The Soul of the Village by Lucian Blaga

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

13 thoughts on “The Soul of the Village by Lucian Blaga

  1. 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! 🙂

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