sâmbătă, 30 aprilie 2016

EMINESCU JAIL - versions by Geprge Anca

                             EMINESCU JAIL


by Mihai Eminescu

the wood is white its leaf is black
its thousand little twigs
by snow are heavy
only the wind passes through them
the cold wind and some magpie
sheding let them off
white is the night the one with moon
from the distance wood resounds
the wolves in troops mass together
blows the wind blows incessantly
grove and heaven make to me pair
mad grief comes over one
as long and stretched grief
as the county all under snow
the wood shiver like an aspen leaf
as large as one’s horizon
the wolvws over peakes race
wandering through snows
troops the crows fly

in the ground of dense woods
there is no path to get out
there’s no way there’s no boundary
neither hunter’s trace
making blizzard on snow drifts
they filled up the glades
let down on dry boughs
over shed leaves
over water over all things
in the impenetrable forest
a little house is hidden
there’s no village nor nearby road
quite alone one doesn’t know how
only from its chimney the smoke juts out
who would stay in the house
that doesnţt care for the snow
which falls and will fall
ever heap on heap
surpassing the fence in the yard
up to eaves it will reach
if left is long winter
zoung little widow
stays there quite alone
how many days are left
she doesn’t go to village any more
how long the time of a winter
how the snow is all falling
she ever winds and weaves
white threads exquisite linens
while the fire burns in the hearth
the wolves howl the gogs bark
and she spins from tow
swinging on a leg
the trough with a little child
asleep and graceful
and as she sings as she sighs
the voice of wood imitates her

