To Galateea

by Nichita Stanescu

I know all your moments, all your movements, all your perfumes,
and your shadow, and your silences, and your breast
their tremble, and their color,
and your pace, and your melancholy, and your brows,
and your blouse, and your ring, and the second,
and I can no longer wait, and I drop my knee in the stones
and I beseech you,
give birth to me.

I know all that is away from you,
so far away that there is no more near –
the after-noon, the after-horizon, the beyond-the-sea…
and all that is beyond them,
and so distant, it no longer has a name.
That is why I bend my knee, and I lay it
on the stones’ knee, humming it.
And I beseech you,
give birth to me.

I know all you never know, from inside of you.
The heart beat following the heart beat that you hear,
the end of the word, whose first sillable you speak,
the trees – wooden shades of your veins,
the rivers – moving shades of your blood,
and the stones, the stones – stone shades of my knee,
which I bend in front of you and I beseech you,
give birth to me. Give birth to me.

The Light

by Lucian Blaga

The light that I feel
invading my chest when I see you,
is it not a spark of the light
created in the first day,
from that deeply thirsty for life light?

The nothingness lay in agony
when it floated alone in the dark
and the Incomprehensible One gave a sign
“Let there be light!”

The moment became
a sea
and a mad blizzard of light:
a thirst for sin, adventure, longing, desire,
a thirst for world and sun.

But where did the dazzling
light from that time dissapear – who knows?

The light that I feel invading
my chest – oh, you, wonderful one,
it may be as the last speck
from the light created in the first day.

The most beautiful day

by Alexandru Andries

A way of prolonging the most beautiful day
Would be if you could lie to me.
We’d set the time back, we’d boil two soft eggs,
You’d tell me that in the house there’s no one else.

Silence would help you get rid of my question,
Of all the questions, the heaviest.
When the evening would turn into gray, you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself.
You’d speak on the phone from the bathroom.
With a dark voice, with a gloomy air,
With anything, just to see me gone.
And then I ask you: do you remember the most beautiful day?
It was in the beginning, when you couldn’t lie to me at all.

It is spring, it’s spring again!

by Tudor Gheorghe

From their blind sleep, of dark night
From far away, away from beauty
The orchards are returning home
With dresses full of flowers, long.

Refrain:

It is spring, it’s spring again!
On every margin of each river,
The fingers of our ancestors come out
In snowdrops, lilies and sweet violets.

You can feel again the scent of plain
And the sun is warming every flower,
In the song of skylark high
Harvests coming out to sunny weather.

Refrain

In sparrows now abounding every day,
The forests full of cuckoos now invading,
The birds are fighting in the beauty of their songs
And polish every voice to give more praise.

Refrain

Our children have grown teeth

song by Tudor Gheorghe (Au facut copiii nostri dinti)

For what saints, and for what Gods
Spill the lambs their blood in knives?
For what flowers of evergreen
The cuckoos sing in rusty voice?
For what flowers of evergreen
The cuckoos sing in rusty voice?

Refrain:

Our children have grown teeth
They bite their parents and grandparents,
They bite the air, they bite the land,
They bite the dead ones in the ground.

For what late mornings
Falls the mist enfolding me?
What quarter of violaceous tear
Tricks the longing, killing him?
What quarter of violaceous tear
Tricks the longing, killing him?

Refrain

No saint is dropping tears,
And paint is washed from the icons.
The drought rules the land,
And lizards think they are iguanas.
The drought rules the land,
And lizards think they are iguanas.

Refrain

In the sweet classic style

by Nichita Stanescu

Your pace of young lady
descends from a boulder.
Your pace of young lady
from a pale green leaf.

Your pace of young lady
from an eventide evening.
Your pace of young lady
from a bitter bird.

For a second, for a second
I have seen it in a ripple.
She was wearing a red knot,
and my heart she slowly sunk.

Please abide more with your pace,
on my drum-head,
as if damned and demigod,
for I’m feeling really bad.

I am lying long and speak
Young lady, there’s nothing more
underneath the midget sun,
mosaic and golden sun.

The pace goes and here I stand.

The golden age of love

by Nichita Stanescu

My hands are in love,
and, oh, my mouth loves,
and look, I realize
objects are so close to me
that I can barely walk between them
without hurting myself.

This is a sweet feeling,
of waking up, of dreaming,
and here I am without sleeping.
I can see the ivory gods truly,
I take them in my hands, and
I screw them, laughing, in the moon,
like sculpted handles,
as if the ship helm wheels
must have been adorned in the old times.

Jupiter is yellow, and
the wonderful Hera is silvery.
I strike the wheel with a rock and it budges.
There is a dance, loved one, of feelings,
deities of air, between the two of us.
And I, with my soul’s sails
rotund with longing,
I look for you everywhere, and objects come
closer and closer,
and clasp my chest and ache me.