Little girl, put your hands on my knees.
Eternity I believe was born in a village.
Here every thought is more slow
and your heart pulses less frequently,
as if beating not in your chest
but deep in the earth somewhere.
Here the thirst for redemption is met,
and if you have got your feet bloody
you can rest on a clay bank.
Look, it is evening,
The soul of the village hovers around us,
like a shy smell of cut grass
like a drift of smoke from thatched roofs
like the frolicking of young goats over high graves.
translated by Peter Jay
Leonard Durso 
Evocative.
Glad you like it.
I love it.
But I wonder if a v brief note as to the various authors are. Just Nationality and years. It always helps. (I think)
Lucian Blaga was a Romanian poet, died 1961. I also include in the tags what country they were from.
Thank you. I don’t think I’ve noticed the tags before.
Glad you found them.
Ahh. There they are. Don’t laugh, you might be stupid when you’re my age.
I think I am your age or possibly older.
74.
Ah, you are my senior by 3 years.
Absolutely beautiful Leonard… love that poem! Thanks for your introductions to all these beautiful poems I’ve never read and poets I’ve not heard of, it’s of great interest indeed! 🙂
Yes, we learn so much from them, don’t you think?
Yes, we do! Helps to change our own way of writing too. 🙂