de Tristan Tzara
Retrato de Tristan Tzara por Robert Delaunay 1923
Y sentía tu alma pulcra y triste
como sientes la luna que se desliza calladamente
detrás de los visillos corridos.
Y sentía tu alma pobre y encogida,
como un mendigo, con la mano tendida delante de la puerta,
sin atreverse a llamar y entrar,
y sentía tu alma frágil y humilde
comounalágrima vacilando en el borde de los párpados,
y sentía tu alma ceñida y húmeda por el dolor
como un pañuelo en la mano en el cual gotean lágrimas,
y hoy, cuando mi alma quiere perderse en la noche,
solamente tu recuerdo lo detiene
con invisibles dedos de fantasma
Versión de Darie Novácenau
Tristan Tzara (nacido Samuel Rosenstock, 1896 –1963, el fundador del Dadaismo)
de Paul Celan
Estar a la sombra
de la llaga en el aire.
No-estar-por-nadie-ni-por-nada.
Incógnito,
solamente
por ti.
Con todo lo que cabe dentro,
sin lenguaje
también. Solamente
Versión de Felipe Boso los Dioses
entienden
las cosas humildes...
Paul Celan (nacido Paul Antschel 1920 - 1970)
de Paul Celan
No obres de antemano,
no envíes nada fuera,
mantente
dentro:
transfundido de nada,
libre de cualquier
plegaria,
sutilmente acordado según
la pre-inscripción
insuperable,
yo te acojo
en lugar de toda
paz.
Versión de José Ángel Valente
de Tudor Arghezi
Hazle, Dios mío, una cabaña al sol,
en un rincón de la vieja campiña,
no debe ser más alta que una flor
que sea del tamaño de una oreja.
Hazle una charca de agua bajo el sol,
y de un palo de fósforo una nave
para que en su azufrada cabecita
ella pueda tocar el infinito.
Dále una mariposa delicada
y una rana tallada en esmeralda
y, Dios mío, promete a su cabaña
algún calor en el bosque de absintio.
Dále también., Dios mío, los colores
y el papel de la China necesario
para que borroneando en él, Mitzoura,
diseñe los perfiles de tu gloria.(.)
Versión de Pablo Neruda
Ioan Es.Pop
Soy un hombre solo, no hay ningún orgullo en esto, sólo hay
Hordas de infelices que deambulan y buscan
A otros infelices – pero entre infelices e infelices
Hay grandes escalones de infelicidades
Algunos tienen mucho dinero, otros tienen esperanzas fútiles –
no hay sólo una clase de infelices.
Y cuando, sin embargo, se unen,
Los infelices hacen revoluciones, y luego
Se les quita todo.
Ioan Es. Pop
Eran Eisen
Despertando
Cuando partí
Estabas durmiendo
Cuando paseaba
Estabas soñando
Cuando volví a casa
Te despertaste
Dentro de mí.
San Francisco
Sentado
Furioso
En San Francisco
10 horas más
Hasta poder tocarte
Pasión
Torcer
Aplastar
Romper
Morder
Controlar
Tú das
Mensajes
Madrugada…
Casi mediodía
Cuatro mensajes
Ninguno de ti
Lo sé
Amor
Las 3 de la madrugada
En mi cama
La ventana está abierta
Escucho tus pasos
En un ritmo
Que sólo tú puedes crear
El torcer de la llave
Te acercas
Me besas
Los susurros esperan
Desnudándote…
Waking up
When I've left
You were sleeping
When I walked
You were dreaming
When I came home
You woke up
Inside me
San Francisco
Sitting
Angry
In San Francisco
Ten hours
From touching
You
Passion
To turn
To crush
To torn
To bite
To control
You give
Messages
Morning…
Almost noon,
Four messages
None from you
I know it
Love
Three o’clock, night
In my bed
The window is open
Hearing your steps
In a rhythm
Only you create
The key turns
You come close
Kisses me
Whispers wait
Undressing…
The Doormen
They open
They close
They invite
They smile
They keep
Day and night
The secrets!
