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Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Bacovia: Nervi de Toamna (1)


La toamna, cand frunza va ingalbeni,
Cand pentru ftizici nu se stie ce noi surprize vor veni,-
Alcoolizat, batut de ploi, cum n-am mai fost candva,
Tarziu, in geamul tau, incet, cu o moneda voi suna.

Si-n toamna asta uda, mai putreda ca cele ce s-au dus,
Cand vantul va boci, din nou, la cei de jos, la cei de sus,-
La geamul tau, in spaima nopţii, ca un prelung final,
Voi repeta ca anii trec mereu mai greu, si mai brutal.

Va bate ploaia... si tarziu, la geamul tau voi plange-ncet...
Va rataci alcoolizat, apoi, in noapte, un schelet, -
Nimic tu nu vei auzi din cate voi avea de spus...
In toamna asta uda, mai putreda ca cele ce s-au dus.

din volumul Plumb (1916), care contine doua poeme cu acest titlu.

(am ales chiar azi acest poem, si prietenii mei stiu de ce)

(George Bacovia)

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Friday, January 06, 2012

Bacovia: Lacustra



De-atatea nopti plouand,
Aud materia plangand ...
Sint singur, si ma duce-un gand
Spre locuintele lacustre.

Si parca dorm pe scanduri ude,
In spate ma izbeste-un val -
Tresar din somn, si mi se pare
Ca n-am tras podul de la mal.

Un gol istoric se intinde,
Pe-aceleasi vremuri ma gandesc ...
Si simt cum de atata ploaie
Pilotii grei se prabusesc.

De-atatea noprti aud plouand,
Tot tresarind, tot asteptand ...
Sint singur, si ma duce-un gand
Spre locuintele lacustre ...




So many nights I've heard the rain,
Have heard matter weeping ...
I am alone, my mind is drawn
Towards lacustrine dwellings.

As though I slept on wet boards,
A wave will slap me in the back -
I start from sleep, and it seems
I haven't drawn the bridge from the bank.

A void of history extends,
I find myself in the same times ...
And sense how through so much rain
The heavy timber stilts are tumbling.

So many nights I've heard the rain,
Always starting, always waiting ...
I am alone, my mind is drawn
Towards lacustrine dwellings ...




Depuis des nuits j’entends pleuvoir
La matiere pleure le soir
Et seul j’explore dans un songe
Lacustres mondes que l’eau ronge

Je dors en lits d’humides planches
Mon dos battu de vagues flanche
Et dans le reve je sursaute
Car mon ponton sur flots tressaute.

L’abîme de l’histoire est mien
J’existe dans les temps anciens
Je sens toute cette eau en trombe
Partout, les pilotis en tombent.

Depuis des nuits j’entends pleuvoir
J’attends en sursautant le soir
Et seul j’explore dans un songe
Lacustres mondes que l’eau ronge


(George Bacovia)

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Tuesday, January 03, 2012

Sonet de Bacovia




E-o noapte uda, grea, te-neci afara.
Prin ceata – obosite, rosii, fara zare –
Ard, afumate, triste felinare
Ca intr-o crasma umeda, murdara.

Prin mahalali mai neagra noaptea pare,
Sivoaie-n case triste inundara,
S-auzi tusind – o tusa-n sec, amara –
Prin ziduri vechi ce stau in daramare.

Ca Edgar Poe ma reintorc spre casa
Ori ca Verlaine topit de bautura –
Si-n noaptea asta de nimic nu-mi pasa.

Apoi, cu pasi de-o nostima masura,
Prin intuneric bajbaiesc prin casa,
Si cad, recad, si nu mai tac din gura.

Sonnet form: abba baab cdc dcd

(George Bacovia)

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Friday, December 23, 2011

Bacovia: Ploua





Rar
(http://fantasypieces.wordpress.com/)

Singur, singur, singur,
Intr-un han, departe -
Doarme si hangiul,
Strazile-s desarte,
Singur, singur, singur…

Ploua, ploua, ploua,
Vreme de betie -
Si s-asculti pustiul,
Ce melancolie!
Ploua, ploua, ploua…

Nimeni, nimeni, nimeni,
Cu atat mai bine -
Si de-atata vreme
Nu stie de mine
Nimeni, nimeni, nimeni…

Tremur, tremur, tremur…
Orice ironie
Va ramane voua -
Noaptea e tarzie,
Tremur, tremur, tremur…

Vesnic, vesnic, vesnic,
Rataciri de-acuma
N-or sa ma mai cheme -
Peste vise bruma,
Vesnic, vesnic, vesnic…

Singur, singur, singur,
Vreme de betie -
I-auzi cum mai ploua,
Ce melancolie!
Singur, singur, singur…





Slowly
(http://fantasypieces.wordpress.com/)

Lonely, lonely, lonely,
In a distant suite—
Innkeeper’s asleep,
Empty are the streets,
Lonely, lonely, lonely…

Raining, raining, raining,
Time to get real drunk—
And listen to the void,
–Melancholy funk,
Raining, raining, raining…

No one, no one, no one,
And I don’t give a damn—
For a long time, no one
Has known where I am
No one, no one, no one…

I tremble, tremble, tremble…
Irony—my fate
I leave up to you—
And the night is late,
I tremble, tremble, tremble…

Always, always, always,
Wandering, it seems
Won’t do anymore—
Frost over my dreams,
Always, always, always…

Lonely, lonely, lonely,
Time to get real drunk—
Hark the falling rain,
Melancholy funk!
Lonely, lonely, lonely…

(George Bacovia)

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George Bacovia



(A Life in Books)

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