in the ground of the wood
there’s no path thewre’s no way
that if ever a path existed
it turned into a valley
that if a way ever existed
it is with leaves burried
it is filled with thorns and thistle
that one doesn’t find its trace
if there is path somewhere
nobody knows it anymore
that they lost its traces
shepherd boys with the flocks
and they lost their signs
woodmen with the logs
and they forgotten the folds
hunters with the bows
nobody in the world knows any more
that around only desert
whici its borders are
where are its springs
the grass grows behold again
beaten by the summer wind
where the forest is rare
but in the beautiful grass
never a scythe entered
where the forest is dense
by its thick of wood
no axe did touch
in the ground of wood
path isn’t way isn’t
but a glade of fir trees
and a cheerful eye of pond
and a garden with stile
and a little house with trouble
and at the door of house grows
the old tile tree which shadows it
like a living covering
its flower falls without wind
shaken over the land
and on the porch who is seen
who nwaer craddle is staying
young little widow woman
who knew about herself only she
and as the wood bestirs itself
she sings for her she charms her away
swinging with a leg
she says gently
lullaby lullaby little child
I’d tell you atale
lullaby lullaby between us
I’l tell you a tale
and in models I’ll dress it
and beautifully I’ll untie it
zou to understand it only I pause
towards others I say nothing
the tears a valley fall from me
my father was a shephard
as many seconds are in year
as many shepherds he was having
with thousands flocks beside
flocks in thousands of little she lambs
little shepherds after them
haughty flocks also of sheeps
the little shepherds backwards
with flutes and bagpipes
he had also if you understand me
herds of untamed horses
which like hurricanes
were filling his plains
were grazing his estates
and in the length of rivers
they settled themselves on deserts
and in the waves of grass
were grazing the hinds and the stags
and through mountains lost in clouds
he had big herds of bisons
cold rivers cold springs
in the shadow were flowing eternally
and he had mountains and he had forests
and fortresses with fortifications
and had villages thousands and thousands
strewn on the plains
and had villages big and small ones
and full with brave men
what an uproar what a struggling
when cheerfully sounding from horn
was calling the country to boundaries
that were running with little and grown up
that they were flowing like rivers
and blackened the deserts
bitter me into a sigh
the tears are valley coming to me
with the kerchief if I whipe them
they still stronger go on
and how beautiful I was
how no one was kin by kin
of gold were my plaits
and by girls they were plaited
rosy like a peony
I was dear to everybody
they came behold they came
emperors from the east
to ask me in marriage
but they went as they arrived
kings came and messengers came
learned in many schools
with reasonable words
they asked me with justice
good time old shepherd
our emperor master
did send us to ask
if you marry your daughter or not
he answers then honestly
dear brave men welcome to you
dear’s to me to feast you
with you to get delighted
but any much you did ask me
daughter I haven’t to marry
but he emperor from the west
did come and didn’t go
two words only he told me
my heart he did subdue
he was stately and armed
an enarmoured soldier
he was stately and hale
having care of nothing
he was tall and I was tall
nice looking we were together
fitted in excess
I beautiful he beautiful
bitter me in a sigh
the tears valley come to me
with the kerchief if I whipe them
they still stronger go on
they heard and if they heard
match makers from the east
that I was going to marry
and when I just gor married
many people aroused
our house only to spoil
and to separate us
thousand of tongues were flowing as rivers
risen from the deserts
and they came mobs
risen from the forests
some on horseback some on walk
ever came in thick cloud
they came swarms came flock
and left the desert after them
they came flocks came valley
and crumbled forts in their way
vainly my man faced them
they pushed him only back
they defeated his armies
they ravished his glories
they desered the countries
they brought his fortunes
they balckened his sun
they enslaved his people
I in the deserted wood
wandering lately
I heard from foreign tongues
that my man isn’t coming any more
I learned from the west
that my man went away
by all humans followed
I learned from the east
that my man has died
that has died and was mourned
world entire was wailing him
did wail all hermitages
all orients
and wests all
and peoples tongues and crowds
midnight midday
they couldn’t awake him any more
weild behold those kings
the emperors of whole world
and a storm started
which earth drowned
midnight and westward
thousand kins put to way
big flocks and predatory
of alien peoples
which were fowing behold flowing
end they didn’t have any more
just for putting inheritence
over poor mankind
when I think to such sorrows
it seems to me they were yeasterday
when I think to my shepherds
it seems to me they were thousands years
bur when I learned
that my man has died
this linden tree I planted
grows the tile and flourishes
and shadows my life
and as in its shadow I live
I don’t get old any more
dear mother’s little child
many in world I’d tell you
but I am afraid you’d leave me
bur I am afraid you’ll understand me
and you’ll grow and will start
how the wood don’t comprise you
and you’ll go into the wide world
but you sleep more behold a bit
that you’re tender of years and little
sleep at shadow sleep on peace
that your mother will make you
under that tile tree beaten by wind
the bedding at land
when the sun will set
then the wind will drow off
and you’ll get asleep
the teeny branches will beat
and if stars will penetrate
and the moon will penetrate
our solitude
and when the wind will blow
the tile tree will rock
its flowers it will shed
and again will awake you
in the ground of the great night
and at rustling of oak trees
under the circling of clouds
in the falling of flowers
under the shining of stars
and at dance of wicked fairies
under the leaf of oak trees
at the voice of springs
where is it the cross from ways
you don’t cry more me
they grow like brothers two spruce firs
do laugh chick-abiddy laugh
where there are birds in the trees
be quiet chick be quiet
they gather girls and lads
do sleep chick heigh
stags gather the soft ones
awake chick do awake
and as she sings and sighs
the voice of wood imitates her

