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eliot

20 Apr 2005
APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory
and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain
 Ma oboseste aprilie asta.
Ma dispera, ma umple de spaima, ma scoate afara din strada si ma plimba pe strazi,
sa-i fotografiez florile si cerul, sa-i miros pamintul si celelalte.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow / Out of this stony rubbish?
 
E ca un joc de-a nu te supara frate. Cum as putea, doar imi esti atit de draga.
Si atit de obositoare.
 
Gimme a break – uite, altii pleaca in diverse locuri.
Here, said she, / Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, / (Those are pearls
that were his eyes. Look!)
Pai si ce-astepti? Tot n-ai plecat? Si de cind tot zici. D-abia incepuse martie
cind ai spus asta … Daca ajungi la mare, transmite-i salutari si din partea mea.
‘What shall I do now? What shall I do?’
 
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique / (And her only thirty-one.)
Lumea se recreeaza. Se re-creeaza. Se reinventeaza. Lucky… them. Vine vara. Unde
te duci in concediu anul asta? Nu stiu daca-mi iau concediu. S-ar putea sa fie
nevoie sa stau acasa.‘That corpse you planted last year in your garden / ‘Has it begun to sprout?
Will it bloom this year?’
 
Sint intr-un standby, de un an, sau de doi, mai degraba de 5, mai correct cam
de cind ma stiu, m-am nascut din revansa si zac intr-un standby as old as me.
Acum astept. Altceva. Stiu ce? Zoom. Macro. Clic.
Iar aprilie-i aici, tangibil, trece prin mine, cinta, isi infloreste magnoliile
si narcisele, si ma seaca, dragul de el. Le-am luat de la o babutsa sarmana, dormea
la coltsul strazii, nu puteam sa trec pe-acolo sa nu cumpar.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
 
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass
  – nu, nu e cazul. Multe scheme, huh? Data viitoare nu mai dai nici un telefon!
 
We think of the key, each in his prison / Thinking of the key, each confirms
a prison
Poze. Aprilie in poze facute in oras. Ca si cum as fi un vizitator. Atit. Flori
dalbe, flori de mar.
Acum doi ani, dragul de aprilie a inceput in

Paris, linga Notre Dame. Va spun eu cu siguranta, de acolo a plecat, l-am vazut cum
se ridica pe deasupra piersicilor in floare, incet, spre Sacre Coeur. Macii lui
Monet imi zimbeau inca in suflet, si pustanii japonezi cintau irish drinking songs.

Only a cock stood on the rooftree / Co co rico co co rico
Da, si a plouat mult. Si mirosea a muguri de salcie murati. Multa ploaie.
 

Ganga was sunken
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih … Tikke.
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One Comment leave one →
  1. vidal permalink
    24 Apr 2005 4:09 am

    oooooff…

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