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Poetry in Translation, (CCLXXIII) – USA, Robert FROST (1874-1963): “A Question”, “Întrebare”

March 12th, 2014 · International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation, (CCLXXIII) – USA, Robert FROST (1874, California – 1963, Massachusetts): “A Question”, “Întrebare”

Robert Lee Frost

Robert Lee Frost

A Question
Robert FROST (1874-1963)

A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.

Întrebare
Robert FROST (1874-1963)

Ghiciţi-mi într-o ceaşcă de cafea
Şi spuneţi sincer, oameni din trecut,
Dacă necazul, tot, din viaţa mea,
N-a fost prea mult de a mă fi născut.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

robert frost quote SHORT BIO: Robert Lee Frost (1874, California –1963, Massachusetts) was an American writer, whose work was initially published in England before it came in print in America. His poetry employed settings from the early twentieth century rural life in New England.
One of the most popular and critically respected American poets of the twentieth century, Robert Frost became one of America’s rare “public literary figures, almost an artistic institution.” During his lifetime Frost was honored frequently, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry and the Congressional Gold Medal in 1960.

In all, Robert Frost received over 40 honorary degrees, including ones from Princeton, Oxford and Cambridge universities, and was the only person to receive two honorary degrees from Dartmouth College.

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Poetry in Translation, (CCLXXII) – ENGLAND, Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell (1887-1964): “Answers”, “Răspunsuri”

March 11th, 2014 · Art Collections, Books, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations, Uncategorized

Poetry in Translation, (CCLXXII) – ENGLAND, Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell (1887-1964): “Answers”, “Răspunsuri”

Dame Edith Sitwell, by Roger Fry

Dame Edith Sitwell, by Roger Fry


Answers
Edith Sitwell (1887-1964)

I kept my answers small and kept them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bullwark to my fear.

The huge abstractions I kept from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.

But the big answers clamoured to be moved Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.

Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, still I hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow.

And all the great conclusions coming near.

Dame Edith Sitwell (1887-1964)

Dame Edith Sitwell (1887-§964)

Răspunsuri
Dame Edith Sitwell (1887-1964)

Răspunsurile le-am ţinut ascunse-n piept
Când semne de-ntrebare s-au sminţit
Răspunsuri mici revin, necontenit.

Abstracţii mari le ţin ascuse-n umbră,
Iar lucruri mici le mângâi, plin de dor,
Când stelele sclipesc în noaptea sumbră.

Dar explicaţii mari năval-au dat în viaţa mea, cu mult curaj
Strigând să le aud, să le-nţeleg.
Dar când răspunsurile mai mărunte
Aspiră la-nţelegere, din nou,
Răspunsurile mari le-ntorc pe dos
Şi-atunci ideea clar-apare-n minte.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

Edith Sitwell

Edith Sitwell

SHORT BIO NOTE: Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell, DBE, was a British poet and critic and the eldest of the three literary Sitwells. Born in Scarborough, North Yorkshire, in 1887, she died in London, in 1964.
Like her brothers Osbert and Sacheverell, Edith reacted badly to her eccentric, unloving parents, and lived for much of her life with her governess. She never married, but became passionately attached to Pavel Tchelitchew (1898 – 1957) the homosexual Russian painter and costume designer. Edith Sitwell’s home was always open to London’s poetic circle, to whom she was unfailingly generous and helpful.
Sitwell published poetry continuously from 1913, some of it abstract and set to music. With her dramatic style and exotic costumes, she was sometimes labeled a poseur, but her work was also praised for its solid technique and painstaking craftsmanship (source primarily from Wikipedia, modified).

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Poetry in Translation, (CCLXXI): – ITALY, Annie Chartres VIVANTI (1888-1942): “Tra poco”, “Când dorul se va stinge”

March 7th, 2014 · International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation, (CCLXXI): – ITALY, Annie Chartres VIVANTI (1888-1942): “Tra poco”, “Când dorul se va stinge”

Tra poco
Annie Chartres VIVANTI (1888-1942)

Tra poco, quando cesserò d’amarti,
Ritroverò il mio riso …impertinente,
Ritroverò le mie perfidie e l’arti
Di torturare e innamorar la gente.

Tra poco, quando cesserò d’amarti,
Serena, smemorata e senza addio,
Contenta di fuggire e di scordarti
Riprenderò il vagabondaggio mio.

Tra poco, quando cesserò d’amarti,
Scontrandoti per via smorto e severo,
Passerò accanto senza salutarti
Cogli occhi rilucenti e il cor leggiero.

