Rezultatele căutării

C

I have crossed the bridges of Cé
It is there that everything began
 
A song of bygone days
Tells of a knight who injured lay
 
Of a rose upon the carriage-way
And a bodice with an unlaced stay
 
And the castle of an insane duke
And swans in castle moats
 
And of the meadow where
An eternal fiancée comes to dance
 
And I have drunk the long lay
Of false glories like icy milk
 
The Loire bears my thoughts away
With the overturned jeeps
 
And the unprimed arms
And the ill-dried tears
 
O my France O my forsaken one
I have crossed the bridges of Cé
 

I Know No Night But Your Absence

I know no night but your absence,
this wound whence you departed me.
Nothing but you makes any sense.
Without you everything is lies
and all things are a wreck to me.
 
I know no living but you voice
and your wrist clasped in my hand.
I know no death nor broken heart
but picturing the inhumane
parting from you along my path.
 
O love of mine, O my sadness,
one of these ancient days of May
you had fled me. When was it then?
I felt so bad and loved you so.
Did you ever forgive me this?
 
By dint of loving you so hard
did the young man I used to be
become this other self at last,
and the tears on your naked hands,
love itself sprawling at your feet.
 

One day, one day

Everything that in man has been grand and sublime,
His protest, his anthems,
heroic characters,
Over this body and against its torturers
In Granada today arises before crime
 
And this absent mouth and Lorca now quiet, still,
Filling the universe suddenly with silence,
On all violent men turn back the violence.
My God, what a din makes
a poet who gets killed.
 
One day, yet, one day will come the colour orange,
A day of palms, a day of leaves brushing the brows,
A day of naked shoulder when people will love
A day looking like a bird on the highest branch.
 
Ah, I felt so desperate about my wild brethren,
I could see, I could see a future on our knees,
The Beast triumphing and the stone on us shutting,
And the soldiers' fire reaching our sweet blue seas.
 
What,? There should always be through a horrid bargain
That same restless sharing of the earth made between
Those killers by whom even panthers are frightened,
whose knife still shakes after it's been touched by their hand.?
 
One day, yet, one day will come the colour orange,
A day of palms, a day of leaves brushing the brows,
A day of naked shoulder when people will love
A day looking like a bird on the highest branch.
 
What, ? there should always be, war, feud, quarrel and fight,
About kings' behaviour
and bowing-down shoulders
And the unuseful birth of any woman's child,
The corn always eaten away by grasshoppers.?
 
What ? Always have those gaols , the flesh under the wheel,
The ever-justified slaughter of some idols,
This coat woven with words thrown away to the dogs,
And the gag on the mouth and for the hand a nail?
 
One day, yet, one day will come the colour orange,
A day of palms, a day of leaves brushing the brows,
A day of naked shoulder when people will love
A day looking like a bird on the highest branch.
 
To Federico Garcia Lorca.
 

We shall sleep together

Whether it be Sunday Monday
Evening ,morning, midnight, midday
Whether it be in hell, in paradise,
Love-affairs look like each other.
I said to you just Yesterday:
We shall sleep together .
 
'twas Yesterday, it's tomorrow
You are the only path I know.
Between your hands, I've put my Heart,
With yours, look how it goes ambling!
For its human Time remaining,
We shall sleep together.
 
My love, what was, has been, shall be.
The Sky feels on us like a sheet,
Around you, I have clasped my arms.
I love you so that I tremble.
And as long as you want,
We shall sleep together.
 

Elsa's hands

Give me your hands for anxiety
Give me your hands, of which I've dreamt so much
Dreamt so much when I was lonely
Give me your hands that I may be safe.
 
When I take them in my poor Trap
Made of palm, fear, haste , emotion
When I take them as they were snow-water
Melting on all sides in these hands of mine
 
Will you ever know what crosses my mind?
What upsets me and invades me?
Will you ever know what
Pierces me ?
What I betrayed when I quivered ?
 
What truly says the deep language
This mouthless eyeless imageless mirror,
animal sensitive dumb speaking,
This wordless loving shiver ?
 
Will you ever know what fingers think
Of a prey held an instant between them ?
Will you ever know what their silence
For a flash will have known of the unknown ?
 