poor country of the high
all zour fame has gone
now five hundreds years ago
only wood you were to me
around were growing deserts
empires were crumbling
the peoples were getting old
kingdoms were fading
and forts were scatterng
only your woods were growing
green is the unpenetrated shadow
where a world is hidden
and in the shadow for ever
cold rivers were flowing
tenderly clear turning
having voices of springs
Bistritsa in rocks struggles
hrough dark forests
and ever goes deeper
where the water slightly twinkle
and at once it sees that
its watwrs hitches
and by roxks it is dammed up
it gathers and ever grows
it dam up in wondrous lake
of which waters are quiet
and trees make shadow to it
dense leaf over
in depth the water watches
and the oak trees from bank to bank
over it fall down
peaks prop up together
and make to me a tall vault
by the peaks they are knitted
and in shadow they rule
and in eternal freshness
the waves are sparkling
from one bank to another
it fell a tall trunk
it fell crosswise
that its foliage is hanging
long bridge of a tree
over a silence of lake
long bridge big bridge
that one can pass it on horse back
and Mushatin youngish
passes the bridge quiet alone
with the vest of steel
with black busby of lamb
with white thick cloth on him
how he was coming to hunt
he was carrying the bow on back
quiver of arrows he has
wih long plaits up to on back
but a forehead cutted off
little child in tight cloths
lightly is feeling himself
if he aims at a deer
the falcon flys over by him
if he holds his hand upward
the falcon put in his palm
and he ever comes shouting
and from leaf always bursting
and when starts to sing
the woods resound
hear you dear do you mother
how Mushatin is calling you
nobody was around him
only the blackbird was whistling
and he was getting down
where the water was trembling
and the blackbird says
what are you searching for boy by here
grow you wood and do you cluster
only for a path leave me room
to pass you across
only I will reach a clearing
and a spring of water
to see the falcon how it drinks
the wood says quietly
I went of leafing me out
for you did want me
and the waves sound
moving they gather
among the linens of leaf
the sun trys to penetrate
burn in the shadow at cooling
the sparkling spots
and on waves beat
the light pours flame
on clear long torrents
the rays fly like strips
under an oak long-haired oak tree
which was letting its branches down
Mushatin was lenghtenning out
putting the bow beside
you wood wood my dear
it seems I’ve told you that
you sound from leaf ever
for since I didn’t see you
much time has passed
and since I didn’t search you
much worlds I wandered
wood your majesty
let me under your foot
that I’ll spoil nothing
but only a little branch
to hang my arms in it
to hang them at my head
where I’ll make my bed
under that tile beaten by wind
with the flower upto ground
to lay with the face upward
and to sleep should deadly sleep
but to hear even in my dream
dear wood your voice
from that glade of beech
doina song sounding dearly
how wailing vibrates
that rocks my leaf
and the slowed wind
will see that I’ve got asleep
and through the tile it will rake up
and with flowers would cover me
thw wood was bowing down to him
and from branches was shaking
you Mushatin you Mushatin
cheerfully I shake my branches
and gayly I’d speak to you
long live your majesty
come Mushat to understand each other
and so choose you as our emperor
emperor of the springs
and of the deers
seated to some brook
to tear your flute from the waist
you to sing and I to sing
all my leaf to stear
to start booming in wind
on springs
from steepnesses
where the birds are flying
where the branches are bowing
and the deers are playing
the water says to him o child
hold your hand to me
come on my bright bottom
for you are beautiful child
and Mushatin answers to it
vainly you allure me in waves
vainly wood my dear
you sounds from leaves ever
that I’ll go away from you
that leaf will weep after me
that from soul it snatches me
longing-dor path longing-dor of going
and even I feel so much grief
for the weep of my litle mother
I’d go I’d ever go
longing-dor never to snatch me
and I’d go on long way
longing-dor  to not reach me any more
vainly on wind are calling me
longing-dor for home longing-dor for mother
vainly it sounds in wind
that so destined I am
to make my way on earth
to hold my paths
to wander the countries
the countries and the seas
be it my voice strong
as to pass always
from everywhere I’ll be
over waters over bridges
over woods from mountains
to reach upto home
where my mother stays to weave
and to tell her in many lines
do not die mother of thoughts
don’t go you child
but if you have in world days
present them all to me
know you beloved brother
that I am not wood but fort
but since long I am enchanted
and by sleep darkened
only when the night arrives
the moon in heaven journeys
it runs through all my shadow
with its cold light
on then from horn sound to me
all trees together
griefly sounds the leaf in moon
and my world gathers
that tree after tree
all at once come untied
from oak tree with dense leaf
comes out a wondrous empress
with long hairs upto the heels
and with golden cloths
wonderful is her dress-rochia
and her name is Dochia
from the trees without number
come out children with falcons on shoulder
and girls many come out
with their turned up sleeves
and on nacked shoulders
carry wooden pails and pots
it starts then a fret-zbucium
sweetly sounds voice of horn-bucium
on the paths without traces
the deers come in flocks
and roar slowly so dearly
with the bells at neck
and wait patiently
beautiful hands of virgin girls
that they milk them in little pails
for know you beloved brother
I am not wood but I am fort
but bewitched I am since long
tile  will listen
sounding from hill to hill
the wonderful triumphal horn
on the king Decebalus
then my trunks will undo
and would turn into palaces
you’ll see coming out from them
thousands young girls
and from firs as little be they
you’ll see coming out brave men
for at the sound of horn
all get back to life
and the falcon agilely
over him is flying
come Mushatin you Mushatin
cheerfully I shake my wings
on your helmet I will settle
and from mouth I’d say
long live your majesty
remain wood healthy
that the water is calling me downward
and destined in world I am
to make path for me on earth
and Mushatin gets near
by silvery Bistritsa
the boat was playing on the wave
he unties it from the bank
jumps in it and gives it way
like the arrow flys now
and flowing on quick waters
longing-dor for endless horizon
and going going far away
he separates the water into two
with large furrows of silver
which move shining
and in shadow they embrace him
and through the vaulting valley
only by here and by there
the sun was still penetrating
here is shadow there is sun
on trembling waters
he on flourishing banks
sees stray flocks
in glades he sees the stags
passing the waves of grass
the horses graze near brooks
as at swans it is bending
their neck and their small head
at once they rise
and prick up their ears
while they behold the boat
he was flowing flowing ever
the wood sounds softly and heavyly
when at once it makes day
the wood ino two unties
and on circling waters
sparkles wonderful sun
and before him he sees a mountain
with its hoary crowns
it built rock on rock
starting from the deep valley
and carrying wth it forests
over the gry clouds
it rises in serenity
crown full of snow
and toward bank it straightens again
the little light boat
and Mushatin gets down
the path of mountain takes
upto peaks to go
till thee night reaches him
in that unpenetrable wood
but with night on him he starts
mounts ever bravely
only the summit he will climb up
while it will be dawning
on the highten summit
he reaches at once
and making his eyes wheel
he looks at the whole world
he sees the heaven of the saint
and the face of the earth
that far away planes hold
which one can not measure by ezes
where the saint sun
as if goes out from earth
there in the distant horiyon
the great Dnister shows to him
from the Tartar countries
and farther flows in the sea
at lagoon like a necklace
it strings the White Fort Cetatea Alba
and on the face of smooth sea
pass the full ships
pass far from land
the sails filled with wind
and looking to the South
the Danube he saw
in an arch turned to sea
and on seven mouths flowing
from the Dnister up to here
proud country was holding
he sees plains smoking
wonderful hills greening
he sees woods how they get down
hill by hill ladder by ladder
scattering on the plain
where the rivers come out
and on peaks of forests
monasteries with fortifications
he sees towns sees villages
on the field strewn
he sees wondrous strongholds
dominating deserts
he sees the flocks of sheeps
with shepherds after them
with flutes and bagpipe
and the herds of horses
were passing the fields
and spread themselves to the wind
like the shadow of the earth
and in the length of rivers
spread to the deserts
and the youngish falcon
over him is flying
and from mouth was sazing
long live your Majesty
so much world so much horizon
from the Dnister to the sea
make once your eyes wheel
that this is the whole Moldavie

