poeme de ioan es. pop

Ioan Es. Pop, așa cum fost-a promis acum o săptămână.
Lectură plăcută.

Traducător: Florin Buzdugan
Sursa: marea parte, din Tiuk (unul, două, pentru cunoscători; unul dintre ele, îl redăm la final)
(desigur, trebuie menționată sursa primă este ioan es. pop – ieudul fără ieșire, CDPL, București, 2015)


4. I rarely go out and when I do go out the walls shake fainter and fainter even

after the effort of expulsion . one day
they won’t have enough power to
push their fetus out for good

here only the bed has a little human warmth left.
and I sleep and sink in the mattress and it
gobbles me upper and upper, by
the shoulders, by the neck, by the chest.

and I sleep now for tomorrow follows
and for tomorrow to sleep even in the pillow’s mollusk
it doesn’t matter anymore if I am me or I –

the mattress swells and it slowly sinks me in
her sweet darkness, hopeless, sightless,
it closes above and it pastes like a heated envelope,
the bed sheet’s placenta barely leaves room for the breathe

and mircea shouts wake up, but I don’t hear him anymore
wake up, he says, but I don’t.
what good to wake up and what would be left to me
if I would wake up for good.

5. we find ourselves alive one day and we don’t know what’s with us

and we say for what and they say tomorrow-the-day-after-tomorrow you have
the first hearing, you have to prepare to speak,
be careful what you say, everything you say is
against you, this is the ieud wherever you’d
run to it is the ieud.

7. we knock at the doors to open them to let us

leave, but those from beyond don’t hear us and
they also knock at the doors to let them leave
and when it opens we run into ourselves
but we don’t notive ourselves and we say we want to get out
and they say we want to get in, don’t take the door with yu
we won’t have what to unlock on our way out,
there will be a hole in the wall,
we won’t have a way out.

2. don’t rise up on him but only during sleep
and so on, I vociferate because I know
that I am no more than a language and I’m allowed any incursion
and I can’t get out no matter what I do.

3. I’m the owner he says I live only in the attic

I never get down, you couldn’t see me
“what do you mean attic what attic we’ve been sitting in this room for years
nobody has ever seen an attic above”
I am the owner, he says, you don’t have any business in the attic
“what do you mean attic what attic this room has never had an attic”
elvira entered – you blind people the waters have already reached beyond the windows
take the shovels go up in the attic shove them in the gutter row
to somehow move this ship from its place, to take off as fast as possible
– quick in the attic, you bastards, take the paddles, there’s no more time
“but, elvira, I went up there, said mircea, there isn’t any attic”
“yes there is, I say, the owner’s there, the attic is there”
“there’s no attic, he says, up on the roof there’s but a smashed plaster doll
and it barely rained tonight, elvira,
there are barely some puddles under the windows,
it always rains through these damned ceilings, nobody ever thought
to make an attic above, an attic”
and I say “the owner” and he says “it’s only a tattered doll there
if it keeps on raining, by tomorrow morning the plaster will
completely wipe off her”

October 12th, some other time

when I was ten years old they bought me my first shoes.
they were long and yellow like coffins.
I never wore them. they punished me
many years for this. I’ve never laughed since then.
my hand began writing.


nu răsări pe el decât în somn
și așa mai departe, vociferez pentru că știu
că nu sunt decât un limbaj și-mi este permisă orice incursiune
și nu pot ieși orice-aș face, op. cit., p. 58

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