Amar stasera ed obliar domani,
Ecco il mio fato. Oh, tu cogli in quest’ora
Il fior de’ baci miei, gl’incanti strani
Della mia fantasia che t’innamora.

No, non impallidir! Baciami ancora.

Când dorul se va stinge
Annie Chartres VIVANTI (1888-1942)

Când dorul pentru tine se va stinge,
Voi regăsi surâsu-mi, plin de graţii,
Şi-n suflet perfidia m-ar cuprinde,
De-a tortura şi răvăşi bărbaţii.

Când dorul pentru tine se va stinge,
Plecând, eu n-o să-ţi zic larevedere,
Ca să te uit şi ca să fug, ferice,
Un vagabond pribeag şi fără vrere.

Când dorul pentru tine se va stinge,
Lăsându-te, şi dragostea-mi va piere,
Plecând, eu n-o să-ţi spun larevedere
Şi ochii lăcrămaţi nu te-or cuprinde.

Când vei uita de astăzi şi de mâine,
Iar soarta mea vei înţelege-n fine,
Fior-unui sărut de-odinioară
Îmi va cuprinde-n suflet, fiinţa toată,
Ca să mă strângi, la pieptu-ţi, înc-odată.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN

SHORT BIO NOTE:

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Poetry in translation, (CCLXX): Charles BAUDELAIRE (1821 -1867), FRANCE: “Le chat”, “Il gatto”, “Felina”

March 4th, 2014 · International Media, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in translation, (CCLXX): Charles BAUDELAIRE (1821 -1867), FRANCE: “Le chat”, “Il gatto”, “Felina”

Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux

Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux

Le Chat
Charles Baudelaire (1821 -1867)

Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux;
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
Mêlés de métal et d’agate.

Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s’enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,

Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,

Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
Nagent autour de son corps brun.

Il gatto
Charles Baudelaire (1821 -1867)

Vieni, mio bel gatto, sul mio cuore innamorato;
trattieni le unghie della zampa,
e lasciami sprofondare nei tuoi begli occhi striati
di metallo e d’agata.

Quando le dita indugiano ad accarezzare
la tua testa e il dorso elastico
e la mano s’inebria del piacere di palpare
il tuo corpo elettrico,
vedo la mia donna in spirito.

Il suo sguardo come il tuo, amabile bestia,
profondo e freddo, taglia e fende come un dardo,
e, dai piedi fino alla testa,
un’aria sottile, un minaccioso profumo
circolano attorno al suo corpo bruno.

Felina
Charles Baudelaire (1821 -1867)

La piept să-mi vii, felina mea splendidă:
Retrage-ţi ghiarele, când eşti la mine-n pat;
Privirea să îmi scalzi în faţa ta candidă -
Oglindă de oţel şi de agat.

Când visurile mele efemere,
Exploră corpul tău catifelat
Îmi simt în piept fiorul de plăcere
Cu trupul tău să mă fi îmbătat.

Icoana din trecut când îmi revine
Reflectă faţa ta domesticită,
Ca să îmi lase sufletu-n ruine…

Din cap până-n picior împodobită,
Un aer pur şi un parfum divin
Învăluie profilul tău de crin.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN

Short Note: Two editions of ‘Fleurs du mal’ were published in Baudelaire’s lifetime — one in 1857 and an expanded edition in 1861. ‘Scraps’ and censored poems were collected in ‘Les Épaves’ in 1866. After Baudelaire died the following year, a ‘definitive’ edition appeared in 1868.

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Poetry in translation, (CCLXIX): Juan Ramón Jiménez Mantecón (1881 -1958), SPAIN/ANDALUSIA: “Primavera encendida”, “Fired spring”, “O primavară fierbinte”

March 3rd, 2014 · International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in translation, (CCLXIX): Juan Ramón Jiménez Mantecón (1881 -1958), SPAIN/ANDALUSIA: “Primavera encendida”, “Fired spring”, “O primavară fierbinte”

Primavera encendida -
a Antonio Machado

(Juan Ramón Jiménez Mantecón,
1881 -1958)

¡Amistad verdadera, claro espejo
en donde la ilusión se mira !
…Parecen nubes
más bellas, más tranquilas.
Siento esta tarde, Antonio,
tu corazón entre la brisa.
La tarde huele a gloria.
Apolo inflama fraternales liras,
en un ocaso musical de oro,
como de mariposas encendidas ;
liras plenas y puras,
de cuerdas de ascuas líquidas,
que guirnaldas de rosas inmortales
decorarán, un día.
Antonio, ¿Sientes esta tarde ardiente,
mi corazón entre la brisa?”

