We hereby offer 5 poems translated from Svetlana Cârstean’s poetry book Gravity to you, our dear readers.
Traducător: Florin Buzdugan
Sursa: Gravitație. Poeme 2013-2014, Editura Trei, București, 2015,
pp. 31, 33, 46, 55, 68
***
•
in the room next door
those on the Titanic keep
trying to save themselves,
their cries are so distressing
they yell at each other
they do not know yet who deserves
to be saved
and who doesn’t
the captain stays last
who is the captain
in the novel written
in the notebook with a moose on its cover
at 12 years
the ship left
the Mississippi shores
at the edge of the Atlantic there was a big storm
however those in love got to Rome safely
the captain was joyous
and cursed at all times
he said
thousand pipes!
and Mickey the second in command was the buffoon in the story
love triumphed
no one died in my novel
how could they die
I did not know another ending
back then.
in the room next door
those on the Titanic still
are trying to save themselves,
the captain decides
who goes on the wooden boats
who stays
on board
who freezes
who doesn’t
the old telly heats up
the neighbour rings the doorbell
I open
madam, do something
stop yelling like this
there are people who are already sleeping at this hour.
•
Some have died and are no more
others haven’t died and are no more
others are already sleeping
me
I am a flaky girl that
never stops jumping
gravity’s the easiest
to demonstrate. no matter how high
you jump
you always return from where left.
•
Never has Your cruelty exceeded Your charity
Erased are the tracks of the old pain,
the marks of the past days’ gaze.
Welcome, gravity, into my life!
New hymns will be written.
The daughters of the passed revolutions,
which they have not made,
for which they weren’t the ones to light the fire,
they only have the effigy of the fight incrusted
on the skin of their chest.
But the weapons are different.
Other weapons received they have
they master other weapons
Your daughter whom
you’ve made to be born at the end of the aged revolutions.
•
And our mothers have born us bleak.
Shrivelling and
cold.
Frowning.
Your Tehran sun
was during that hour
as dark as the over ripped peaches,
under its skin
your face was hiding
with the eyes still unopened.
And our fathers
put their weapons in our hands,
like a cure for fear
through which we would forget our sex.
•
never has my fear been smaller than your cruelty
never has my love outweighed your fear.
the power of the all powerful has thinned
like the smoke that is just going out the window
and all the quantities were other ones.
and the ceiling of the small apartment
with your face drawn on it
cracked in two
until next time.
traducerile de sâmbătă 