some of my favourite poems.

[pocket_pilgrim]

NOT written by me of course, but i translated them from romanian into english the best i could without losing meaning. the originals don't rhyme as well (i prefer this kind of poetry to rhyming one)





"the seventh elegy: the option to the real" by nichita stanescu


"i live in the name of leaves, i have veins,
i exchange green for yellow and
i let myself be perished by fall.
in the name of stones i live and i let myself
cubically trodden on roads,
roamed by swift cars.
i live in the name of apples and i have
six seeds spit through the teeth
of the young girl whose thoughts are chasing
after lazy dances of ebony.
in the name of bricks i live,
with mortar bracelets stuck
on each hand, as i embrace
a possible yolk of existence.
i shall never be sacred. much,
too much have i got the imagination
of other concrete forms.
and i have no time because of this
to reflect
upon my own life.
here i am. i live in the name of horses.
i neigh. i jump over cut down trees.
i live in the name of birds,
but even moreso in the name of flight.
i believe i have wings, but they
cannot be seen. all in the name of flight.
all,
in order to lean what is
on what will be.

i reach out with a hand, that instead of fingers
has five hands,
that instead of fingers
have five hands, that
instead of fingers
have five hands.

all of this to embrace,
detailed, everything,
to feel the unborn sights
and scratch them
until they drip blood,
with a presence."







“unwords” by nichita stanescu


"he reached out towards me with a leaf like a hand with fingers
i reached out towards him with a hand like a leaf with dents
he reached out towards me with a branch like an arm
i reached out towards him with the arm like a branch.
he bent towards me the trunk
like a shoulder.
i bent towards him the shoulder
like a nodulous trunk.
i could hear the kindling of his sap beating
like blood.
he could hear the decelerating of my blood mounting like sap.
i passed him through
he passed through me
i remained a solitary tree
he
a solitary me."










“lesson about the cube” by nichita stanescu


"you take a slab of stone
and carve it with a chisel of blood,
polish it with the eye of Homer,
scrape it with rays
until the cube turns out perfect.
after that, the cube is to be kissed countless times
with your mouth, with the mouth of others
and especially with the mouth of the infanta.
after that you take a hammer
and suddenly you smash a corner of the cube.
everyone, but absolutely everyone will say:
-what a perfect cube this would have been
had it not had one of his corners smashed!"







"poem" by nichita stanescu


"tell me, if i were to one day catch you
and kiss the sole of your foot,
would you not be walking lamely for a while after that,
afraid that you might crush my kiss?..."