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Acasă arrow Domenii arrow Traduceri arrow Versuri de Elena Cărăușan (Traducere in engleza de Ana Olos), nr. 5(180), mai 2018
Versuri de Elena Cărăușan (Traducere in engleza de Ana Olos), nr. 5(180), mai 2018 Print
Mai 29, 2018 at 11:00 PM

Elena CĂRĂUȘAN

 

Sand Blood

 

Like a crystal of sand

is the heart’s orderly-jerky beat.

The blood – miraculous embryo,

waits obediently to pass

through the steps, spiral of fate.

 

The bending valve clay-face border

opens, closes,

calls, recalls,

expels, floods

crane’s wings in front of death.

 

Had my sand also been a mountain

before becoming simply a vibration,

then, sneaking into time’s pocket,

clad in white down

with the shiver of passage on its forehead,

crystal of gravitation,

so that I can also hold the instant on my palm,

look at it , fearful eye,

to fondle it, listen to it in the metronome?

a cold blink,

and it’s already gone.

 

And my blood had been a sea

then, they decided to embody it in me,

in constant rhythm it throbs its joy

but it doesn’t know that the road is limited in vigor:

opens, closes,

calls, recalls

expels, floods,

has killed its immortality.

 

 

***

 

Red Cells, White Cells

 

My body is weakened by questions

The warm and tender blood offers itself

as nurture to the greedy, rebel cells

which bite the sand of the sand-glass,

songs, jumps, games and children’s laughter

make fluid the blood that is apologizing to me.

 

Air clad in the flickers of light.

Lying on the wet ground,

I hear a warm rustle,

grass with freshly metabolized chlorophyll,

the green blade timidly bends its head,

sky decorated with blooming cherry trees.

 

Two handfuls of life with beautifully colored feathers

insistent talk in the language with trills

the yellowish breast like the wheat ear

wings of azure-streaked darkness,

staccato harmonies embroidered in syncopes.

 

Hazy shadows are fretting around me,

syllables in echoes embrace me:

     it’s not enough, not now,

     continue to look into yourself

     you don’t even know who you are.

 

A glass cross bars my way.

 

Deep blue painted over with cherry blooms

leaves with fresh green...

silence that hurts,

only my blood frets

red spheres, white spheres

choked by murderous cells.

 

 

 

 

My Time

 

My expectancies spent between

sacred time (succession in eternity)

and the time that my body breathes

(bare-feet child made to run on paths with brambles).

Love stories, winged hopes

unborn child, suffocated in disappointment

then, the rest of forgetting

when the clock strikes irregularly each hair turned gray.

 

While it’s light

the hours are pleated with sky and earth

in daytime the sky flows towards us

and during the night the earth heaves.

 

It’s my waist, terribly fragile

thickened stratum, so strange to me,

it’s the center of stifled vibrations

a balance between the ugly and the beautiful

the fret of the cursed clad in the praised

the ignorant’s doubt whether to kiss the icon

 

I stringed my hours on a high cross

to see better

the darkness in my light and the light in the night,

to caress the sky for an instant

as if a womb of the darkness

as if an eye of the light.

 

 

***

 

You are Alone

 

You are alone. The sky sees you.

The forest rustles more tenderly when you pass through it,

the spring cools you,

the water’s music soothes

the burning heat of your troubled unutterance,

the butterflies flutter their flight

around your forehead and eyes,

the cuckoo is heard in the song of seclusion as well,

the flowers shake off their dew

they direct their proud petals to you

the crowd of people has been left far behind.

The earth sees you, feels you

and silently awaits you.

 

***

 

Lying on Stones

 

Do you still know me?

I had known you from thoughts,

before meeting you,

then, on a fine day,

we met on the street from my memories,

you had the eyes of youth

and I, a child without grandparents,

was indulging with cherries hanging from my ears:

the mirror of the beating blood.

It was spring and I was happy to regard you:

a gratification and an imagined ludic dance

like a reward.

 

Another spring on a cool terrace

the burn of desires from restless nights

I soothed it with a coffee

sipped close to you,

each sip being a hope from my dreams.

 

How many springs, since then,

have I been sitting alone on the same terrace

consoling myself with the thought that

these had happened

once, a very long time ago?

 

It’s late autumn,

the forest shows its sadness in its branches.

I am lying on large and round

stones,

I regard them with passion,

with envy,

for I can’t be either their sister or their daughter,

they ooze out their love in solitary mountains,

they aren’t told by the priest that there comes

an ultimate confession,

an ultimate instance,

then, an ultimate spark.

 

 

***

 

 

If

 

At day’s crossing with night

if, to be forgiven, you’d have kissed me on my eyes.

 

At the rooster’s first call,

when the the last star disappears in the light,

if you embraced me whole,

I wouldn’t need time,

the lived instant

between two heartbeats,

I’d smile it on my lips

I’d call it a queen

and the rest of the instances would be its slaves.

 

 

Din volumul Sânge de nisip. Poeme (Prefață de Ion Mureșan,

Editura Școala Ardeleană, Cluj-Napoca, 2016)

 

Traducere din română de Ana OLOS

 

 

 

 


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