| CUŢIT | THE KNIFE
| Flavia Cosma |
tr. the poet with Don Wilson | Umblu prin lume cu un cuţit în piept. Alţii Imi drămuiesc colţul pâinii, Dragostele Mi le sfâşie câinii. Inima mea simte numai durerea. Umblu prin lume cu un cuţit în pântec. Slugi şi stăpâni La mese lungi benchetuiesc, Dar eu demult uitat-am In miezul mamei pruncul Şi prelins peste coapse, Vinul cald, domnesc. Inima mea simte numai durerea. Mască de fier înroşit, Durerea mă preumblă-n primăvară, Plouă cu flori de cuţit, Mai umblu prin lume Dar lumea n-o simt, Vremelnică ceară, Şi dulce şi-amară, Mai umblu prin lume In primăvară. With a knife in my breast, I walk through the world. People Begrudge me a crust of bread - Dogs are tearing apart My loves. But my heart feels only the sorrow. With a knife in my belly, I walk through the world. Servants and masters Feast at long tables; But I do not remember - it was so long ago - The little one in the middle of his mother And trickling over the thighs The warm, princely wine. But my heart feels only sorrow. Reddened iron mask, Sorrow walks me through spring It's raining knife-flowers - I go on through the world; However, I don't feel it, Transitory wax Both bitter and sweet; I go on through the world In the spring. |
Copyright © Flavia Cosma 2007