A Poem by Nichita Stanescu

As though a superior sharpness
would have separated my clouds
from the mountain tops,
my gigantic body struggles, headless,
leaving his fugitive head in the skies.

It cannot die, although
it does not recognize anymore
what once, for him, was life.
From the top the eye was
contemplating the lower body,
and in its struggle
From the neck’s abyssal hole
pours fourth
a flock of birds
chirping and green
The hand digs its claws
Its claws as long as
a bull on each side,
the hand digs its claws
in the mirage
The suspended eye
looks on
to the hopeless struggle.

The flesh ship caught
within the storm
never sinks
Help me beautiful
cathedral
seen by me in another city,
Toll with your bells
this disorderly moment.
I pray my beautiful
cathedral
you, who are in another city,
allow the goodness of calm
to pour over me
There is no difference
between this body
and the body of another river
suddenly beheaded by
a speaking delta.
May it reach you beautiful
cathedral,
the flock of red birds
which screaming, croaking,
laughing from the severed neck-
rise to the skies.

Welcome them beautiful
cathedral,
on your bell’s tongue,
welcome them
Help me beautiful
cathedral,
seen by me in another
city
Give me peace, beautiful
cathedral,
and another kind of death.

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1 Response to A Poem by Nichita Stanescu

  1. abandon13 says:

    It’s hard to translate such emotion…

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