Fired Spring
(to Antonio Machado)

(Juan Ramón Jiménez Mantecón,
1881 -1958)

Real friendship, clear mirror
where the illusion looks itself!…
…They look like more beautiful, calmer clouds.
I feel this evening, Antonio,
your heart in the breeze.
The evening smells of glory.
Apollo inflames brotherly lyres,
in a musical sunset of gold,
like fire butterflies;
full and pure lyres,
of liquid embers ropes,
which garlands of immortal roses
will decorate, one day.
Antonio, do you feel this burning evening,
my heart in the breeze? ”

O primavară fierbinte
(lui Antonio Machado)

(Juan Ramón Jiménez Mantecón,
1881-1958)

O prietenie pură – o oglinda pură
Unde iluziile se privesc în faţă…
Reflectând o imagine mai frumoasă, mai senină.
Antonio, astă seară
Îmi simt inima luând avânt.
Adierea de seară are un parfum de glorie.
Apollo struneşte lira sa,
În apus de soare, cu lauri de aur
Ca nişte fluturi de foc;
Va fi o zi vibrând în sunet de liră,
Coarde de chihlimbar
Ce vor fi împodobite, într-o bună zi,
Cu ghirlande de trandafiri nepieritori.
Antonio, simţi, cumva, în seara asta caldă,
Inima mea fierbinte, în adierea vântului?

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN

Machado

Machado

SHORT BIO:
Juan Ramón Jiménez Mantecón

Juan Ramón Jiménez Mantecón (23 December 1881 – 29 May 1958) was a Spanish poet, a prolific writer who received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1956. One of Jiménez’s most important contributions to modern poetry was his advocacy of the French concept of “pure poetry.Upon the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War, he and Zenobia went into exile in Puerto Rico, where he settled in 1946. Jiménez was hospitalized for eight months due to another deep depression. He later became a Professor of Spanish Language and Literature at the University of Puerto Rico. The university later named a building on campus and a living-and-learning writing program in his honor. He was also a professor at the University of Miami in Coral Gables, Florida. While living in Coral Gables he wrote “Romances de Coral Gables”.

In 1956, he received the Nobel Prize in Literature; two days later, his wife died of ovarian cancer. Jiménez never got over this loss, and he died two years afterwards, on 29 May 1958, in the same clinic where his wife had died. Both are buried in his hometown of Moguer, Spain.A quotation from Jiménez, “If they give you ruled paper, write the other way,” is the epigraph to Ray Bradbury’s novel Fahrenheit 451.

Antonio Machado

Antonio Machado

Antonio Cipriano José María y Francisco de Santa Ana Machado y Ruiz, known as Antonio Machado was a Spanish poet and one of the leading figures of the Spanish literary movement known as the Generation of ’98.

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Poetry in translation (CCLXVIII): Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564), Italy/Tuscany ): “Noaptea în capela Medici”, “The sculpture of Night in the Medici chapels”, “Madrigale”

March 2nd, 2014 · International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in translation (CCLXVIII): Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564), Italy/Tuscany ): “Noaptea în capela Medici”, “The sculpture of Night in the Medici chapels”, “Madrigale”

notte-michelangelo

Madrigal
(Noaptea în capela Medici)
Michelangelo Buonarroti

Visez adânc când somnu-mi e de piatră
Când răul şi-nfamia stau la masă
E privilegiul meu că nu îmi pasă
Nu mă treziţi şi să vorbiţi în şoaptă.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN

Madrigal
Michelangelo Buonarroti

SLUMBER is sweet, but it were sweeter still
To turn to stone while shame and sorrow last,
Nor see, nor hear, and so be freed from ill;
Ah, wake me not! Whisper as you go past!

From An Anthology of Italian Poems 13th-19th Century selected and translated by Lorna de’ Lucchi, Alfred A. Knopf, New York; 1922

medici chapel michelangelo
Madrigale
Michelangelo Buonarroti

Caro m’è’l sonno, più l’esser di sasso,
mentre che ’l danno el la vergogna dura:
non veder, non sentir, m’è ventura;
però non mi destar, deh! parla basso.

tomb-of-lorenzo-de-medici-1531

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POETRY IN TRANSLATION (CCLXVII): IRELAND – Oscar WILDE (1856 – 1900): “At Verona”, “Verona”

February 27th, 2014 · Diaspora, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

POETRY IN TRANSLATION (CCLXVII): IRELAND – Oscar WILDE (1856 – 1900): “At Verona”, “Verona”
Verona

At Verona
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)

HOW steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound’s table,–better far

That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.

