Mar 23, 2012

Iubirea fizică frumoasă e o profanare. E nevoia amară de a zdrobi, de a răzbi într-o îmbrăţişare, odaată cu trupul frământat, şi sufletul, prizonier suav în el, în clipele acelea.
Beautiful physical love is a profanation. It's the bitter need to crush, to defeat in an embrace, along with the kneaded body, the soul also, gentle prisoner in it, in those moments.

Să te consideri spectator indulgent şi amuzat al lumii acesteia plină de infamie şi de prostie e să faci parte din ea, şi să beneficiezi de infamiile ei, având aerul că-i eşti deasupra.
Considering yourself an indulgent spectator of this world full of infamy and stupidity is being part of it and benefiting of its infamies, having the impression that you're above it.

Am sărutat-o chiar pe această femeie care nu mai era a mea, era a morţii şi am privit-o cu indiferenţa cu care priveşti un tablou.
I kissed this woman that wasn't mine anymore, it was of the death and I looked at her with the indifference with which you look at a painting.

Cei care se iubesc au drept de viaţă şi de moarte unul asupra celuilalt.
The ones that love each other have a right of life and death on the other.

Dragostea e frumoasă tocmai pentru că nu cunoaşte nici o silnicie. E o preferinţă sinceră. Nu poţi să-mi impui să te iubesc cu sila.
Love is beautiful just because it doesn't know any constrains. It's a sincere preference. You can't constrain me to love you.

Fiecare credem că femeia care ne iubeşte are, păstrate pentru noi, anumite gesturi de mângâiere şi frumuseţe, gesturi cărora noi le dăm un anume înţeles şi e o suferinţă crâncenă să vedem că le are şi pentru altul.
Each of us believes that the woman we love has, kept for us, certain gesture of caress and beauty, gestures to which we give a certain meaning and it's a fierce suffering seeing that she also has them for another man.
Mă cuprindea o nesfârşită tristeţe văzând că nici femeia asta, pe care o credeam aproape sulfet din sufletul meu, nu înţelegea că poţi să lupţi cu îndârjire şi fără cruţare pentru triumful unei idei, dar în acelaşi timp să-ţi fie silă să te frămânţi pentru o sumă, fie ea oricât de mare.
I was overwhelmed by an endless sadness seeing that neither this woman, which I thought was almost soul of my soul, didn't understand that you can fight vigorously and mercilessly for the triumph of an idea, but at the same time loathe troubling for a sum, no matter how big it is.

Dacă vrei să cunoşti liniştit frumuseţea unei femei, trebuie neapărat să o faci să sufere; numai suferinta o înfrumuseţează, aşa cum numai când simt umbra morţii cântă sublim lebedele.
If you want to peacefully understand the beauty of a woman, you  must make her suffer; only suffering makes her beautiful, just like only when they feel the shadow of death do swans sing sublimely.

Negreşit, oamenii sunt şi buni şi răi, dar e necesar să se precizeze în ce împrejurări. Trei nule puse înaintea cifrei una sau după ea, nu înseamnă acelaşi lucru.
Surely, people are both good and bad, but it is necessary to be specified in what context. Three zeros that are put before one or behind it don't mean the same thing.

O femeie îşi dă sufletul şi pe urmă şi-l reia intact. Şi de ce nu? Are dreptul să ia înapoi exact cât a dat.
A woman gives her soul and then takes it back intact. And why not? She has the right to take back exactly what she gave.

Wishes

Love, a young lioness
jumped into my face.
She watched me with strain
long time ago.
She stuck her white fangs in my face,
the lioness bit me, today, of my face.

And suddenly around me, nature
turned into a circle, rolling,
sometimes larger, sometimes closer,
like a gathering of waters.
And the look sprung up,
rainbow cut in two,
and the hearing met it
right next to the skylarks.

I took my hand to my eyebrow,
to my temple and chin,
but the hand doesn't know them anymore.
And it slides unknowingly
on a shining desert,
over which passes lazily
a copper lioness
with cunning moves,
one more time,
and one more time...

Wishes

Your hair is fading because of the sun,
my queen of black and salt.

The shore broke away from the sea and followed you
like a shadow, like an unarmed snake.

Ghosts of the summer in decay pass,
the ships of my marine soul.

And my life is lightening,
under your green eye at afternoon,
grey like the earth at dusk.
Alas, I run and jump and pour.

Give me one more minute.
Gibe me one more second.
Give me one more leaf, a grain of sand.
Give me one more breeze, a wave.

Give me one more season, a year, some time.


Wishes

It was raining infernally,
and we were making love in attics.
Through the sky of the window, oval,
the clouds were pouring in the month of March.

The walls of the chamber were
restless, under drawings of chalk.
Our souls were dancing
unseen in a definite world.

It will rain on your wings, you said,
it's raining with globes on the globe and through time.
It's ok, I would tell you, Lorelei,
my flight rains, with feathers.

And I was rising. And I didn't know were
in the world I had left the chamber.
You were shouting behind me: answer me, answer me.
what's more beautiful? humans?... the rain?...

It was raining infernally, completely insane rain,
and we were making love in attics.
I wouldn't want it ever to end
that month of March.

Wishes

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