povb5720

LUMEA	THE WORLD
Flavia Cosma	tr. the poet with Don Wilson
Lumea se strânge Se face mai mica, Cerul se sparge, Bolta se ridica. Mâinile ni se zbat în neant Tot mai departe de-aici, Tot mai aproape de Tine, Doamne, Ni-e frică. Ci spune-mi bunică Câte mănunchiuri de flori ai primit De douăzeci de ani încoace? Stai rece sub pământ Lângă omul tău negru Ce nu ştia Să plângă pân-ce murea, Şi-acuma zace, Şi-acuma tace. Eu tot îţi mai scriu - E târziu. O, bunică, bunică, Lumea se strânge, Cerul se ridică.	The world is drawing inward, Makes itself smaller. The sky breaks - Heaven is arching higher. Our hands spend themselves in empty space Farther and farther from here, Nearer and nearer to You, Lord - We are in fear. But tell me, Grandmother, How many bunches of flowers have you gotten In the last twenty years? Coldly you lie in the earth Close to the dark one, your husband, Who'd have cried himself to death, Did not know how, And here he lies, And here he's silent now. Yet I'm writing to you again; It is late. O, Grandmother, Grandmother, The world draws itself in, The sky's rising.