~Dimitrie Grama: „The Gardeners of the Cosmos“

ON THE OTHER SIDE 

The wall propping up my life

became thinner next to my soul –

and one hand trespassed

the other side,

groping around the darkness…

It had firm breasts and a hot mouth,

particularly in the beginning…

On the other side, I seemed

to grasp a new God. 

He was also groping around the darkness.

Through the cracks I sensed

a multitude of various hands,

groping around the darkness.

They had firm breasts and hot mouths,

particularly in the beginning… 

They said, “He’s here,

he’s God, it’s marvellous !” 

My hand returned and

I once more groped the wall

against which I used to lean my life. 

It had firm breasts and a hot mouth,

on the other side.
_____________

SILHOUETTES OF GRANITE 

Huge silhouettes of granite

ever leisurely grind

the purl of the aeonian riverbed…

The world,

the heartbeat and the chaos

have left behind nothing

but eternity.

For me, it is embodied

in you… 

_____________

THE GARDENERS OF THE COSMOS 

I am fully awake

in your dream.

We chanced to meet

in an unknown city –

I was hovering on opal

sidewalks where

the gardeners of the cosmos

were planting scorching

meteorites on our path…

Words were not within my reach

as I strove to utter,

in a shamanic trance,

the spellbinding word…

It was beyond my powers…

Breached mirage,

now solitary and lucid

I keep rehearsing you… 

_____________

WE MARCH ON… MARCH ON… 

This is the spring I told you about !

Here, from the mountain,

I tumbled into crevices

on all fours, then on my knees,

later on my feet.

Besides, my first word

lies buried in the whereabouts. 

Take a look,

on the right, the Valley of Knowledge

where I walked hastily,

hastily, my eyes blindfolded,

on the left, the Valley of Love

where we march on,

march on… 

There looms the sea

which you feared

so much !

In this very place, our body,

briny from roaming,

gives rise to a sun

each morning… 

_____________

THE GLADE OF THE MEMORY 

The twilight is on the wane

in a deserted glade

at the centre of the world.

Bells are knelling –

weird throbs under the ground.

For some time now, there

lies a man, the last man. 

It’s evening and the wind

scatters his thought.

He’s all by himself,

he’s got something to say.

He’s waiting,

waiting motionless

at the skirts of the forest. 

He’s waiting to die…

And when he steps out of being,

the irrevocable mystery

will flutter like the breeze

over the glade of memory. 

_____________

EURIDYKE 

Before my eyes

the wind leaves through

long-forgotten ladyloves.

I recognise them

from pilgrimages

in previous ages.

We still come across each other

by the roadside

in enthralling gardens,

wherever

the wave, the time heave us… 

The wind alone

clears my eyes

with the dust of oblivion… 

_____________

THE SHADOW OF THE THOUGHT 

You have been peering

at me

but you cannot recognise me.

Naturally,

we are estranged by horizons

which the body

fails to touch

we are estranged by laughter,

we are estranged by weeping… 

So you cannot recognise me

since I am

but the shadow of the thought

in abeyance

to be uttered… 

_____________

PRAYER LIGHT… 

Kneeling,

the light drips

darkness

into pearlescent clouds –

prayer light… 

Meanwhile the darkness

drips light

or might it be

but silver

birds

on the brink of the world… ? 

_____________

ANDROGYNY 

Long ago we journeyed

      beyond barriers –

we witnessed,

      we recognised ourselves

            in shadows… 

Bodiless

      flight,

            vivid matter

            sown

            over time’s eye… 

Long ago we journeyed

      out there,

            together –

            a memory… 

_____________

PROFANE PRAYER 

My feet rusted in the ground,

  my arms stretched out to the vault

    grew blue-grey,

      clinging to a saint’s epitrachelion

        who dusted my eyes with poison. 

In my toothless mouth

    a parrot and its fellows giggled

        unanimously… 

I wept and roared

    at the peak of the nightmare,

        but nobody heard me. 

An arm reaching for help

    rotted

        on the way to the slaughterhouse. 

_____________

The End of the Hunt 

Twilight,

      the end of the hunt –

            at full speed

                  does

            like wicked fairies

                  sniff the hunters… 

Twilight,

      the leap from

            the panting trample

                  and fear

            into nimble steps,

                  ardent breath,

                        whisper… 

The end of the hunt –

      a humble step

            towards love… 

_____________

CONFESSION 

I’ve been rambling for ages

   within the mystery of a language

      nearly buried in oblivion… 

Each syllable

   echoes,

      each thought

         throbs…

I seek, measure, forsake,

   I fall and rise

      in consonants, in vowels… 

I’m seized with fear, yet

   I rejoice like a child

      each time I understand. 

I stand awestruck

   peering at the people gifted

      in wielding the words skilfully,

   setting them in the personal cosmos –

      which but partially belongs

         to the rest of us. 

I ponder like this many a time

   when, lonely and sightless,

   I leaf through the muses’ primer. 

DIMITRIE GRAMA