‘Curse God and die: what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day’–
Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love, and all the glory of the stars.

dog fresco
Verona
Oscar WILDE (1854-1900)

Pe scările acestui vechi palat,
Cu suflet greu, mă-ncumet să purced:
Dar pâinea e sărată, mult prea, cred,
Ogarului să-ncerc să îi fi dat.

Când visul inimii va fi să moară,
La porţile Florenţei, ferecate,
Amară-i pâinea de odinioară,
Când sunt căzut în lupta din cetate.

Afurisit să fie Domnul meu: fiind rănit, ce soartă voi avea?
Mă simt uitat, în urbe, printre voi…
Zic: “Pace Vouă!” din celula mea.
Chemat la Judecata de Apoi,
În glorie, privesc un cer şi-o stea.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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Poetry in translation (CCLXVI): Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564), Italy/Tuscany: “Poem”, “Poem”

February 26th, 2014 · International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in translation (CCLXVI): Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564), Italy/Tuscany ): “Poem”, “Poem”

Michelangelo2

POEM
Michelangelo Buonarroti
(1475-1564)

Ravished by all that to the eyes is fair,
Yet hungry for the joys that truly bless,
My soul can find no stair
To mount to heaven, save earth’s loveliness.

For from the stars above
Descends a glorious light
That lifts our longing to their highest height
And bears the name of love
Nor is there aught can move
A gentle heart, or purge or make it wise
But beauty and the starlight of her eyes.

(Translated into English by
George Santayana, (1863-1952))

Poem
Michelangelo Buonarroti
(1475-1564)

Sedus de aparenţe orbitoare,
Încurajat de bucurii ascunse,
Vreau sufletu-mi să zboare către soare,
Dar căile sunt lungi si nepătrunse.

Din bolta cerului divin, sclipiri pierdute
Ne scaldă in a Domnului lumină,
Facând din vis o dragoste deplină,
Pe culmi de nesperat si neştiute.

Când dragostea in piept sălăşluieşte,
Iar drumul lung e fratele ispitei,
Icoana ei, din ceruri, mă priveşte
Cu ochi de neuitat, a prea-iubitei.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN

michelangelo Anecdotal Bio:
Though we refer to him as Michelangelo his full name was Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni.
Michelangelo was raised in Florence.
Michelangelo’s mother died when he was only six.
Michelangelo was the second oldest of five boys: Lionardo (b. 1473) (Michelangelo born 1475) Buonarroto (b. 1477) Giovansimone (b. 1479) Gismondo (b.1481)
Michelangelo sculpted David and Pieta, designed a dome for St. Peter’s Basilica, and painted frescos on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel all before he was 30 years old.
Michelangelo was created the greatest living artist of his time.
Michelangelo spent four years working on the dome of the Sistine Chapel. He stood on a scaffold and painted over his head, unlike the popular belief that he painted while laying down.
Michelangelo died in Rome in 1564. His remains were secretly returned to Florence and interred at the Basilica of Santa Croce, according to his wishes.
Michelangelo was hit in the nose as a teenager by Pietro Torrigiano, a fellow art student at an art academy in Florence. The incident left him with a permanently crooked nose.
In his old age Michelangelo nearly lived as a hermit rarely coming into contact with others except when his work brought contact about. He lived in squalor despite being rich.
Michelangelo did not marry and had no children but was rumored to have love affairs with Tommaso dei Cavalieri and the poet Vittoria Colonna.
Michelangelo wrote countless letters throughout his career, some 490 have survived and contain original signatures.
Michelangelo was the first Western artist whose biography was published while he was still alive.
From 1527-1529 Michelangelo took a break from art and joined the army to defend the Republic of Florence. He worked as an engineer creating fortifications to protect the city.
Michelangelo was also a poet, there are some 300 poetic works still in existence that are attributed to him.
Michelangelo was often dissatisfied with himself and his work. He was known for his sharp, critical, volatile temperament.
Towards the end of his life Michelangelo destroyed many of his sketches not wanting people to know how hard he worked.