Dragosh King the Old
on Moldavie is master
and reigning with all glory
stays on throne at Suceava
at the praised Suceava
with walls surrounded
wall of stone high and thick
that on it five people walk
and have place with surplus
that go three on horses beside
and still have place in parts
wondrous horses to play them
now by there now by here
and from black trunks of rock
over the deep valley
over the stronghold
churches and palaces
stays kingly city
which with its crests mounts
huffed toward clouds
over sounding woods
with its walls with its vaults
and with towers at corners
heavy walls and with crests
how they were and how there aren’t
among the heavy arches
among the black bars
only the sun penetrates
between darken parlours
in walls of empty stone
they thrusted torches of pitch
smoking with red flames
light the dark
pillars of stone heavy and grey
where fittings hang
showing their rust
under the torch of resin
shields fitted sleeves
wonderful helmets polished
and breast-plates masks
and bows for hunt
and in the back of straight hall
it rises on seven steps
the throne of Christian King
covered by a baldachin
and in the golden chair
stays Dragosh greysh
white beard upto girdle
with black stormy eyes
the crown of red gold
shining beautifully on forehead
over the hoary plaits
on his mantle’s folds
golden flowers are sewn
and with white face
and with sceptre in right hand
his proud eyes make straight
and at the feet of throne
are strung on the carpets
wooden chairs shaped on lathe
curved with skill
here six there six
for chosen nobilities
at his throne’s ladders
stays in two sides boyars
arranged after their ranks
that for orders to wait
the vornic of Low Country
was staying in a bright chair
an old soft man
with his blue staff
which is with gold knitted
with stones covered
and from this higher on
the vornic of Up Country
stays with plaits snow-white
the chief magistrate of Chilia
and with his white eyelashes
chief magistrate of White City Ceatea Alba
after these also come
the chief magistrate of Hotin
that from Neamts and that from Vrancea
leaned stayed on spear
but all were outstripped in glory
by the chief magistrate of Suceava
and so all around
stays in furs of sable
with vests of the same kind
and with sleeves of steel
Dragosh King the Old
On Moldavie is master
In Suceava in the City
He has gathered Justice


