Madrigal [Madrigal]
Upon my dreams – red roses bringing luck –
Blue butterfly, you for a while did stay,
Your flimsy wings you nice and easy stuck
Then, with some grains of pollen went away,
To find a flower, maybe fair and new,
So off you flew, blue thing, in nature's blue...
And watched the roses, which were full of dew,
But didn't know that roses shed tears, too.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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The frogs [Broaştele]
Up in my poplar moon lays down its nest,
And like a raven night begins to fly.
Its wings throw stars, but these don't get to rest,
They're sipped by frogs, which by the ponds do lie.
Because the frogs engulf such bits of night,
Then in the ponds they dive for having fun,
Stirring the water with their bellies white
In which so many stars melt one by one.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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The alchemmist [Alchimistul]
I looked for that deficient gold
In all the test tubes on the shelves,
And in the flicker pale and cold
I hoped to see the hosts of elves.
When chandeliers spread the light
As if the castle was aflame,
In salamanders hazy-white,
I found the pattern of the dame.
Through me the fire will harass
Your coward planet, without worth,
For with my magnifying glass
I want to burn this wicked earth.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Cute small glasses [Drăgălaşe păhărele]
Cute small glasses with short stem
Lay in front of me with joy,
Pour wine sweetish into them,
Do enjoy!
Let us drink up without fear,
If one hates it, let him say,
And instead to have some beer,
Drink your way!
Who gets dizzy and can't think
On the floor may start to creep,
And when glasses break or clink,
Let them sleep!
Let's cut short the talking then,
Life is brief, life is forlorn,
So, let's drink until again
Comes the morn.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Autumn comes [Întomnare]
The stars mirrored by the lake, among water lily leaves,
Turned the lake into a glade, fire flies into small stars,
And this glade appears to glow, as if amber snow receives,
Because golden drops stand out like the tips of lit cigars.
When the lucent night puts on a fair vestment in this hush,
The frogs stop to wail at once and keep silent for a while;
And the moon on water, lo, like a saint begins to rush,
Withering the frightened leaves with its wry and deadly smile.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Ending [Final]
The memories invade my brain
As crows in poplars build their nest,
While clouds go by and come again,
Like smoke, above the lake and plain,
And never rest.
It's gone the autumn with its shine
Of faded green an vivid gold,
With purple grapes, which look so fine,
And now the park, my soul divine,
Are bare and cold.
The frozen lake will be resigned
When the last leaf falls to the ground
And wind through branches gently blows,
So that you know you left behind
A field of snow, which makes no sound,
And wailing crows.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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The statue [Statuia]
Your being nothing wants to let me hear:
Nor bad, nor good, nor bitter, nor sublime.
Your eyes as fine black mica do appear,
Which grace a statue's eye holes all the time.
My dreary gaze is crawling to your cheeks
Like does the sun when polar deserts scales
To freeze among the glaciated peaks
Stuck in its rays like in some pointed nails.
You didn't even guess I cared for thee,
Although my lust was boiling hot in me,
As waterfalls are boiling in their fits.
And my dear soul knocks at your frozen heart
Like someone who is far from being smart
And in an organ without keys now hits.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Trophim the hermit prays to Virgin Mary [Se-nchină Trofim pustnicul, Fecioarei Maria]
We sin, O, Virgin Mary, pure and brave,
In deed, and speech, and thought. We always sin:
Because right from the cradle to the grave,
We live in sin without and deep within.
And through repentance, which is blessed and right,
Our parents' sin we expiate for sure,
Have mercy on poor Trophim in his fight
With his relentless and unending lure.
To You I offer prayers hot and meek,
O, taintless Mother, and in truth I speak;
When in the shade you bloom like lilies shy,
Out of your limpid heart dew drops, I pray,
Which mirror the entire clear blue sky,
Into our souls pour gently right away.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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October [Octombrie]
As if it were an icon full of light
Inside my heart your lovely image looms,
And my own dreams – small apricot tree blooms –
Fall like the snow around it, soft and white.
And when I see you standing at the door
I leave my dreams and bow down at your feet;
I'm like a flake that's melting in the heat,
Under your eyes, which I so much adore.
But when you're bored and quickly go away,
When with small steps on narrow tracks you sway,
And trample on dead leaves with awe and fear,
I feel the autumn twilight in my breast,
I cannot think, I'm empty as a nest,
When the last swallows fly and disappear.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Bacchic geometry [Geometrie bahică]
Fed with sweet milk and yogurt quite a lot
A Greek whose mind was brilliant and divine,
By looking at two dots at once he thought
The shortest of the roads was the straight line.
This axiom, accepted as we see,
And which today all people can explain,
Was valid in the past and still will be,
But only for the horizontal plane.
And if you want some knowledge to derive,
When think of horizontal planes you'll find,
That nature doesn't feel for them a drive
And so, they're just a whim of the Greek mind.
Instead of milk we drink “Madeira” wine
And all of us can easily observe
That on the sphere each carefully drawn line
Stays never straight, but turns into a curve.
[...] Read more
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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