Eran Eisen
de Andra Rotaru
yo soy una pierna artificial
y me escondo
así como no lo hice hasta ahora
es difícil cambiarme el nombre
después de haber sido celebrada
como el día nacional
pero permaneceré con todas las denominaciones,
así como me quedo con la herencia
de los huesos torcidos,
cargados
en mis ojos negros
raramente se ve algo
*
goteo el mural fresco de las calles
lo pego
en los establos
donde la gente libre quiere ver
el este y el oeste
en el mismo cuarto
busco hasta el último tatarabuelo,
los muertos arañados
en una historia que comienza conmigo
encuadro a cada persona
entre marcas de madera,
le digo que se quede allá,
inmóvil,
para vivir
de Andra Rotaru
tengo raíces que comienzan
en el vientre de mi madre,
mezcla de diosas maternales
y del cuerpo de una mujer pagada
para amamantar
soy una mestiza con uvas
desvanecidas en cuadros pintados
en un espacio vegetal,
pero las uvas no me dan todo,
necesito también una lozanía en mis venas
para saborearla
*
fueron otros niños
otras niñas
con mis gérmenes
allá donde las mujeres viven con mujeres
yo tengo un padre para mí y mis hermanas.
él apaga la luz
como en un abismo donde resbalo
y recuerdo a la generación con acento extraño,
cuya ascendencia
no tengo permiso a remedar
soy una mezcla de recuerdos
que comparto en mi idioma
*
–¿cómo es nacer el mismo día que tu país,
ser su primer ciudadano?
–diría que maravilloso
en una época tan nueva
de la historia de los principios
esa era fotográfica de todas las cosas
ocurridas en el mundo antes de mi nacimiento
–¿y vas a pintar, los sucesos?, ¿el instante
del nacimiento?, ¿el tiempo convertido?
–voy a cambiar el pretérito
con un collage de tiempos pintados
necesito sólo un par de años
para marcar el ritmo
con las piernas artificiales de la gente
que yo rasguño
en la memoria
encuadre por encuadre
tengo ojos que han dejado de crecer,
me gustan los animales y los cielos
pintados de colores alegres,
mi mundo es
un globo en el cual me ahogo
con toda la gente
*
he recibido motes
después de mi nacimiento
en un crucigrama
que me deformó por dentro
de Andra Rotaru
una piel fina de simio
rodea las arterias de mi cuello
y mis sentidos se calientan
por este gesto tierno
somos mujeres una con la otra,
el abrazo suave toca nuestros cuerpos,
se olvidan las cadenas de la sumisión
del animal por el hombre
y no tengo razones para que se arrodille
estamos sentadas y abrazadas,
tengo dentro de mí un baile
de colores y vegetaciones frescas
he penetrado en el alma de la selva,
refugio de mi cuerpo que mira
hacia atrás
de Lucian Blaga
Noite inteira. Bailam estelas na relva.
Retiram-se no bosque e nas grutas as sendas,
o Capricórnio se cala.
Mochos pardos se pousam como urnas nos abetos.
Na obscuridade sem testemunhas
tranquilizam-se as aves, o sangue, o país
e as aventuras nas quais sempre se recai.
Nas brisas permanece uma alma
sem hoje,
sem ontem.
Com surdos rumores entre as árvores
erguem-se séculos ardentes.
Em sono o meu sangue, igual a uma onda,
regressa de mim
para trás, em meus pais.
Tradução de Micaela Ghitescu, "Mirabila samanta", ed. Minerva, Bucharest, 1981
de Bianca Marcovici
caem as folhas
falta de concorrência, ninguém
tem a palma estendida
luzes e sombras, o século
as bétulas vigiando o pôr-do-sol.
caem folhas, caem homens
de repente vê-los partindo
e só tu te quedas atrás
oh, só o instante presente
bate na nossa porta:
abro?
grito?
o guardiã já chegou
serás tu a carroça que puxará os instantes?
só a pálpebra se fecha bruscamente.
a infinita dor confessa-se.
(excerpt)
by Tristan Tzara
You do not know what is real and unreal.
You think you see a bandit and you fire
and they tell you afterwards that it was a soldier.
That’s how it was with me...
from Anthology of Contemporary Romanian Poetry,
ed. by Roy MacGregor-Hastie
(London, 1969)
excerpt
by TRISTAN TZARA
Mother,
I weep all the time as if it were the end,
because the road is hard
and keeps calling.
