Apr 17, 2010
So fragile... (Atat de frageda...) by Mihai Eminescu
0 comentarii Publicat de Pure Wish la 4/17/2010 03:23:00 PMSo fragile, you are like
A white cherry blossom,
And like an angel from the humans
You walk into my life's path.
You barely touch the soft carpet,
The silk chimes under your foot,
And from the crown until your hips
You float as lightly as a dream.
From the long dress's wrinkles
You rise like the marble-
My soul is hanging from the eyes
Full of tears and luck.
Oh, happy dream of love,
Mild bride from fairy tales,
Stop smiling! Your smile
Shows me how sweet you are,
How you can with the night's charm
To darken my eyes forever,
With your mouth's cold whispers,
With embraces of cold arms.
Suddenly a thought passes,
A veil over your hot eyes:
It's the dark resignation,
It's the shadow of sweet desires.
You're leaving, and I understood
That I shouldn't follow you,
Forever lost for me,
The bride of my soul!
That I saw you it's my fault
And I'll never forgive myself,
I will atone the dream of light
Stretching my right in the desert.
And you will rise like an icon
Of the forever pure Maria,
On your forehead wearing a crown-
Where are you going? When will you come?
A white cherry blossom,
And like an angel from the humans
You walk into my life's path.
You barely touch the soft carpet,
The silk chimes under your foot,
And from the crown until your hips
You float as lightly as a dream.
From the long dress's wrinkles
You rise like the marble-
My soul is hanging from the eyes
Full of tears and luck.
Oh, happy dream of love,
Mild bride from fairy tales,
Stop smiling! Your smile
Shows me how sweet you are,
How you can with the night's charm
To darken my eyes forever,
With your mouth's cold whispers,
With embraces of cold arms.
Suddenly a thought passes,
A veil over your hot eyes:
It's the dark resignation,
It's the shadow of sweet desires.
You're leaving, and I understood
That I shouldn't follow you,
Forever lost for me,
The bride of my soul!
That I saw you it's my fault
And I'll never forgive myself,
I will atone the dream of light
Stretching my right in the desert.
And you will rise like an icon
Of the forever pure Maria,
On your forehead wearing a crown-
Where are you going? When will you come?
broken roses
Alone she's waiting for me to come home,
In my absence she's only thinking of me,
her the dearest and the chosen one
from the sublime slaves.
She gets sick of the solitude
she sits and washed the floor all the time
until she makes it fourteen carats
and just so that the today can step on it.
She washed the house's wall with her hand
and she hangs paintings on it
so that the rogue can enjoy it
fallen from the door in echoes.
She is waiting for her drunk husband
To come home
and she randy moves her white fingers
for his beautiful nape.
Getting them ready to get undrunk
she keeps in bowls and sour juice,
she spreads her long and black hair from the door to the bed
so that her man will never mistake
the fated way.
In my absence she's only thinking of me,
her the dearest and the chosen one
from the sublime slaves.
She gets sick of the solitude
she sits and washed the floor all the time
until she makes it fourteen carats
and just so that the today can step on it.
She washed the house's wall with her hand
and she hangs paintings on it
so that the rogue can enjoy it
fallen from the door in echoes.
She is waiting for her drunk husband
To come home
and she randy moves her white fingers
for his beautiful nape.
Getting them ready to get undrunk
she keeps in bowls and sour juice,
she spreads her long and black hair from the door to the bed
so that her man will never mistake
the fated way.
broken roses
Of love (De dragoste) by Nichita Stanescu
0 comentarii Publicat de Pure Wish la 4/17/2010 01:39:00 PMShe's sitting bored and very beautiful
her black hair is upset
her bright hand
long ago has forgotten me,-
long ago she forgot herself
how she's hanging on the chair's neck.
I drown in lights
and gnash in the year's cycle.
I show her my mouth's teeth,
but she knows that I'm not smiling,
the light's sweet creature
to me, it depicts me when
she's sitting bored and very beautiful
and I'm only living for her
in the fierce world
under the heavenly.
her black hair is upset
her bright hand
long ago has forgotten me,-
long ago she forgot herself
how she's hanging on the chair's neck.
I drown in lights
and gnash in the year's cycle.
I show her my mouth's teeth,
but she knows that I'm not smiling,
the light's sweet creature
to me, it depicts me when
she's sitting bored and very beautiful
and I'm only living for her
in the fierce world
under the heavenly.
broken roses
Song of longing (Cantec de dor) by Nichita Stanescu
0 comentarii Publicat de Pure Wish la 4/17/2010 01:05:00 PM
I fell asleep next to your voice.
It was so good there and your warm breasts kept my temple.
I don't even remember what you were singing.
Maybe something about the branches and waters that wandered
in your night.
Or maybe your childhood that died
somewhere, under words.
I don't even remember what you were singing.
I was playing with my palms in your kinks.
They were very willful
and you weren't even noticing me.
I don't even remember why you were crying.
Maybe just like that, for the sadness of sunsets.
Or maybe for love
and kindness.
I don't remember why you were crying.
I fell asleep next to your voice and I was loving you.
It was so good there and your warm breasts kept my temple.
I don't even remember what you were singing.
Maybe something about the branches and waters that wandered
in your night.
