| 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. | Nicolae-Andrei Popa – Gentiene de Bavaria Nu are tot barbatul gentiene in casa lui in luna cea ploioasa a lui septembrie,de trista, rabdatoarea zi a Sf. Mihail. Gentiene de Bavaria, mari si negre, negre doar umbrind lumina zilei, aduc a torta, cu albastrimea fumeganda a mahnirii lui Pluto, aduc a torta si au nervuri, cu ale lor zvacniri de intuneric imprastiate trist turtite-n granulatii, strivite de invazia luminii caste floare-torta a intunecimii aburind vanat,orbirea vanat-intunecata a lui Pluto, lampi negre din coridoarele Infernului, arzand albastru-ntunecat, desertand intunecime, intunecime vanata, pe cand ale Demetrei lampi palide palpaie, calauzeste-ma deci, arata-mi calea. Intinde-mi o gentiana, o torta sa-mi dai! sa ma calauzesc vreau singur cu vanata, bifurcata torta a acestei flori jos pe treptele din ce in ce mai negre, unde culoarea vanata se-nnegreste de tot chiar si aici unde paseste Persefona, din septembrie cea infrigurata pana la taramul nevazut unde intunecimea vegheaza asupra intunericului si Persefona insasi nu-i decat un ecou sau o intunecime oarba impaturita in intunericul abisal ale bratelor lui Pluto, patrunsa fiind de nesatul mahnirii far’de margini in ambientul minunatelor torte smolite, varsand intunecimea pe mireasa pierduta si pe-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...