The rocks shout Amen [Stâncile strigă Amin]
Lean and tormented, old, bent to the ground,
Like pilgrims scoured Beda all around.
And passed through many countries, many lands,
To spread religion and the God's commands.
But being blind, he couldn't make his way,
That's why a child would lead him every day.
And once he guided him along a brook
Where there were many rocks with stately look.
The old man paused to breathe and take a rest,
The toddler turned to him and spoke in jest:
"O, father, it is wrong to linger here
When crowds are waiting for you to appear
And give the sermon". So, the poor old man
Got up, took out his text and soon began
To read it and explain it with such grace,
That tears of joy did flood his wrinkled face.
The laughter of the child shook all his bones
Seeing the saint was preaching to the stones
And all his words got lost into thin air;
The old man stopped and with the greatest care
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poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Decebalus speaking to his people [Decebal către popor]
Life is just a useless thing
If you don't live it like a king!
And now has come a wicked race
A yoke upon your neck to place;
It's bad enough that we were born
Why need some more disgrace?
If we were stargods from the sky
One day we all are gonna die!
A man may die when young and sane
Or when he's old and feeling pain
But it's a different thing to die
A wretched dog in chain.
All those who fight, but sigh and whine
Even they were in the front line,
They are for us like any guy
Who runs away because he's shy!
The whining, now and anytime,
Is but a futile cry!
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poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Mother [Mama]
Flows down the water of the spring,
The roar is all prevailing,
And in the evening poplars sing
The everlasting wailing.
The braided paths, narrow and bare,
Towards the mill are going
I see you, mother, you are there
Your shack is slightly glowing!
You spin. The fire's burning pale
And in the hearth are dying
Three splinters broken from the rail
And their flame is sighing.
From time to time, it rises bright,
Then falls, worn-out by labour,
Blending the shadows with the light
At corners, in the chamber.
Two girls are sitting next to you
And spin – the work is numbing;
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poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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We want land! [Noi vrem pământ!]
Without a shelter, hungry, blue,
You put a burden on my back
And spat me and enchained my neck,
I was a dog for you.
Upstart boyar, maybe you planned
To satisfy the hell's demand
To be your dogs, we are in chains,
Suffer the burdens and the pains
And pull the yoke, obey the reins,
But we want land!
A loaf of bread from yesterday
If see with us, you want it bad,
You send to war our dearest lad
And take the girls away.
You curse what's holy, you command,
What's mercy you can't understand!
And our children starve to death
We pity them and lose our breath,
But we could get a little strength
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poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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El-Zorab
An Arab comes, looking like hell,
His voice is weak, he can't speak well,
– O, pasha, please, don't be severe,
From Bab-el-Manteb I've come here
My EL-Zorab to sell.
All Arabs then approach with care
To see my horse with reddish hair.
I pull the reins, he trots a while
I love him for his graceful style,
I'd die to leave him there.
But my three kids do starve in pain
Their mouth is dry, I go insane,
And my wife's misery is great,
Because her breasts are in such state
They can't give milk again!
My dearest ones are cold as ice,
But you, O, pasha, you are nice!
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poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Zamphyra's wedding [Nunta Zamfirei]
The earth is long and wide a bit
But rich like Arrow, gentle, fit,
There was no ruler to outshine
And had a daughter, so divine,
A holy icon in a shrine
To worship it.
That many came to ask her hand,
It isn't hard to understand,
But from all princes who drew near
And crossed the threshold without fear,
The most attractive and most dear
She did demand.
The most beloved! He came by
From the far East, where sun is shy,
A handsome prince, tender and slim,
The girl fell instantly for him,
For Viorel, not on a whim;
He caught her eye.
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poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Death of Lightning
An envoy riding fast, inclined,
Holding the reins, looking resigned
Comes from afar and grows so tall
That the horizons now are small
And many ravens fly behind
Like a black wall.
The king will get an answer sore
From the war camp, to hurt his core;
For in his cloak he hides some stuff,
The best of heroes, bold and tough,
And when he lays him on the floor
It's been enough!
Lightning is dead! Killed by a beast
On foreign banks, there in the east.
His lovely garment white appears,
But blood is dripping like red tears
And the bare chest of the deceased
Is full of spears.
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poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoș
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