Source:

http://www.michelangelo-gallery.com/fun-facts.aspx

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Poetry in translation (CCLXV): Taras SHEVCHENKO (1814-1861, UKRAINE): “It Makes No Difference To Me ”, “Nu-mi pasă”

February 25th, 2014 · Diaspora, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in translation (CCLXV): Taras SHEVCHENKO (1814-1861, UKRAINE): “It Makes No Difference To Me ”, “Nu-mi pasă”

Shevchenko selfportrait

Shevchenko selfportrait


It Makes No Difference To Me
Taras SHEVCHENKO (1814-1861)

It makes no difference to me,
If I shall live or not in Ukraine
Or whether any one shall think
Of me ‘mid foreign snow and rain.

It makes no difference to me.
In slavery I grew ‘mid strangers,
Unwept by any kin of mine;
In slavery I now will die
And vanish without any sign.

I shall not leave the slightest trace
Upon our glorious Ukraine,
Our land, but not as ours known.
No father will remind his son
Or say to him, “Repeat one prayer,
One prayer for him; for our Ukraine
They tortured him in their foul lair.”

It makes no difference to me,
If that son says a prayer or not.
It makes great difference to me
That evil folk and wicked men
Attack our Ukraine, once so free,
And rob and plunder it at will.
That makes great difference to me.

(Taras Shevchenko
St. Petersburg Citadel Prison, May 1847
Translated by Clarence A. Manning,
Columbia University, New York, 1944)

NU-MI PASĂ
Taras Shevchenko (1814-1861)

(Scris în închisoarea fortăreţei Sankt Petersburg, Mai 1847)

De voi trăi în ţara mea,
Sau dacă veţi gândi cumva
De mine, ca străin,
Vă zic că-mi pasă prea puţin.

Iobag, născut printre străini,
Jelit de fraţi, fără suspin,
Şi, chiar iobag de voi muri,
Îmi pasă prea puţin.

Mormântul meu va fi demult uitat
În ţara unde m-am născut,
Dar cărei n-am aparţinut.
Dar când tătâne-miu, neîncetat,
Îmi va cânta-n genunchi, o rugăciune,
Tu miluieşte-i Doamne-al său tribut,
Căci am murit pe roată, pentru tine.

Imi pasă-acuma prea puţin.
De-mi vei rosti vre-o rugăciune.
Dar zic, căci este crezul meu,
Când oameni fără Dumnezeu,
Afurisi-vor al tău nume,
Ca să-l despoaie de trecut.
E greu, aşa, să fi crezut!

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London,
© 2014 Copyright Constantin ROMAN)

View of Chersonessus, Ukraine, Black Sea

View of Chersonessus, Ukraine, Black Sea

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Poetry in translation (CCLXIV), Constantin ROMAN (ENGLAND): “Fantasia Caprese secondo lo stile di Eugenio Montale”, “Capri – o fantezie in stilul lui Eugenio Montale”

February 24th, 2014 · Diaspora, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in translation (CCLXIV), Constantin ROMAN (ENGLAND): “Fantasia Caprese secondo lo stile di Eugenio Montale”, “Capri – o fantezie in stilul lui Eugenio Montale”

Italia Isola

Fantasia Caprese secondo lo stile di Eugenio Montale
Anche la speranza di pure rivederti

Constantin ROMAN (ENGLAND)

The hope of
even seeing you again
deserted me;
and left me wondering
if what denies me,
my love for you,
my empty dreams,
is nothing else than
a sign of death,
or, would it be,
perhaps,
our hollow secret,
now distorted,
the mirror
of your bedazzlement,
nothing more than
the errand ghost
of a senile mind;

(at Capri, along the cypress avenue,
Baron von Gloden parades
his gilded coach
led by a liveried Cossack,
lashing his silver whip
on the rump of
a Calabrian stallion)

© Copyright, Constantin ROMAN, London, 2014

Coaches  Livery

Capri – o fantezie in stilul lui Eugenio Montale:
‘Anche la speranza di pure rivederti’

Speranţa de a te revedea
m-a părăsit;
şi mă întreb,
dece dorul aprins pentru tine,
umbra viselor mele,
nu este altceva decât o
premoniţie a morţii,
sau poate
o revelaţie fugară
a trecutului,
fantasma ta orbitoare,
stafie obsedantă
a unei minţi senile?

(la Capri,
pe bulevardul cu chiparoşi,
Baronul von Gloden
face paradă
în caleaşca lui poleită
cu un lacheu Cazac în livrea
dând bice crupei
unui armăsar Calabrez).

© Copyright, Constantin ROMAN, London, 2014

stallions

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