Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Winter in Romania -White Thoughts


Black snow was falling. The tree line  shone when I turned to see - 



Then, a thick silence descends,  and my every gesture  leaves a comet tail in the heavens.  



And I hear evey glance I cast  as it echoes against  some tree.   



How transparent your hands are in winter! 



My nostrils tremble  and no scent  and no breeze 




...only the distant, icy smell  of the suns.   



And no one passes - 


 He offered me a branch like an arm.



I passed through him. He passed through me. I remained a solitary tree.   



I could hear his sap quicken, beating  like blood. He could hear my blood slacken like rising sap. 


The field stretched on its back, near the horizon, 


Full of ice


and the trees stopped running from the winter wind ... 


Stuck in ice...


and the thought spreads in circles 


ringing the trees...


....and the Sea.






...Then we met more often. 
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora. 
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth. 
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight. 
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I missed you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things. 

N. Stanescu /From the book "Bas-Relief with Heroes"

english translation by Thomas Carlson and Vasile Poenaru. 




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