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I Do Not Crush the
World's Wreath of Wonders
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"I do not crush the world's wreath of
wonders |
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and
I do not kill |
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the
mysteries I meet |
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in
my path |
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in
flowers, eyes, on lips or graves. |
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Others'
light |
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smothers
the mystery of the impenetrable |
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hidden
in the depths of darkness, |
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but
I, |
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with
my light I deepen the world's mystery - |
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and,
just as the moon with its beams |
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does
not diminish but rather deepens |
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even
further the mystery of the night, |
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so
do I enrich the dark horizon |
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with
large flowers of sacred mystery, |
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and
all that's incomprehensible |
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turn
into even greater unknowns |
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right
under my eyes - |
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because
I love |
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flowers
and eyes and lips and graves." |
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The Light
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"Isn't the light I feel |
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rushing
in my chest when I see you |
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a
drop of the light |
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created
on the very first day, |
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of
the light so deeply thirsty for life? |
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Nothingness
was lying in agony, |
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when
the Impenetrable |
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was
floating in the dark, alone |
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and
gave a sign: |
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"Let
it be light!" |
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A
great |
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and
angry storm of light |
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was
born instantly: |
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it
was a thirst for sin, longing, élans, passions, |
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a
thirst for the world and the sun. |
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But
where did the blinding |
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light
of those times parish - who knows? |
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The
light I feel rushing |
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in
my chest when I see you - my gorgeous, |
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may
be the last drop |
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of
the light created on the very first day." |
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All poems translated by
© Gustav Demeter from |
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Blaga, Lucian (1983). Poezii, Bucuresti: Ed.
Albatros |
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