Stairway to sky*

by Marin Sorescu

A spider wire
Hangs from the ceiling.
Right above my bed.

Every day I observe it
Coming lower.
I tell myself:
– I am being sent
A stairway to sky.
It is being thrown from above.

Although I lost so much weight,
I am only the ghost of the man I once was,
I believe that my body
Is yet too heavy
For this delicate stairway.

– My soul, you go first.
Slowly, slowly.

* Marin Sorescu’s last poem


by Bartolomeu Anania

Lord, hold out Your stole
on my face of clay,
to whiten with Your chalk
my fool and ugly soul,
when sunset spins its thread
over a small quiet thought.

Our neighbors will hear us if I speak,
and judgment is a sin,
I stand on a corner, bent,
I write the burden of my guilt,
while You, at dinner time
whisper You’ve forgiven me.

Roosted on a new hearth
we will march towards a new song,
I, a handful of dust,
You, light in a dew drop,
we will work at the book,
You – three, I – one word.

And wearing Your sandals
You will walk on stellar path,
in the letters’ border,
I will stop You in Your way,
and in the miracle of Your will
I will drink You from the chalice.

In the great passing

by Lucian Blaga

The sun in the meridian holds the balance of the day.
The sky gives itself to the waters below.
With kind eyes the passing animals
look without fear at their shadow in the riverbed.
Arbours deeply arch
over an entire story.

Nothing wants to be different that it is.
My blood alone cries in the forests
after its distant childhood,
like an old deer
calling its roe lost in death.

Maybe she perished under the cliffs.
Maybe she sank in the ground.
I’m waiting in vain for news,
only the caves resound,
rivers want to go deep.

Unanswered blood,
oh, if it were silence, how well we could hear
the roe stepping through death.

Moving on I falter on the road –
and, like a murderer which wimples
the defeated mouth,
I cover with my fist all the springs,
so they would be forever silenced,

Too late

by Tudor Gheorghe

Lord I fear it’s been a long while
Since I’ve arrive in the middle and I do not know
What am I? Question or answer?
Am I dead or still alive?

Strange sounds touch me
Leaving blood-colored traces on me,
The snow that falls on me
It comes too late, it comes too late…

Where did I go wrong and what word
Wanders astray from fearing me?
And for what longing was I grave
And for what sun was I sunset?

Show me the way and I will go
Without a single glance behind,
But give me one tear of cuckoo
On a tiny clover leaf

To take as candle for the road
To keep me company in night,
When the small knot will hang with smoke
And it will softly sing a song.

Strange sounds touch me
Leaving bloody traces on me,
The snow that falls on me
It comes too late, it comes too late…

Lord I fear it’s been a long while
Since I’ve arrive in the middle and I do not know
What am I? Question or answer?
Am I dead or still alive?

The Forgivings

by Ducu Bertzi


You will forgive me every night
And I will lie to you everyday
And as long as your heart will endure
The more I will do you wrong, the more I will love you.

Forgive me for everything that is happening to me,
That my eyes sometimes are cloudless, sometimes green,
That I carry mud or snow on my temple,
You will forgive, otherwise you will lose me.
I see the world through powerful lenses
And I see gardens with great lights of fire,
Under my hand the Earth is dying already
And in my ears I have the Rock continent.


You will forgive me because I can’t live without you
And if you can’t and if you can’t
For me, losing you is better,
Me, the saddest, most free man of them all.
You will forgive me for my weakness
For passing the exams in a lightning
You will forgive me, my kind one, for everything,
I am your common immortal.


And when your heart will break one day
And you cannot forgive me anymore
I will go in the front line
And surrender myself to foreign weapons
And since death washes everything
Making them noble, in fiction,
You will bend over my death
And you will forgive me forever.


Arise, arise, arise*

by Doina and Ion Aldea Teodorovici

I love to sing of you
Writing coming from the stars,
I kiss
Your every letter
Like I kiss my mother’s eyes.

Rejoice, Latin writing
For you didn’t come as a stranger
On the sour-sweet valley,
You came in your own country,
You came to your brothers.


Arise, arise, arise
Like green wheat,
Like the tear
Arise, arise, arise
And don’t leave again
My love.

Purple apples on the branch,
Valleys filled with golden wheat.
We were so poor
Without you,
Our beloved writing.


* Doina and Ion Aldea Teodorovici (they died together in October 30, 1992 in a “car accident”) are two musicians from Republic Moldova, and they sing about the Romanian language, which is of the Latin family, and is the official country’s language (since Republic Moldova is Romanian land). Republic Moldova was under Russian occupation, so they were forced to speak Russian and use the Russian alphabet. They were pro-union between Republic Moldova and Romania, after the fall of communism and they supported this cause in their music, through concerts in both countries.

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.