
Tare gelos e ad\u00e2ncul pe tot ce-a
cuprins \u00eentru sine; \u015fi numai c\u00e2nd, jos,
o mare iubire-\u015fi asum\u0103 t\u0103cerea,
se na\u015fte un c\u00e2ntec aici.<\/p>\n
Noi, oare noi f\u0103r\u0103 ginga\u015ful sprijin
al celui r\u0103pit, am mai fi c\u00e2nt\u0103re\u0163i?
Mu\u0163enia lui ne-nflore\u015fte pe limb\u0103;
gr\u0103ind, \u00eei r\u0103m\u00e2nem datori.<\/p>\n
Iat\u0103 \u2013 el trece, \u015fi-asfaltul \u00eencepe
sub t\u0103lpile noastre s\u0103 c\u00e2nte, uimit,
\u015fi astfel noi \u00een\u015fine, credem, c\u00e2nd preajma
ne judec\u0103 totu\u015fi poe\u0163i.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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The memory of the poet<\/p>\n
Slender, intensifying under the asphalt
a storm of sounds, merry and in a hurry, passed
like the rain with long whistles, with a profile
barely polished by ideas.<\/p>\n
Eyes under fixed porous eyelids,
as only Sibiu opens, read
in his zodiac, cried near the Pisces
with mouths full of mud.<\/p>\n
Oh, but what is the passage of a poet,
if not tear and dream
with which the gentle-dark Geniuses
saturate their solemn strings?<\/p>\n
Deeply jealous is the deep of all
that embraced within itself; and only when, below,
a great love assumes its silence,
a song is born here.<\/p>\n
Would we, without the tender support
of the kidnapped, still be singers?
His silence blossoms on our tongues.
speaking, we owe him.<\/p>\n
Look – he passes, and the asphalt begins
to sing beneath our feet, amazed,
and so, we ourselves, we believe, when the purlieu
however, is judging us poets.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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5. Exista<\/p>\n
exista
o multime de chipuri
in care n-am sa te pot pastra<\/p>\n
exista
milioane de cuvinte
ce-mi vor putrezi in ureche<\/p>\n
exista
o iarba
care se va da la o parte
ca tu sa poti creste
necontenit alta<\/p>\n
fii
zi de zi
binevenita!<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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There is<\/p>\n
there is
a lot of faces
I won’t be able to keep you in<\/p>\n
there is
millions of words
that will rot in my ear<\/p>\n
there is
a grass
that will sidestep
so that you can grow
incessantly another<\/p>\n
Be
every day
welcomed!<\/p>\n
traducere, M. M. Biela<\/blockquote>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
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