by Aron Cotruş

firm forefathers with slender paces
quick brave giddy haidouks
voivods givers of laws
brisk at thought brisk at dead
proud and stable princes
drunk of heavens
and archers
gians at paces
all soul of people
with depth’s depth
with woods uproar
with grasses’ perfume
with stags’ flights
with peak’s thrills
with blood’s laws
look at him alive as nobody else’s
measureless thousandfolded
in his somnambulistic creature
under his forehead’s Ceahlău
as from twin mothers
with thighs of flint
Ştefan-King and Mihai
brothers by blood
and by cloths
brothers by yathagan
and speech
with quick paces in uprooting
on untamed lightnings
riding through hurricanea
they popped
they were leavened
like from iron and from granite
and from magic blood
over age and with no end
in his creature of king
on jaunty and deathless roads
from Tisa to Bug and further on
from Maramuresh to Pind
from Panciovo to the great Sea
seized with boundless thrilling
with unbounded thirst of life
I wish like in fairy-tales to light for you
over present day
with million of sinewy and pious hands
candles like fir trees
so that in eternity
be known
by where they grow in struggles and toil
and fight and sweat
and bleed Romanians
namely by now to be known
who have you been
impetuous bard
in who all bells of people burn
fairy-like master
of golden bridges
over storms over darkness
peak of my rebellious song
grown under lightnings and winds of steel
song which today to you the one I bring
in idolatrous praying
as to a righteous immaculate voivode
from a grown old bald haidouk
with boots and blood and mud clod
who has broken through flint and stone
the hardest and longest path
drunk of heights and azure
with sight lightened eagle
along among posses armed to the teeth
with burning paces
in dust waistcoat in front of you to reach
haidouk once master of peaks and of Danube
today toward you without firelock without slugs
with quick steps nailed as if on spot by unseen pociumbi
ready for death ready for submission

with word like stone crabby
wanted to be to me
on roads of this hell and heaven mouth
you ready in stars
and in depths
in calendar by icy wind and fire
of my days

you whom the time up to heaven would build
through dreadful cnturies to come
in stormy heavings in daily works
over storms a Romanian Rome
over nocturnal mob of Thracian-Roman words
over its treasury in thousands and thousands places buried
over an imperial and tempestuous tongue
to our silance of ages like nobody ever
voice to give them you came

out of any new stubborn wound
torn off took out of you
in kindled flight
to boundlessness
for each a huge wonder wing

and today your song  flag in time’s wind
fly largely unvanquished
as high as thousand white Negoius
over precipice over storms in us

you did split with hot glance
with sight sharp like a sword
with hungry
on the watch ever
strata of darkness and bones
from the foundation of fogs and suns of my people
your eye wanted to see up to inmost depths

the mountains have let fall apocalyptically their stone armours
to be plunged adamant diver your sight
chaotic bad dream
from chasm to chasm
through their viscera where dogs of earth bark

blind crowds with zou of the same language
in writhngs more and more cruel
on your trace in bleedings and sloughs it changes
into a people who like you sees and hears

over your time’s rottn sloths and jpkes
new Adam
you splitted for this people
endless roads and you gave them a name
and songs as for world
beginning and ending

with living feather of eagle
or with a peak of spear-lance
I wish to write with flames your name in azure
on any hip o rock and on any lane

for that
for that
all those of your blood and law
know today and see for ever
that your heavy collapse
of peak hitted from above by a block star
like a bugle of hurricane made us
to heave up bold standing
with sights royal eagles seeing through glooms
with hot fists
on firelocks
with all roads running forward
with blood despot who doesn’t lie
changed as if by wonder at face
with daring foreheads
on the fly under storm toward a new life

