The golden age of love
My hands are in love,
alas, my mouth loves and see, I am suddenly aware
that things are so close to me
I can hardly walk among them
without suffering.
It is a sweet feeling
of waking, of dreaming,
and I am here now, without sleep I clearly see the ivory gods,
I take them in my hands and
thrust them, laughing, in the moon
up to their sculpted hilts the wheel of an ancient ship, adorned
and spun by sailors.
Jupiter is yellow, Hera
the magnificent shades to silver.
I strike the wheel with my left hand and it
moves.
It is a dance of sentiments, my love,
many a goddess of the air, between the
two of us.
And I, the sail of my soul
billowed with longing,
look for you everywhere, and things come
ever closer,
crowding my chest, hurting me.
From the book “Bas-Relief with Heroes”
english translation by Thomas Carlson
and Vasile Poenaru.
Unwords
He offered me a leaf like a hand with
fingers.
I offered him a hand like a leaf with
teeth.
He offered me a branch like an arm.
I offered him my arm like a branch.
He tipped his trunk towards me
like a shoulder.
I tipped my shoulder to him
like a knotted trunk.
I could hear his sap quicken, beating
like blood.
He could hear my blood slacken like rising
sap.
I passed through him.
He passed through me.
I remained a solitary tree.
He
a solitary man.