Or maybe your childhood that died
somewhere, under words.
I don't even remember what you were singing.
I was playing with my palms in your kinks.
They were very willful
and you weren't even noticing me.
I don't even remember why you were crying.
Maybe just like that, for the sadness of sunsets.
Or maybe for love
and kindness.
I don't remember why you were crying.
I fell asleep next to your voice and I was loving you.
broken roses
The golden age of love (Varsta de aur a dragostei) by Nichita Stanescu
0 comentarii Publicat de Pure Wish la 4/17/2010 12:42:00 PM
My hands are in love,
oh, my mouth loves,
and look, I realized
that things are so close to me,
that I can barely walk through them
without hurting myself.
This is a sweet feeling,
of waking up, of dreaming,
and here I am without sleeping,
I truly see the ivory gods,
I take them in my hand and
I screw them laughing, in the moon,
like some graven handles,
how they must have been in the old days,
embellished, the ships' steering wheel.
Jupiter is yellow, and Hera
the wonderful one silvery.
I strike the wheel with a rock and it moves.
It's a dance my love, of the feelings,
goddesses of the air, between us.
And I, with my soul's sails stretched by longings,
I look for you everywhere, and things come
closer and closer,
and they clench my chest and it hurts.
broken roses
Apr 15, 2010
Woman's inscription (Inscriptie de femeie) by Tudor Arghezi
0 comentarii Publicat de Pure Wish la 4/15/2010 09:02:00 PM
The disposal of the character ordained to be
The ethereal girl, the man's wife.
The feeble dragonfly, in his hairy hand,
Is like the lily spring and cypress.
She likes him because he's okay and tough- and trump,
He doesn't hesitate, doesn't come late, doesn't ask,
Goes right ahead and reaches straight right,
He's loud and wise.
His endeavor and hard work for you
Make your days bigger and fuller.
His knees have crushed and his back has broken,
To deserve both his tasty dish and kiss.
From the bottom of the sea he pulls pearls in strings
For the neck of his slender and beautiful maiden.
From the night he takes bunches of stars and sparks
For bracelets, brooches, rings and earrings,
The golden stars from dry stones he gets,
Bitten by the rock's fangs and bleeding from his elbows.
It's his self sacrifice, brightened by an idea.
The idea, like fight and passion is still a woman.
They are all yours and all are for you.
Why not, then for who?
Because all the gifts for you are being brought,
Receiving a flowers instead, your fragile smile.
The creature of a petal and of a drop of dew,
Give it every morning a new joy,
Rewarding offer is his poem,
Another one sweeter and more honest, there isn't.
The ethereal girl, the man's wife.
The feeble dragonfly, in his hairy hand,
Is like the lily spring and cypress.
She likes him because he's okay and tough- and trump,
He doesn't hesitate, doesn't come late, doesn't ask,
Goes right ahead and reaches straight right,
He's loud and wise.
His endeavor and hard work for you
Make your days bigger and fuller.
His knees have crushed and his back has broken,
To deserve both his tasty dish and kiss.
From the bottom of the sea he pulls pearls in strings
For the neck of his slender and beautiful maiden.
From the night he takes bunches of stars and sparks
For bracelets, brooches, rings and earrings,
The golden stars from dry stones he gets,
Bitten by the rock's fangs and bleeding from his elbows.
It's his self sacrifice, brightened by an idea.
The idea, like fight and passion is still a woman.
They are all yours and all are for you.
Why not, then for who?
Because all the gifts for you are being brought,
Receiving a flowers instead, your fragile smile.
The creature of a petal and of a drop of dew,
Give it every morning a new joy,
Rewarding offer is his poem,
Another one sweeter and more honest, there isn't.
broken roses
Apr 13, 2010
It's so good that you are (Ce bine ca esti) by Nichita Stanesu
0 comentarii Publicat de Pure Wish la 4/13/2010 09:51:00 PM
It's a chance of my being:
and then, the happiness inside of me
is stronger than me, than my bones,
which you screech in an embrace
always painful, always wonderful.
Let's talk, let's say words,
long, glassy, like chisels which divide
the cold river from the hot delta,
the day from the night, the basalt from basalt.
Take me, happiness, up, and strike
my temple from the stars, until
my prolonged world and the endless
column is made or something else
a lot taller, and a lot sooner.
It's so good that you are, it's so strange that I am!
Two different songs, hitting, mixing with each other,
two colors which have never met before,
one from the very low, turned to the ground,
one from the very top, almost broken
in the cold, incomparable fight
of the miracle that you are, of the chance that I am.
and then, the happiness inside of me
is stronger than me, than my bones,
which you screech in an embrace
always painful, always wonderful.
Let's talk, let's say words,
long, glassy, like chisels which divide
the cold river from the hot delta,
the day from the night, the basalt from basalt.
Take me, happiness, up, and strike
my temple from the stars, until
my prolonged world and the endless
column is made or something else
a lot taller, and a lot sooner.
It's so good that you are, it's so strange that I am!
Two different songs, hitting, mixing with each other,
two colors which have never met before,
one from the very low, turned to the ground,
one from the very top, almost broken
in the cold, incomparable fight
of the miracle that you are, of the chance that I am.
broken roses
;;
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