Jealousy [Gelozie]

If we hadn't met, my dame,
(By adventure, one fine day),
You, another guy, I say,
Would have loved and cared the same.

If I hadn't shown up, though,
You'd have given all for free,
To some stranger, not to me,
Your caresses that I know.

Maybe you'd have had a child,
Who have looked, poor wretched soul,
Like his father after all,
That birdbrain, so mean and wild.

But... we've had a nice romance
For we met that lovely day
And the fact I'm glad today, –
I would say it is by chance!

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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The lake [Lacul]

Heavy piles of clouds advance,
Following an unseen way,
And because of their slow dance
The lake's face is color gray.

Near the water, full of grief,
The sad poplar, lone and bare,
Wailing for its withered leaf
Bends and trembles in the air.

Waves go by and seem to gloat
Move with low, but constant speeds,
And they rock an empty boat,
Which is lost among the reeds.

How I wish this very year
In a starry night of May
On your waters deep and clear
With my love to float away,

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poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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To the sad sweetheart [Iubitei întristate]

I'd like a clear blue sky and peace and vivid light,
A garden, as in tales, to please and charm my sight,
With many lilac blossoms and shaded paths to take,
And weeping willow trees surrounding a small lake...

And you to be in it, a fountain of pure bliss!
With big and limpid eyes, thin waist and gentle kiss,
My dear beloved queen, with flowers as your friends,
To give you from my heart a love that never ends.

To see that you're not sad, but full of life and grace,
With smile upon your lips and with a rosy face,
Forgetting that you are a puppet in life's show,
And safe from all the pains which in your way will flow...

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Biography [Biografie]

He was a man like any decent guy,
Like you, like me, and I am not a liar,
Who never cared and never wondered why
One day all people surely would expire.

And, for he came on earth just for a change,
Although he hadn't had this wish so strange
He made his way into the atmosphere,

Then stuck his pointed hat in the mild breeze
And turned himself into a boulder here,
A rock among the trees.

But, as he stood one day with mouth agape
He froze for ever in a rigid shape.

And his poor soul, within kept by some locks,
Rushed to the sky and didn't want to stop,
Like the thick darkness in an empty box
When someone opens suddenly its top.

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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A night [O noapte]

Up in the starry sky dark clouds now come in sight
And suddenly they cover the night's eternal light.
A shadow vast and eerie surrounds the earth with ease
And in the black night's silence one hears how roars the breeze.

Will I be blessed again with moonlit nights and warm?
A storm has raged outside and in my chest – a storm.

Quick lightnings tear the darkness of the majestic sky,
As late at night swift light thoughts pervade my mind and eye.
And one can hear the thunder that whimpers far away,
As in my soul is groaning eternal black dismay.

Harassed by winds, the bleak woods their sad show do perform.
A storm has raged outside and in my chest – a storm.

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Storm [Furtuna]

No one lingers in the street.
The black clouds come like a fleet.
Fly the dry leaves in the air
And are scattered everywhere,
Tremble the acacias' feet:
Blows the wind, beware!

At the crossroads, far away,
There's a woman on the way
With her kid... Wind blows with force
Hits the gates without remorse
And the woman starts to pray:
Thunders roar, of course.

When the clouds tear like a veil,
The poor mother, with a wail,
Weary and a little numb,
Her heart beating like a drum,
Calls her child so scared and frail:
– Come to mother, come!

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poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Enigma of the closed books [Enigma cărţilor închise]

Immaculate fair pages written by hands on which the humble time has placed
Its everlasting emblems with much haste!
O, thoughts withered in closed books
O, cold deeps opened in paradises with good looks
O, written dreams flowing like brooks!
There are mournful books whose mystic thrills
As light as quills
Garland any dumb disaster
With horizons blue or pale like alabaster,
Inoculating deeply the nightly statues with gestures mirrored
By the lakes full of mystery
And tranquility.
There are books in mourning
Full of tanned longing,
There are books whose chants full of gloom
Wake up and stir the pangs in the royal tomb...
When the doleful rhythm of the ballads without sound
Resurrects, vibrates, contemplates and falls to the ground
Or in the waterfalls around
The pale dreams will retire in nooks.

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poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Pastel poem [Pastel]

At sunset, from beyond the peaks,
Red blinks at dusk in silence glow
They break in small and shining streaks,
Which into shaded Danube flow.

The murky waves bury them all
And under osiers downstream,
On water hardly shake and crawl
Like orange peel, or so they seem.

Down there, above the forest, soon,
Where shrubberies are dark and wet,
Rises the handsome crescent moon
And sparkles from a minaret.

And, as if painted with this goal,
The island casts its shadow long,
Cut from the world, playing the role
Of a medieval castle, strong.

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poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Memory [Amintire]

I stood to listen for a while
What was that long, deep clutter?...
Wind shook the water off the boughs
And drops fell in the gutter.

My footsteps rustled through the leaves
A pleasant noise creating,
And I was trembling in the night
Worn out of so much waiting.

The gloomy woods were on the left
And in the garden, sparkling,
Between two poplars, near the house,
Was waiting my sweet darling.

And I remember very well
We whispered full of passion
When in the night, a distant bird,
Screeched in a scary fashion.

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poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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At peace [Împăcare]

A comrade when the pain is rife
That's how I saw you, on the whole;
I gave you my entire life,
A starry sky, devoid of strife –
And the pure flower of my soul.

But when you wished to shake it, dear,
It withered and it lost its bliss.
In vain you ask a kiss sincere,
Keep running to a new frontier
And other cheeks you'll fondly kiss!...

I do not beg, like in the past,
Your smile, while staying on my knees.
Neither the secret curses cast
Can bring you back to me at last,
Nor tears or any foolish pleas.

Mine was the fairest of them all
A bread in which the life abounds;

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poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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