Nichita Stanescu
Posted: Sat Jun 16, 2007 8:31 pm
Field in Spring
Green rings around the eyes, this grass in vibrant motion
arcs tenderly about you, at a distance-
you summon it, then fling it round, broken
by your laugh of youth and innocence.
Stretched under you, this curling dome of grass
would sound its voices in the gravel-
but you are unaware - and now you pass
through foreign stars, a fool.
Sentimental story
Then we met more often.
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora.
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth.
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight.
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I loved you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.
Poem
Tell me, if I grabbed you one day
and kissed the sole of your foot
wouldn’t you limp a bit afterwards,
fearful to tread my kiss?
And his poems sound so much better in romanian ...
Green rings around the eyes, this grass in vibrant motion
arcs tenderly about you, at a distance-
you summon it, then fling it round, broken
by your laugh of youth and innocence.
Stretched under you, this curling dome of grass
would sound its voices in the gravel-
but you are unaware - and now you pass
through foreign stars, a fool.
Sentimental story
Then we met more often.
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora.
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth.
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight.
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I loved you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.
Poem
Tell me, if I grabbed you one day
and kissed the sole of your foot
wouldn’t you limp a bit afterwards,
fearful to tread my kiss?
And his poems sound so much better in romanian ...