Our knees are sore
and all the rest.
The wind scratches our eyes like nails,
exploding like grenades in our ears.
Here the troop halted at midday
as a river floods and spreads out over the
fields.
The earth is burnt and there is a great sadness
burning like sin on the breast of a young
girl.
The bread does nothing for our thirst.
Anthology of Contemporary Romanian Poetry,
ed. by Roy MacGregor-Hastie
(London, 1969)
by Nichita Stanescu
As though the superior knife edge
had cut my clouds from the mountain tops
does my immense and headless body hurl itself about,
leaving its fugitive head in the sky.
It cannot die though it no longer knows
what its own life meant, in ages past.
The eye above observes
the body below, its struggling From
the open throat
a flock of green and chirping birds wells up The
hand thrusts its claws
into the mirage The
eye, suspended, watches
the desperate struggle (.)
English translation by Thomas Carlson and Vasile Poenaru.
By Mihai Eminescu
Grafica: George Roca
excerpts
English version by Corneliu M. Popescu
Once on a time, as poets sing
High tales with fancy laden,
Born of a very noble king
There lived a wondrous maiden.
An only child, her kinsfolk boon,
So fair, imagination faints ;
As though amidst the stars the moon,
Or Mary amidst the saints.
From ’neath the castle’s dark retreat,
Her silent way she wended
Each evening to the window-seat
Where Lucifer attended.
And secretly, with never fail,
She watched his double race,
Where vessels drew their pathless trail
Across the ocean’s face.
And as intent she drank his light,
Desire was quickly there ;
While he who saw her every night
Soon fell in love with her. (...)
Until one night with shower of rays
He slips into her room,
As though a strange and silver haze
Did round about her loom.
And when at last the child to rest
Upon her sofa lies,
He jays her arms across her breast
And closes her soft eyes.
While where his ray on mirror lands
And is upon her couch redrifted,
It falls upon her throat and hands
And on her face uplifted.
The Androgynous Angel, 1971
A smile is on her lips it seems ;
He in the mirror trembles,
For smooth his ray glides midst her dreams
And round her soul assembles.
And while she is in slumber gone
She murmurs through her sighs :
"Come down to me beloved one,
Fair prince of the clear skies.
Come down, good Lucifer and kind ,
O lord of my aspire,
And flood my chamber and my mind
With your sweetest fire !"
And Lucifer beams still more bright
To hear her word’s emotion ;
Then like a comet in its flight
Dives down into the ocean.
And where his bolt is lost to view
The sea in whirlpool surges,
Till out of the unfathomed blue
A handsome youth emerges,
Who, leaping off the fretful wave,
Lightly through her casement passes ;
And in his hand he holds a stave
Crowned with a wreath of grasses.
A prince indeed of royal stock,
With heavy hanging golden hair ;
A purple winding-sheet his smock,
Hung round his shoulders bare.
A starry glow shines from his eyes,
His cheeks are deathly white ;
A lifeless thing in living guise,
A youth born of the night.
"Down from the spheres do I come
Though dreadful the commotion,
My father is the vaulted dome,
My mother is the ocean.
For I have left my realm to keep
Obedience to your command ;
Born of the zenith and the deep
Before you here I stand.
O come, fair child of royal birth,
Cast this your world aside,
For Lucifer has flown to earth
To claim you as his bride.
And you will live till time is done
In castles built of sky,
And all the fish will be your own,
And all the birds that fly."
"O, beautiful you are, good Sire,
As but an angel prince could be,
But to the course that you desire
I never shall agree.
Strange, as your voice and vesture
show,
I live while you are dead;
Your eyes gleam with an icy glow
Which fills my soul with dread." (.)
Lucifer set out and o’er
The sky his wings extended,
And million years flew past before
As many moments ended.
A sky of stars above his way,
A sky of stars below;
As lightning flash midst them astray
In one continuous flow.
Till round his primal chaos hurled
When out of causeless night
The first, up laming dawn unfurled
Its miracle of light.
Still further flew he ere the start
Of things of form devoid,
Spurred by the yearning of his heart,
Far back into the void.
