~Hanna Bota: „With you“ (translated by Dan Brudascu)
WITH YOU
I am always with you
hidden within the light of withered eyelids
when the full moon
gets undressed on the threshold
of your overtranslucent window
in your left hand
when the sleeplessness
brings along the first grain of sweat
that you wipe (without success)
onto the rumpled bed sheet
before the volcano of light throws out
its morning
in the rejected thought I am
in the uttered voicelessness
afraid of being given effect,
into the postponing of the hug
until the worlds allure new geneses
I am everywhere
this is why I do not exist.
DENUDATION
I tore up my garments and I
abandoned them along your barren fields.
there were also coats under them,
then I tore up again
and again,
and again …
under them,
later,
I found out only a heart,
armless,
thighless and fingerless,
sightless,
speechless,
all yours borrowed
long ago, I thought.
just a heart
rhythmically beating
your name.
ASHES
we did our best to keep quiet
to lock love behind
ancient stunts,
to burn it in an ardent blaze
only a few ashes
gathered up in the palms
to remind the heart’s desire
we tried to crush
the call into postponing,
it will probably remain the slave yell
till it pines away into an echo
this is how we used to fidget between
tranquility and voicelessness
closer and closer
till we knew no more where was my end
where you began to bear a name.
OPERATION
I heaped up all the knives in the world
to cut off my love
that had grown up to know
just the law of self-denial
to cut the fingers …
the heart, thighs, eyes?
where’s the root of love?
if I separate every cell from me,
every throbbing,
every blinking
everything is love
and there are not enough knives.
LOOK FOR ME
look for me into the word
I am spread out
as the vowels turn into bridges
from the unknown to knowledge
as an April sun for blind eyes
a wing after the chains fall
my dumb thought is Sisif
and a hurricane within you
light over the blind retina
as the lost paradise for Milton.
DESTINY
my body – heavy clay
that you tore off the dust of the earth
wings – also of clay
break at the first flying movement when
obstinate roots poke down to the lava,
only my desire is stolen from the sky
and it often leaves my body – hostage to motionlessness
to break the records of the race towards you
draw my contour
and you’ll see me in the dusk stepping over the fountains
your eyes must be closed
so that I can’t see them in the water tremor,
you’d revive like the Morning Star
nevertheless it’d be useless
I’m clay, you an angel.
Poeme traduse de DAN BRUDASCU
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