Going-Back by Ion Vinea

Not today, not tomorrow: yesterday.
Where are the hours lost forever?
I long for the fading looks,
Voices call me like ghosts
Through the timeless remembrance.

I want the bleeding of the exhausted sun to come on lakes,
at sunset the buffalo bellowing,
the rustle of the gardens among the walls,
the wax fruit fragrance in the winter cellars,
the semi-darkness with perfume of camphor in the drawing room,
in the mirrors of waters of forgetfulness
and where the brother pasted away among torches.

I want the footsteps of my father climbing the stairs,
the brass gong to announce the supper,
I wish, mother, to hear my name, gentle and real,
whispered again
as it remained floating in the rubble of the thought.

I wish to close the magic in the house with the iron bar placed on the gate,
to trim in the niche the icon lamp
and alone in the dead area
Priam will bark in the night to the cold zodiac signs
until late, ominously, deserted,
while in the sheets scented with lavender water
I will fall asleep forever.

tranlated by Liviu Georgescu

5 thoughts on “Going-Back by Ion Vinea

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.