Yet where he reach’s is not the bourn
Nor yet where eye can see;
Beyond where struggling time was torn
out of eternity.
Around him there was naught.. And still,
Strange yearning there was yet,
A yearning that all space did fill,
As when the blind forget.
"O, Father God, this knot untie
Of my celestial birth,
And praised you will be on high
And on the rolling earth.
The price you ask is little count,
Give fate another course,
For you are of fair life the fount
And of calm death the source.
Take back this halo from my head,
Take back my starry lour,
And give to me, o God, instead
Of human love one hour.
Out of the chaos was I wrought,
In chaos would I be dispersed,
Out of the empty darkness brought,
For darkness do I thirst..."
"Hyperion, o child divine,
Don’t thus your state disclaim,
Nor ask for miracle, nor sign
That has nor sense nor name.
You wish to be of man a son,
To be a star you scorn;
But men quick perish every one,
And men each day are born.
Yet stars burn on with even glow,
And it is fate’s intending
That they nor time, nor place shall know,
Unfettered and unending.
Out of eternal yesterday
Into tomorrow’s grave,
Even the sun will pass way
That other sun’s shall lave;
The sun that every morn does rise
At last it’s spirit gives;
For each thing lives because it dies,
And dies because it lives.
But you, Hyperion, never wane,
Night’s miracle sublime,
But in the sky your place retain,
The wonder of all time.
So what strange fancy holds your mind ?
What dreaming thus belates you ?
Return to earth and there you’ll find
The awakening that awaits you."
Hyperion did straightway go
To where through ages gone
His gleam upon the earth below
Nightly he had shone.
And it was evening when he came,
Night’s darkness slow assembled,
And rose the moon a frozen flame
That in the water trembled,
And filled the forest’s twilight clime
With a silver starry mist,
Where ’neath a tall and spreading lime
Two fair-haired children kissed.
"O, let me lay in lover’s wise
My head upon your breast,
Beneath the wonder of your eyes,
In soft and fragrant rest.
In mystery’s enchanted light
Pervade me with your charm,
And flood my soul through passion’s night
With time’s eternal calm.
O, quench my longing’s eager thirst,
My aching doubts o’ercast,
For you to me are love the first
And of my dreams the last."
Hyperion gazed down and knew
The fire their souls possessed;
For scarce the boy her nearer drew,
She clasped him to her breast.
A rain of petals in the air
That softly did enfold
Two fervent children strangely fair,
With locks of plated gold.
She, lost in love’s enraptured flight
To heaven turned her eyes,
Saw Lucifer’s down shining light
And whispered through her sighs:
"Come down, good Lucifer and kind,
O lord of my aspire,
And fill the forest and my mind
With your sweetest fire!"
And Lucifer, alone in space,
Her tender summons heard,
A planet o’er the ocean’s face
That trembled at her word,
But did not plunge as’n former day,
And in his heart did cry:
"O, what care you, fair face of clay,
If it be he or I?
Still earth shall only earth remain,
Let luck its course unfold,
And I in my own kingdom reign
Immutable and cold."
By Eugen Evu
At the threshold between light and magic
I embrace in cosmic clearing a drop
Of the dew of Heaven. Sighs
A strange longing - dream into death - its threshold
I am searching for you
Under the golden darkness - alive Flute
And Psalm
In which to bury my face.
“Mon métier et mon art
C’est vivre” ?
By Eugen Evu
He determines you
By the game of conflicts
He knows what you learn
He works at the filters
Of dreams
He separates nothingness from real
He knows when he will escape
He, a prisoner only to himself,
Above good and evil,
Of his other alter ego
The sharp top of the Trinity
He cannot be distroyed
Your friend into death
Your invisible twin
Your inner biologist
The sacred seven of the chakra
He is the law
By Eugen Evu
Riding deep fears
Death, you cannot reach us
Lord, the little eternity,
And patience in the graveyards
Of millennia into millennia
The wind of the Vespers knows it.
Or Death whom are you laughing at?
That we dream seeing through you
And through a jump onto the other side
We are afforesting onto a book
You are about to read, you are about to snow
Unfortunate girl, do you still believe in stories…
Can you see? We are, you are not.
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