Give me your hands that my Heart may shape itself in,
That the world be quiet in them a while, at least,
Give me your hands so that my soul may fall asleep,
That my soul may sleep in your hands eternally.
 

Boundless Lighting

I'm holding this golden and mauve cloud on the tip of a piece of rush.
The parasol or the she-bird or the flower
The shock of haïr
Gets down from the ashes of the discolouring Sun.
The day is ruby-throated like a pigeon.
Quick, a mirror. Am I partaking to this mirage ?
If the parasol turns the ground to a Paradise,
Let's play
Angel
Warbler
Passerine
But they, that could defeat hail or storm,
My wings, will forget arms and work.
Lighter than the silver of the air where I cuddle
I run razing the nets and Escape from the dream.
 
Nature yields and defers and knows what I am worth.
 

I arrive where I am foreign

Nothing is as precarious as living
Nothing is as brief as being.
It is a bit like melting for the frost
And being Light for the wind.
I arrive where I am foreign
One day, you cross the frontier
Where are you coming from? But where are you going to ?
Tomorrow doesn't Matter, neither did Yesterday
The Heart changes when the thistle does.
Everything is rhymeless or reasonless
Run your finger on your temple
Touch the childhood of your eyes
Better keep the lamps low
A longer night suits us better
It is the broad daylight that grows older
Trees are beautiful in autumn
But the child, what's become of him?
I look at myself and get bewildered
At this unknown traveller
At his face and his naked feet.
Little by little you turn to silence
Although not fast enough
Not to sense your dissimilarity
And on your yesteryear's self
Not to feel the dust of Time fall down.
Ageing is long after all

The approaches of love and kiss

She stops by the streams
She sings
She runs
She cries out loudly to the sky
Her dress is open to the paradise
She is perfectly delightful
She waves a branch over the wavelets
She slowly runs her white hands over her fresh brow
Between her feet the weasels flee
In her hat the azure sits
 

Trandafir şi micşunea

Cel pios ce se ruga,
Cel ateu instigator,
Amândoi o adorau
Pe frumoasa vieţii lor.
 
Amândoi s-o scape vor
De sub arma ce-o robea,
Cel spre cer năzuitor,
Cel ce nu se închina.
 
Cine urcă spre zăvor,
Jos la porţi cine pândea,
Cel cu ruga râvnitor,
Cel ce-n rugă nu credea.
 
Ori chemi ceru-n ajutor,
Ori te-ajuţi cu vrerea ta,
Drumul lor amânduror
O lumină-l lumina.
 
Cel ce se-nchina cu dor,
Cel ce-n rugă nu credea,
Unică iubirea lor
Ca-ntr-o inimă ardea.
 
Asta zic, atâta vor,
Să trăiască veşnic ea,
Cel în rugi stăruitor,
Cel ce nu se închina.
 
Când dă focul în ogor,
Doar smintiţii pot mai sta,
Ei doar se mai pot certa
În prăpădul arzător.
 
Unul cerului dator,
Altul nu se închina,
Straja negrii închisori
De pe ziduri detuna.
 
Armele de două ori
Trag de sus cine-o cădea —
Cel cu ruga râvnitor,
Cel ce-n rugă nu credea.
 
În cătuşe, sub zăvor,
Partea cui e mai sadea,
Şobolanul rozător
Sau îngheţul pe podea.
 
Cel ce se ruga cu dor,
Cel ce-n rugă nu credea,
Una este soarta lor
Şi durerea lor cea grea.
 
Ceasul crunt bătu de zor,
Viaţa ambii să şi-o dea,
Cel cu ruga-n ajutor,
Cel ce-n rugă nu credea.
 
Şi trăia-n credinţa lor
Al ei nume ca o stea,
Din acelaşi sfânt izvor
Darnic sângele mustea.
 
Un fecior e un fecior
De credea, de nu credea,
Sângele amânduror
Glia dragă îl sorbea.
 
Ca în anul viitor
Tămâioasa rod să dea
De la cel cu-al rugii dor,
De la cel ce nu credea.
 
Amândoi să treacă-n zbor
Din Bretania-n Jura,
Vor fi roade, fi-vor flori,
Tril de greier va cânta.
 
Cântaţi fluiere, viori
Dorul lor care ardea,
Ciocârlii, privighetori,
Trandafir şi micşunea.