Vallachian Dante your Majesty
in hunger which was savagely biting your body
like a villain fox
deeply hidden under your heavy coat
in the short passing by here
you ate sullenly in secret your heart
among rascals among dwarfs

Danube did never flow also for you
at least as much as for a thief of horses
didn’t thrill with its waters’ trouble
didn’t swing you on its wave’s paradise
or under fiery winds’ swords
neither a boat
and nor old  or white ships

Black Sea black and forgetful
Didn’t sent ever toward coast any vessel
to wait like for an empress for your sick heart
and like for a young emperor your boundless longing for departure

striving in boundlessness and high
porter with forehead in heaven porter of iron
you raised impetuously from depths sunken lonely
like a new wonder his country
you raised in sun over the world its crest
as no else did

among yours you passed pale forgiving and still
and yours with mind elsewhere didn’t understand you
who could indeed understand you by there
for them your stature was an ill deed

how could really cover
the mice
with their tiny sights
from foot to peak a mountain

by where you walked
torn up
by blend anxieties by grayish thoughts
all snowstorms hit you like a mountain

deaf storms open-muzzled
and met you
and under torn lightnings of your way
in rumble of chasm

with quick and cruel arrows
hit you directly
in forehead
and breast
living wing
over land
over song and air
head be to us from now onward
with harder and hoter step
in our terrible assault forward

out of blind and desert millions
out of deaf dead-seas
you have chosn you are chosing him for us
you have raised
and are raising him
over all others
over voivods and kings
over life over death
he alone
since the beginning

to his crepuscule without crepuscule
money less with no shield
by thousands and thousands of wounds worn out
he didn’t loose any battle
this new vigorous emperor Trajan
over a magic tongue
whirling emperor
who left to us
on his death bed
closed in a hurry in a book
monuments with heavy seals
as for thousands and thousands of lives

like eagle’s solar flight
his song
waved long ago like under unfold flags  penetrates
over boundaries terrible guarded to where
they will grow always removing like in dream to stones of frontiers
with lively soldiers
with new ploughs
with stormy songs with rosy bread
tremendous imperial Romanias beyond tomorrow

                             The blood of the jail

by Radu Gyr

                                  The Roots

last night when blind were sleeping the dens
I stayed among trunks lengthened on all fours
and when the dens were heavily sleeping
I’ve listened how the roots spoke
down about the dead from deep darks

one was speaking I grow from he chick
of a brave man full of glories in battles
now I suck his arms chest chick
undefeated he was impetuous and fiery the brave
how sweet are his sucked eyelids

another was saying ferocious I sip from the lips
of those dearest and whitest sweetheart
o how many drunk like me today her lips
how many picked her snows and hot ashes
how mighty I bite her orbits

and the third one was whispering I grow from a forehead
the forehead of dead poet was my food
I mount leaves and branches from his bitter forehead
but my leaves can defy the age
with their earthly flame

                                  At last judgment

chased through foul swamps
like a rabid beast
with pierced temples with deep orbits
with bites of winds on back

torn like a flag invaded by gangrene
tired up by whips like the rogue
thus I will arrive to the Supreme Judgment
my blood to soil your azure

clearly you’ll shine under boreal snows
violet/blue of wounds I’ll come in front of you
you’ll stay cold in the frost of Thy glory
I with sorrow will be burning hot

Thy look will be iced sword
when Thy voice from the abyss will grow
man go on speak
o Thy great judgment

then I will fall on the high steps
on lips with a bloody inert smile
for all my unjust wounds
God I do forgive Thou

                                  Be raised you George be raised you John

not for a shovel of redden bread
not for barns not for acres
but for your free air of tomorrow
be raised you George be raised you John

for the blood of your people flowed in ditches
for the tear of your sun nailed in spikes
for the song of your people in chains
be raised you George be raised you John

not for the anger gnashed in teeth
but to stock shouting on plains
a stack of shins and a busby of stars
be raised you George be raised you John

so as to drink the freedom from buckets
and in it to sink as the sky in whirlpools
and its apricot trees over you to shake
be raised you George be raised you John

to set all your hot kiss
on porches on thresholds on doors on icons
on all free things seeing your forehead
be raised you George be raised you John

be raised you John on chains on ropes
be raised you George on saint bones
up toward light after storm
be raised you George be raised you John

