End of August

Still am I spitting seeds of the wild apples we plucked over fences

last summer. You have long stopped saying

anything good, not even a trace of despair or dismay

swells the veils of our borrowed vessel.

A circus waltz accompanies

soaked hopes, which we keep draining in the moonlight.

We’re swirling or merely swerving, does it really matter?

The fact is we’re not sinking, we may even float on our backs if need be.

I do have my bikini ready and an extra atoll standing by… Please let me know

when land comes into sight, that we may timely light our pyres on the mast.

One year did not suffice me to love you!

Lucian Blaga - Silence among Old Things/ Linişte între lucruri bătrâne

Nearby stands the mountain, my beloved mountain.

Surrounded by old things

covered in moss since the days of creation,

in the evening with the seven black suns

that bring along good darkness,

I should feel content.

Silence is plenty inside the circle that holds together the heavenly barrel.

Yet I recall the time when I was not,

like a faraway childhood,

and I am sorry that I didn't rest

in the nameless country.

And again I tell myself:

there is no rumor among the stars in the sky.

Yes, I should feel content.

În apropiere e muntele meu, munte iubit.

Înconjurat de lucruri bătrâne

acoperite cu muşchi din zilele facerii,

în seara cu cei şapte sori negri

care aduc întunericul bun,

ar trebui să fiu mulţumit.

Linişte este destulă în cercul ce ţine laolaltă doagele bolţii.

Dar mi-aduc aminte de vremea când încă nu eram,

ca de-o copilarie departată,

şi-mi pare rău că n-am rămas

în ţara fără de nume.

Şi iarăşi îmi zic:

nici o larmă nu fac stelele-n cer.

Da, ar trebui să fiu mulţumit.