TRANSLATION CAFÉ 2008, Nr. 22/January 1, 2008, D. H. Lawrence, Translations from: D. H. Lawrence – Bavarian Gentians by Cristina Nistor – Gentiene bavareze

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D. H. Lawrence – Bavarian Gentians

Not every man has gentians in his house
in soft September, at slow, sad Michaelmas.

Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark
darkening the daytime, torch-like, with the smoking blueness of Pluto’s gloom,
ribbed and torch-like, with their blaze of darkness spread blue
down flattening into points, flattened under the sweep of white day
torch-flower of the blue-smoking darkness, Pluto’s dark-blue daze,
black lamps from the halls of Dis, burning dark blue,
giving off darkness, blue darkness, as Demeter’s pale lamps give off light,
lead me then, lead the way.

Reach me a gentian, give me a torch!
let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of this flower
down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness
even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September
to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark
and Persephone herself is but a voice
or a darkness invisible enfolded in the deeper dark
of the arms Plutonic, and pierced with the passion of dense gloom,
among the splendor of torches of darkness, shedding darkness
on the lost bride and her groom. 
 Cristina Nistor – Gentiene bavareze

Nu oricine tine gentiene-n casa
in septembrie molatic, de tirziu si melancolic Sf. Mihai.
Gentiene bavareze, mari si-ntunecate, facute doar din intuneric,
ce aruncati in bezna ziua, ca niste torte, cu albastreala fumurie a mihnirii lui Pluto,
torte cu zimti, a caror flacara de bezna imprastie albastru
si care-n jos va neteziti in tinte, domolite sub suflarea albei zile
floare-torta de-ntuneric albastru-fumuriu, uimire, in nuante de albastru-nchis, a lui Pluto,
lampi negre din saloanele lui Dis, arzind albastru-nchis,
ce-mprastiati doar bezna, bezna albastra, asa cum palidele lampi ale Demetrei dau lumina,
calauziti-ma, deschideti drumul.
Intindeti-mi o gentiana, dati-mi o torta!
lasati-ma sa ma ghidez cu albastra, infurcata torta a acestei flori
in josul treptelor tot mai intunecate, unde albastrul e umbrit pe albastrime
pina-ntr-acolo unde merge Persefona, acuma chiar, din brumariul septembrie
spre-al orbilor tarim unde-ntunericul vegheaza peste bezna
si Persefona insasi e numai o voce
ori o naluca invizibila infasurata-n bezna mai adinca
a bratelor plutonice, si patrunsa de pasiunea opacei mihniri,
inconjurata de stralucirea orbitoare a tortelor intunericului, iradiind doar bezna
peste mireasa pieduta si-al ei mire.

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