Traduceri poetice (vol. 1) [7]
Pr. Dr. Dorin Octavian Picioruș
Traduceri poetice
(vol. 1)
*
Elena Simion[1], Write about me, I’m dying of thirst
I was nine years old in total
when I saw the Thriller video on TV,
and up until then the hottest event
of the year was the Resurrection,
when my grandmother would take my hand
and I would do balancing exercises
so that the holy light wouldn’t go out.
Some were walking up the hills
to the cemetery –
to bring the light of Resurrection
to those who had been in darkness
for so long: and I always wondered
how time passed for them;
was it like iguanas who live 16 years
in a human year? Or like
the depressed man who lives
an eternity in a human year?
But it was beautiful,
we sang:
♫ Hristos is risen from the dead,
by death trampling death,
and to those in the tombs
granting life!♫
– and I could always nestle
in my grandmother’s scarf
like a supreme force against
the little children,
who were trying to burn my hair
with the candle.
I believe that from time to time
God comes down to earth
and lives a human life just like we do
(it would be suspicious to see
someone’s mother going
to meetings on a cloud).
I think the last time was my grandmother,
who never learned to write or read,
or maybe it was an excuse for me
to learn to read the subtitles
on the palace legends faster after school.
In elementary School,
I would see boys jumping over
cemetery fences to pick carnations
and whatever else the living planted
on the mounds of earth
to give to the girls,
who were already putting on mascara
and putting sponges in their bras.
I felt sorry for the deceased
like a stupid dog, when a faster one comes
and steals his piece of bread
and he sits there
without eating for another day.
Elena Gabriela Crângașu[2],
The ambulance sometimes doesn’t even come
Almost forty, young,
but at the end of the cognitive dimension.
The most interesting activity
in Maria’s routine is
hanging out the laundry.
Almost forty and depression,
handfuls of pills,
sometimes she forgets a pill,
the kids don’t know.
The husband pretends not to,
Maria still reads books sometimes.
With each new line,
she forgets what she read before,
and so on until the next day.
Miriam Penelopa Georgescu[3],
For my birthday, I received a test tube
that I carefully opened in the bathroom,
with kitchen gloves,
with an apron,
I was very scared,
I was saying Psalm 23.
I opened it.
I saw with a chinese magnifying glass
how I was going to die trying
to make a battery.
(When people have cancer,
they die, their world is a scratch-off map,
the cancer is scratched off
with a fifty-cent coin)
I threw the test tube in the toilet
and made a wish.
Răzvan Fugaciu[4], It’s good to forgive
all the slaps
you have received from people,
as Iisus did.
For, look,
He was blasphemed and
He forgave.
They whipped Him and
He laid down His life for us.
You must get used
to drinking the malice of those
around you every day.
Then you will know the quietness.
[1] Am tradus poemul de aici: https://revistagolan.com/poeziadegolan｜mi-e-teama-ca-ai-sa-mori-inaintea-mea-grupaj-inedit-de-elena-simion/.
[2] Am tradus poemul de aici: https://elenagabriela13.wordpress.com/2021/02/20/salvarea-uneori-nici-nu-vine/.
[3] Idem: https://revistagolan.com/ poeziadegolan｜de-ziua-mea-am-primit-o-eprubeta-doua-poeme-de-miriam-penelopa-georgescu/.
[4] Am tradus poemul de aici: https://revistagolan.com/ poeziadegolan｜in-general-accidentele-ma-linistesc-grupaj-inedit-de-razvan-fugaciu/.