TRANSLATION CAFÉ, Nr. 19/November 15, 2007 |Translations from: Elaine Feinstein: Poems for Arnold,Willesden Green,by Roxana Mindrican

Publicat deIoana Ioana

Willesden Green

The band of mourners shuffled out across
a field of mud past rows of marble slabs
to watch your wooden box
lowered into the earth, there to be lost
beneath the shovelled soil.
Who turned up ? It doesn’t matter now.
The ceaseless rain poured over all of us.

I remember the cold, and wanting to be
home again, but not much more.
A hand I held, a son supported me,

I listened to a good friend’s eulogy.
My mind was numb. What’s happening?
you asked me once in a high fever.
And I reassured you then. Now I am dumb      
Willesden Green

Grupul de bocitoare se plimba alene
Pe un camp noroios peste un sir de lespezi de marmura
Ca sa-ti vegheze sicriul
Coborat in groapa, pentru a ramane
Pe veci sub pamantul afanat
Cine a aparut? Nu mai conteaza.
Ploua cu galeata peste noi toti.

Am resimtit frigul ala, si am tanjit
Dupa acasa, doar atat.
Am intins mana, si un fiu m-a sprijinit,

Am ascultat elogiul unui bun prieten.
Mintea-mi era goala. Ce se intampla?
m-ai intrebat candva intr-un moment de delir.
Atunci te-am linistit. Acum sunt confuza.
 Roxana Mindrican

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