I am a man alive

by Nichita Stănescu

(part 1 of 2)

I am a man alive.

Nothing of mankind is foreign to me.

I barely have time to wonder that I exist, but

I am always happy that I am.

I am never truly made

because

I have a better and better idea

about life.

I am bewildered by the difference between me

and the blade of grass,

between me and lions,

between me and the islands of light

of the stars.

Between me and numbers,

like between me and 2, between me and 3.

I also have a fault a sin:

I take seriously the grass,

I take seriously the lions,

the almost perfect movements of the sky.

And a casual cut of my hand

makes me see through it,

like through a lens,

the pains of the world, the wars.

From such an event

comes the understanding

that I have for Ulysses - and

the man with the sullen face, Dante Alighieri.

I could hardly imagine

a barren earth, moving

around the sun...

(Maybe also because there are in the world

such verses.)

I like to laugh, although

I rarely laugh, always having something to do,

or traveling on a raft, endlessly,

on the oval ocean of fantasy.

It's an unforgettable show,

to know,

to discover

the map of the expanding universe,

while watching

a childhood photo!

It's an old body of yours,

that you lost

and not even an ad, written

in big letters,

gives you a chance

to find it again.

----

Romanian original: Sunt un om viu

The light

by Lucian Blaga

The light I feel

rushing in my chest when I see you,

isn't it a drop of the light

conceived on the first day,

of that light so thirsty of life?

The void sat in agony

when lonely in the dark was floating and gave

a sign The Inscrutable:

"Let there be light!"

A sea

and a whirlwind of light

were made:

a thirst there was of sin, of quest, of yearning, of passion,

a thirst of world and sun.

But where dead is the blinding

light from back then -- who knows?

The light I feel rushing

in my chest when I see you - wonderful,

is maybe as the last drop

of that light conceived on the first day.

----

Romanian original: Lumina

Heaven's light

by Lucian Blaga

Into the sun I laugh!

I do not have my heart inside my head,

nor do I have brains in my heart.

I'm drunk with world and I am pagan!

But would my land yield

so much laughter without the devil's heat?

And would your lips bloom so much magic,

were you not troubled,

Saint,

by the warm lustfulness of sin?

Like a heathen I ponder and I ask myself:

Where does heaven get its -

light? - I know: It's from the flames

of hell!

----

Romanian original: Lumina raiului

Three faces

by Lucian Blaga

The child laughs:

"My wisdom and my love is play!"

The youngster sings:

"My play and my wisdom is love!"

The elder is silent:

"My love and my play is wisdom!"

----

Romanian original: Trei feţe

Beautiful hands

by Lucian Blaga

I foretell:

beautiful hands, the way you grasp today with

warmth the head that's full of dreams,

so will you hold someday

the vessel with my ashes.

I dream:

beautiful hands, when warm lips will blow

in wind my ashes,

that you'll be holding in your palms like in a cup,

you'll be like flowers,

from which the breeze spreads - pollen.

And I cry:

you'll be so young then, beautiful hands.

----

Romanian original: Frumoase mâni

I do not crush world's crown of wonders

by Lucian Blaga

I do not crush world's crown of wonders

and do not kill

with reason the mysteries I meet

along my path

in flowers, in eyes, on lips or tombs.

The light of others

drowns the spell of the impenetrable buried

in depths of darkness,

but I,

I with my light enrich the mystery -

and just as with her rays the moon

shrinks not, but shivering

increases the mystery of night,

so I enrich the darkened sky

with shivers of a mystery

and all that is unknown

becomes unknown more so

under my eyes -

for I do love

flowers and eyes and lips and tombs.

----

Romanian Original: Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii