Quatrain [Catren]
Why am I not a flower,
A martin flying far –
Just to forget a moment
Where I am – where you are!...
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Epilogue [Epilog]
Near the shore of the sad sea
On a rock I lean,
Waters tremble with great glee,
Very deep and green.
On my soul there is a weight,
A love that has drowned,
For it cannot shun this state,
Carries it around.
Like the eagle, which in flight
Disappears away,
Over sea waves keeping tight
In its claws the prey.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Whispers [Şoapte]
In the sad night that keeps us now apart
Maybe you hear around some sighs bizarre
And fluttering of wings, words from the heart...
It is my longing coming from afar
And tired, next to you to sleep has flown,
As if it were a moth avoiding light,
Which at your head reposes with delight
On a small book closed quickly on its own
For sleep will keep us separate tonight...
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Song [Cântec]
My woods, how beautiful you are
When feeble are the shades
And through the branches, from afar,
A wind of spring pervades.
Through the dead leaves few violets sprout
Like small and coloured dots
I cross the thicket to get out
Together with my thoughts...
When heavy dew shines like a star
On trails where sun rays stroll
My woods, how beautiful you are
And lonely, like my soul...
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Microscopic [Microscopică]
When a man one day to fierce war was called
A crow in a tree at him loudly cawed:
"Go to fight, and die for your land out there
And your wife, for certain, bastard child will bear."
Hearing this, the guy didn't want to leave
So, after a while, despite of his strength,
He was sentenced harshly and was put to death.
Lesson:
He, who everything believes
Won't take long before he grieves.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Cherished letters [Scrisori iubite]
Old letters, which to me were dear,
Today, when sun is shining bright,
I bow my head trying to hear
Your silent words that bring delight.
I used to be immersed in bliss,
Today, I have a weary brow,
I wonder, though, where is she now?
What has become of that sweet miss?
We loved each other with all might,
But now I have before my eyes
Only a pile of bloody lies
Tied with a thread to keep them tight...
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Tercets [Terţine]
I still remember what she used to say
The whispers disappeared in the harsh storm
"Why aren't you good? O, leave, go far away!"
It's night and windy. And the lightnings swarm
It thunders and the raindrops fall dismayed,
As big as hazels, and a dance perform.
The place around me sparkles like a blade
I'm leaving slowly, dreaming, all alone.
But, Lo! A voice... I can't believe... A maid?
It seems to call me on a pleading tone.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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From the threshold [Din prag]
Like evening star
I fade away
And night around
Will soon expand.
When all the past
Dies in my soul
It is replaced
By desert land...
O, icon dear
From other times,
Right now you seem
A ruined dream...
Come closer, please,
To kiss your hand
And blackish eyes,
Which brightly gleam!
[...] Read more
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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On the way back [La întoarcere]
The wind flows towards the plains
And the ground will sweep.
Come to life all plants and grains,
Fields are all asleep.
Here and there it bears a load,
Whitish clouds of dust...
Near the narrow even road
Telegraph poles rust
(Back to back, straight lonely staffs,
Smoke rolls, bluish-gray,
Long like necks of wild giraffes)
Strung along the way.
To the steeples of the town
Stare while losing hope...
Scared that night is falling down
And they cannot cope.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Autumn in the park [Toamna în parc]
Fall so quickly on the lane
Of the park with flowers blue
Withered leaves, like all those vain
Fantasies I shared with you.
In the light that starts to fade
Covered by a silky cloud,
Passes now a dreamy maid
With a major tall and proud.
He is blushing, very shy,
Tries his temper not to lose,
While she's crushing the leaves dry
With her small and glossy shoes.
And in this bizarre misfit
With what hear and what they see,
They walk separately a bit,
He a major, minor she...
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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