| 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. |
TRANSLATION CAFÉ 2008, Nr. 23/January 15, 2008, Anny Ballardini, Translations from: Anny Ballardini – Someone else by Gabriela Moldovan – Altcineva
Anny Ballardini - Someone elseI woke up this morningand they had stolen my carmy house my bed my eyesmy mind my family my fatemy job my friendsleft there on the scorching groundI went downtown and got a plastic hearta couple of colored marbles for my...