                                  Last night Jesus

last night Jesus has entered my cell
o my how sad how tall Christ was
the moon has entered after him the cell
and was making him taller and sadder

his hands looked like lilies on graves
his eyes as deep as forests
the moon was beating his cloths with silver
silvering on his hands old breaches

I raised from under gray blanket
God where from are you coming from which age
Jesus driven softly a finger on mouth
and made me a sign to keep silent

he stayed near me on door mat
put your hand on my wounds
on ankles shadows of wounds and rust he had
as if he had carried chains sometime

sighing he lengthened his tired bones
on my mat with cockroaches
through sleep the light and thick bars
drew out rods on his snow

the cell seemed mountain seemed skull
and it swarmed with louses and rats
I felt my temple falling on my head
and I slept thousand years

when I awaken from terrible abyss
the straws smelt like roses
I was in the cell and it was moon
only Jesus was nowhere

I lengthened my arms  nobody silence
I asked the wall no answer
only cold  rays sharpened in corners
with their lance thrust   me

where are you God I howled at bars
from moon smoke of censers came
I touched myself and  on my hands
I found the traces of his nails

                                  The son of woman thief

in the women’s pavilion  over night
gnashing one of thieves has delivered
the moon issued its breasts full of milk
and wanted to take the babe in its arms

all the other thieves hurried
to wrap up the baby in an old had kerchief
mice in corners chatted what to gnaw
outside stars walked on tall stilts

spiders moved down on strings to see the confined
heavily the tub stank  beyond door
the night at bars detached from a button its blouse
the thieves sang in wishes you lass be living your lad

and you smiled in bad reeking room
babe of doom offspring of thief
this smile you’ll take with you in life
or will you drag only sigh like a chain at feet

tomorrow son of whore will call you some
others would remember you were born beyond bars
sprawling on earth by moons yellow blizzard
you’ll not know the name of your father

perhaps you’ll also be thief like your mother tomorrow
your knife will hit in a night with hood
perhaps for rings or only for a bread
the greedy prison will suck you

or perhaps you’ll be like a cherry tree at Whitsuntide
young and full of fruits
you’ll fish from your oceans the corals
and you’d like to pass over age on big viaducts

and perhaps you’d like everywhere to partition to devote
to bind even wounds of stars in other realms
you will face the light to shaken it
its heavy gold to fall in everybody’s fists

and then they’ll say the same look at thief’s son
they’ll put like to your mothr the red iron on forehead
and in chains and on all fours would bring you to the cruel jail
to make yourself beast hate and mist

                                  Ulysses’ return

in front table I stay with myrtle at templates
but I sleep since long under Troy’s walls
the guests laugh and fill up their goblet
they drink with dead and honor the ghosts

I have remained under Troy’s walls
and with my dead fellows on sea’s bottom
fat rams and bulls redden
vainly in broaches perfumes

I sleep since long under Troy’s walls
or rot under algae with rowers
returned to home as do return the ghosts
of those who are not coming on their steps

you finger me on shoulders on cloths
persuaded that I came back
but I am only hundred of graves
in the corpse walking among you

you tell me about temples with pillars
about new gods grown in my absence
I fable you on my blue dead
remained under Troy or in seas of slag
and death not words have on mouth

at my court bards vie to come
to sing of me like of all heroes
how their song is it to me devoted
in my honor is the quiet harp sighing

I sleep since long under Troy’s walls
only shadows listen to them and the ghosts

oils with deep smell of flower
don’t wash Troy’s blood on my corpse
for beyond any bathing
I carry dear dead on me as plaster

I have remained under Troy’s walls
and when on Penelope’s warm breasts
Ilet forehead in deep hot shelter
I bleed still in wrestles with Cyclops
or I wander on seas with bones

with eager uninterrupted kisses
the woman caresses at random
on chest on arms the wounds  from battles
believing their trace doesn’t pain me more

but I am all an unseen wound
and wounds are my dim empty eyes
my woman or my dead kiss me
came in bed from under Troy’s walls

I sleep since long under Troy’s walls

again I’m lost with mariners in waves
I start again the battles with ghosts
I slide from woman’s thighs
and bury again under Troy’s walls

I have remained under Troy’s walls

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