joi, 26 iunie 2014


În ziua care era cea mai lungă
avea pasul rar şi purta rochia
cu multe poteci albăstrii
pe o câmpie întinsă.

Era genul de situaţie-n care
alegeai un ruj strident  fără vreun risc
- chipurile avuseseră vreme să se bronzeze,
întreaga după-amiază ceva ca un leu
umblase încolo şi-ncoace, până plecase.

Iar seara putuse să se-ntindă-n tot patul,
să adoarmă târziu şi să se simtă frumoasă
în felul în care plaja intră în mare.

3 comentarii:

  1. when we were young i was poor. (i laugh. i still am, but it is different now not being a child.) we were not poor in the bad way but in the way that makes you pure, meaning we had enough to eat, enough for shelter, and we had one another, but we were not dirtied with excess. each washcloth at my grandmother's was important and essential, had a job, was taken care of, endured. there were no lazy greedy showers in those days. to be clean we scoured at the sink or in the generous washtub. and when we were done, we felt clean. that is the effect of coming here, miriam. there is a good poverty here, everything reduced to its essentials. even when i do not understand the translation (and this pains me) i still feel burnished.

    however, this time is one of those times your meaning does translate well, i believe. she is fierce in her love of being. her pacing creates a grove in the world, a tactile place of presence.)))


  2. oh, groove not grove:), although grove would work also but was not what i was thinking.

  3. :) yes,my dear Erin, your comments are like a poem ,and in it groove can be also grove , words have all their possibilities,and now i see the earth becoming, in a second, grove or groove, around her dress.
    this girl is a student of mine, i was at their prom, and she had this wonderful dress and she is exactly how you describe "the good poverty", feeling the essential of being. and she listen me so careful, i asked her to walk in the grass and to forget my camera, and i had impression that her steps are in the middle of a virgin land then.
    the poem is, in a palpable way, about the 21 june, the solstice day; actually, about a very long day, when she puts her dress with many paths in the middle of a large plain, she bronzes in the sun which seems an enormous lion and then, in the evening, she lays in the whole bad and her beauty is a beauty of her own, like a beach that enters in the sea. all, in that day, is with no limits, she is a kind of discreet princess of unlimited, and her steps are made of silver and trust in the beauty of summer that reminds us that the days could be just a boundless field.
    ... i thank you so much that you saw her in such a trusty manner, that was ,for me also, the truth of her steps:)


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