jueves, 24 de enero de 2013

cântec de iarnă

Eşti atât de frumoasă, iarna!
Câmpul întins pe spate, lângă orizont,
şi copacii opriţi, din fuga crivăţului…
Îmi tremură nările
şi nici o mireasmă,
şi nici o boare,
doar mirosul îndepărtat, de gheaţă,
al sorilor.
Ce limpezi sunt mâinile tale, iarna!
Şi nu trece nimeni
doar sorii albi se rotesc liniştit, idolatru
şi gândul creşte-n ceruri
sonorizând copacii
câte doi,
câte patru.

You are so beautiful in winter!
The field stretched on its back, near the horizon,
and the trees stopped running from the winter wind ...
My nostrils tremble
and no scent
and no breeze
only the distant, icy smell
of the suns.
How transparent your hands are in winter!
And no one passes -
only the white suns revolve in quiet worship.
and the thought spreads in circles
ringing the trees
in twos
in fours.

Nichita Stănescu

domingo, 20 de enero de 2013


Like the tree that
through its blossom
I too my love
sing your name
in tears
I sing on the hills my love
your name
and dying
like a tree
defeated by springs prayer

Lucian Avramescu

domingo, 13 de enero de 2013

you who never arrived

   a  J.
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

Rainer Maria Rilke

sábado, 5 de enero de 2013

jestem Julią

Soy Juliet
Tengo 23 años
Una vez toqué el amor
tuvo sabor amargo
de café negro
el ritmo del corazón
irritó mi cuerpo vivo
meció mis sentidos
se fue
Soy Juliet
en el balcón alto
grito vuelve
llamo vuelve
pinto los labios apretados
con el color de la sangre
no volvió
Soy Juliet
Tengo mil años
estoy viva -

Halina Poswiatowska

martes, 1 de enero de 2013

dejeuner du matin

Echó café En la taza Echó leche En la taza de café Echó azúcar En el café con leche Con la cucharilla Lo revolvió Bebió el café con leche Dejó la taza Sin hablarme Encendió un cigarrillo Hizo anillos De humo Volvió la ceniza En el cenicero Sin hablarme Sin mirarme Se puso de pie Se puso El sombrero Se puso El impermeable Porque llovía Y se marchó Bajo la lluvia Sin decir palabra Sin mirarme Y me cubrí La cara con las manos Y lloré.

Jacques Prévert