A leaf fell on my nape
dry
heavy due to the burden of the year that passed
yellow
light due to its thin beauty, without the body nature gave it.
I breathe
Me.
Why me?
How it is me who breathes?
Why do I breathe
the wind/the air brought
by the dying leaf
that fell on my nape?
Why it is me who gathered
all the joy of the gale
of leaf without breath, dying that fell on my nape?
I breathe…
I breathe!
Such a joy!
My church by Matilda Caragiu-Marioteanu, translated by Steliana Gima
My church is the sky
It is the wind that blows
Between me and Him
Without walls
Without towers
Without roof
My heart as a bell
That exhausts beating
With love.
My church is the sky,
The stings of the mind
Ripping the clouds
I rise
I elude the cloths
The people
The dust
Of anything that creeps on the earth
my church is the sky
since the son of Man
is caught and crucified on earth
It is the wind that blows
Between me and Him
Without walls
Without towers
Without roof
My heart as a bell
That exhausts beating
With love.
My church is the sky,
The stings of the mind
Ripping the clouds
I rise
I elude the cloths
The people
The dust
Of anything that creeps on the earth
my church is the sky
since the son of Man
is caught and crucified on earth
My fate by Matilda Caragiu-Marioteanu, translated by Steliana Gima
It appeared in my dream
All white clothed
A snow garland
On its bottom hair
Twisted to its waste also
-lest it may stumble?
Hanging flowers
Eyelash by eyelash
Red flakes
-earings in its ears
Basil in the nostrils
- so green now that is winter!
White flocks of wood
Flowing threads and threads
By fingers
Icy turned into stone lips
„Come on!” it said.
It was my fate.
All white clothed
A snow garland
On its bottom hair
Twisted to its waste also
-lest it may stumble?
Hanging flowers
Eyelash by eyelash
Red flakes
-earings in its ears
Basil in the nostrils
- so green now that is winter!
White flocks of wood
Flowing threads and threads
By fingers
Icy turned into stone lips
„Come on!” it said.
It was my fate.
AROMANIAN POEMS by Matilda caragiu Marioteanu, translated by Steliana Gima
Testament for my daughterMy daughter, my adored
Who was born neither in Gramoste
Nor in Samarina
Nor in Hrupisti
Nor in Perivoli
Who did not drink water carried with buckets
From Dolta
From Bucuvala’s fountain
From Vergina’s little creek
Who knows neither the meaning
Of the Argos lamb
Of the baking tin pie. crust baked
Of the „bread juice”
Made by Aromanian mother,
Of sweet „bucuvala”
Of „butter green cheese”
Who did not kissed the hand of an old man
Of a grandfather
Of golden hands
Of venerable mothers
Who did not stay hidden, your betrothed to appear
Who was not a bride without knowing her husband
Who doesn’t even know what
The eye when whitens means
Due to such a long waiting
And due to such a love
My daughter, my gentle sheep
My snowball
Bead like eye
Hazel tree body
Turtle dove like voice
Hold me, hold my hand.
Who was born neither in Gramoste
Nor in Samarina
Nor in Hrupisti
Nor in Perivoli
Who did not drink water carried with buckets
From Dolta
From Bucuvala’s fountain
From Vergina’s little creek
Who knows neither the meaning
Of the Argos lamb
Of the baking tin pie. crust baked
Of the „bread juice”
Made by Aromanian mother,
Of sweet „bucuvala”
Of „butter green cheese”
Who did not kissed the hand of an old man
Of a grandfather
Of golden hands
Of venerable mothers
Who did not stay hidden, your betrothed to appear
Who was not a bride without knowing her husband
Who doesn’t even know what
The eye when whitens means
Due to such a long waiting
And due to such a love
My daughter, my gentle sheep
My snowball
Bead like eye
Hazel tree body
Turtle dove like voice
Hold me, hold my hand.