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George Anca prezintă  în limba engleză un  semnificativ grupaj din poeziile lui RADU GYR :

 

 

 Radu Gyr

THE BLOOD OF THE JAIL

From Romanian by George Anca


The Roots

Last night when blind were sleeping the dens
I stayed among trunks lengthened on all fours
and when the dens were heavily sleeping
I've listened how the roots spoke
down about the dead from deep dark

one was speaking I grow from the cheek
of a great man full of glories in battles
now I suck his arms chest cheek
undefeated he was impetuous and fiery the brave
how sweet are his sucked eyelids

another was saying ferocious I sip from the lips
of those dearest and whitest sweetheart
o how many drunk like me today her lips
how many picked her snows and hot ashes
how mighty I bite her orbits

and the third one was whispering I grow from a forehead
the forehead of dead poet was my food
I mount leaves and branches from his bitter forehead
but my leaves can defy the age
with their earthly flame


At last judgment

chased through fool swamps
like a rabid beast
with pierced temples with deep orbits
with bites of winds on back

torn like a flag invaded by gangrene
tired up by whips like the rogue
thus I will arrive at the Supreme Judgment
my blood to soil your azure

clearly you'll shine under boreal snows
violet-blue of wounds I'll come in front of you
you'll stay cold in the frost of Thy glory
I will sorrow will be burning hot

Thy look will be iced sword
when Thy voice from the abyss will grow
man go on speak
o Thy great judgment

then I will fall on the high steps
on lips with a bloody inert smile
for all my unjust wounds
God I do forgive Thou


Be raised you George be raised you John

not for a shovel of redden bread
not for barns not for acres
but for your free air of tomorrow
be raised you George be raised you John

For the blood of your people flowed in ditches
for the tear of your sun nailed in spikes
for the song of your people in chains
be raised you George be raised you John

not for the anger gnashed in teeth
but to stock shouting on plains
a stack of shines and a busby of stars
be raised you George be raised you John

s0 as to drink the freedom from buckets
and in it to sink as the sky in whirlpools
and its apricot trees over you to shake
be raised you George be raised you John

be raised you John on chains on ropes
be raised you George on saint bones
up toward light after storm
be raised you George be raised you John


Last night Jesus

Last night Jesus has entered my cell
oh my how sad how tall Christ was
the moon has entered after him the cell
and was making him taller and sadder

his hands looked like lilies on graves
his eyes as deep as forests
the moon was beating his cloths with silver
silvering on his hand old breaches

I raised from under gray blanket
God where from are you coming from which age
Jesus driven softly a finger on mouth
and make me a sign to be silent

he stayed near me on door mat
put your hand on my wounds
on ankles shadows of wounds and rust he had
as if he had carried chains sometime

sighing he lengthened his tired bones
on my mat with cockroaches
through sleep the light and thick bars
drew out rods on his snow

the cell  seemed mountain seemed skull
and it swarmed with louses and rats
I felt my temple falling on my head
and I slept thousand years

when I awake from terrible abyss
the straws smelt like roses
I was in the cell and it was moon
only Jesus was nowhere

I lengthened my arms nobody silence
I asked the wall no answer
only cold rays sharpened in corners
with their lance thrust me

where are you God I howled at bars
from moon smoke of censers came
I touched myself and on my hands
I found the traces of his nails


The son of woman thief

in the women's pavilion over night
gnashing one of thieves has delivered
the moon issued its breasts full of milk
and wanted to take the babe in its arms

all the other thieves hurried
to wrap up the baby in an old handkerchief
mice in corners chatted what to gnaw
outside stars walked on tall stilts

spiders moved down on strings to see the confined
heavily the tub stank beyond door
the night at bars detached from a button its blouse
the thieves sang in wishes you lass believing your lad

and you smiled in bad reeking room
babe of doom offspring of thief
this smile you'll take with you in life
or will you drag only sigh like a chain at feet

tomorrow son of whore will call you some
others would remember you were born beyond bars
sprawling on earth by moon's yellow blizzard
you'll not know the name of your father

perhaps you'll also be thief like your mother tomorrow
your knife will hit in a knight with hood
perhaps for rings or only for a bread
the greedy prison will suck you

or perhaps you'll be like a cherry tree at Whitsunday
young and full of fruits
you'll fish from your oceans the corals
and you'd like to pass over age on big viaducts

and perhaps you'd like everywhere to partition to devote
to bind even wounds of stars in other realms
you will face the light to shaken it
its heavy gold to fall in everybody's fists

and then they'll say the same look at thief's son
they'll put like to your mother the red iron on forehead
and in chains and on all fours would bring you to the cruel jail
to make yourself beast hate and mist


Ulysses' return

in front table I stay with myrtle at templates
but I sleep since long under Troy's walls
the guests laugh and fill up their goblet
they drink with dead and honor the ghosts

I have remained under Troy's walls
and with my dead fellows on sea's bottom
fat rams and bulls redden
vainly in broaches perfumes

I sleep since long under Troy's walls
or rot under algae with rowers
returned to home as do return the ghosts
of those who are not coming on their steps

you finger me on shoulders on cloths
persuaded that I came back
but I am only hundred of graves
in the corps walking among you

you tell me about temples with pillars
about new gods grown in my absence
I fable you on my blue dead
remained under Troy or in seas of slag
and death not words have on mouth

at my court bards vie to come
to sing of me like all heroes
how their song is it to me devoted
in my honor is the quiet harp sighing

I sleep since long under Troy's walls
only shadows listen to them and the ghosts

oils with deep smell of flower
don't wash Troy's blood on my corpse
for beyond any bathing
 carry dear dead on me as plaster

I have remained under Troy's walls
and when on Penelope's warm breasts
I let forehead in deep hot shelter
I bleed still in wrestles with Cyclops
or I wander on seas with bones

with eager uninterrupted kisses
the woman caresses at random
on chest on arms the wounds from battles
believing their trace doesn't pain me more

But I am all an unseen wound
and wounds are my dim empty eyes
my woman or my dead kiss me
came in bed from under Troy's walls

I sleep since long under Troy's walls

again I'm lost with mariners in waves
 start again the battles with ghosts
I slide from woman's thighs
and bury again under Troy's walls

I have remained under Troy's walls

Produs Port@Leu | ISSN 1842 - 9971