Ea era frumoasă ca umbra unei idei, –
a piele de copil mirosea spinarea ei,
a piatră proaspăt spartă
a strigăt dintr-o limbă moartă.

She was beautiful as the shadow of an idea, –
as the skin of a baby smelled her back,
as a freshly crushed stone
as a cry from a dead language.

Ea nu avea greutate, ca respirarea.
Râzândă și plângândă cu lacrimi mari
era sărată ca sarea
slăvită la ospețe de barbari.

She had no weight, as the breathing.
Laughing and crying with big tears
she was salty as the salt
glorified at feastings by barbarians.

Ea era frumoasă ca umbra unui gând.
Între ape, numai ea era pământ.

She was beautiful as the shadow of a thought.
Between waters, only she was earth.

Poem care face parte din volumul Operele imperfecte (1979). Tradus de Pr. Dr. Dorin Octavian Picioruș.

Poem which makes part from the volume The Imperfect Works (1979). Translated by Rev. D.Th. Dorin Octavian Picioruș.

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