Traduceri poetice (vol. 1) [16]
Pr. Dr. Dorin Octavian Picioruș
Traduceri poetice
(vol. 1)
*
Simona Gabriela Carp[1], Nobel
If there were Nobel Prizes for naivety,
I would win them all,
because I believed in my role in curing you
of foreign bodies.
I gave you the best part of the importance,
because you chronically needed the attention
of those around you more than I needed you,
because you craved what you were
not built to feel.
If there were Nobel Prizes for acting,
you would win them all
with a reality-distorted harshness,
because you thought
I would be just another blonde
in your low-budget movie,
on your memory foam mattress,
and I became just another dwarf
on your brain.
And now,
here we both have decent friends
on neuro-social networks,
but none that we’re even in.
We’ve become
two alienated modern dwarfs.
Paula Maftei[2], Carabinieri female
It can’t get any better than that.
To hold on to the illusion of freedom,
with the confidence of a tall man
who only half understands
what you’re saying.
I can do whatever I want,
anytime, with anyone,
as long as they leave me
a little space where I can gnaw
on the bone quietly,
like the street dog from the North Station,
the last bucharester left at liberty.
There’s a recidivist cephalopod in me,
he likes the nightlife,
he also likes mornings.
Especially in the summer,
when you hear the crickets,
my heart becomes a bread oven,
which those deprived of their liberty
can’t get enough of.
I can’t do whatever I want,
anytime, with anyone.
There is a sadness in me
that the clairvoyant Luminița
does not understand.
Where this sadness comes from I don’t know,
madam,
on cold days it slips down the chimney,
I can’t do anything about it,
I say, it’s a carabinieri female,
I’m safe with it, otherwise it’s fine.
Under the house of skin and bones,
the jasmine grows like in the old days
in the yard.
When blood flows, I don’t tell anyone.
It’s a habit learned with great delicacy.
And what woman doesn’t want to be delicate,
when the ground is crumbling beneath her feet
and her ribs are aching and everything hurts?
Eraldo Souza dos Santos[3],
Cum va arăta lumea când toată apa ne va părăsi[4]
Noi, cei care am băut toată apa
și acum nu mai avem nimic de băut.
Noi, cei care am băut toată apa
și acum nu mai avem unde să navigăm.
Ne este dor de tine.
Noi, cei care acum umblăm sub
soarele arzător printre naufragii.
Noi, cei care acum, în sfârșit,
simțim mirosul corpului tău în putrefacție.
Te îngropăm.
Noi, cei care vom muri în curând
pentru că ne-a fost atât de sete.
Noi, ale căror lacrimi pot umple
râuri, mări, oceane.
Navigăm.
[1] Am tradus poemul de aici: https://poeziipentrusufletulmeu.com/2026/03/20/simona-gabriela-carp-nobel/.
[2] Am tradus poemul de aici: https://revistaechinox.ro/2025/04/paula-maftei-poezii/.
[3] Despre autor: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/eraldo-souza-dos-santos și https://eraldosouzadossantos.com/.
[4] Am tradus poemul de aici: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/1779650/what-the-world-will-look-like-when-all-the-water-leaves-us.