Verses by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Julia Kalman
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In northern seas, through halls long and dim,
I descended and met with the gods,
Dangling my harp in the eternal forest.
I sweetened with the passion of a woman,
In stars, I melted the gold from her locks,
In her lap, I shook the cameo stone.
From her eyes, I kissed sly glances,
Leaning on shoulders, I laughed with her,
Quenching my thirst from her long mouth
Of love. Then I went — she wept.
She opened the sea’s blue gates,
And the North’s cold extinguished my warm pain.
I went south — where islands like goblets
Gigantic rise from the sacred sea,
With rows of flowers, constellations of stars.
And my eternal song swelled
The wings of paradise towards the sky,
Until I lost sight of the distant earth,
From where blue boards are raised.
With black thoughts, heavy is my ancient ship:
I do not know if they are destined or errant.
My life is like a field of oats:
Wide, without depth and height.
The dead volcano extinguished its eternal lava.
But ah, what do I see? Is it a dream? Darkness
Raises tall fangs from the great sea.
Who will tell me what miracle this is? No one?
From time to time, a paradise in the distance
Unfolds among truncated rocks,
Cracked by the bitter waves.
High mountains traverse the sky, it is visible;
Valleys with springs deepen under the sun,
And large hills raise forests in the back:
It is the East. Majestic are the woods,
With tall peaks that the clouds want to unravel.
Cities lose their splendor through them.
Through his woods, through his crested meadows,
With the wind’s balsamic breath,
From mountains to clouds and through great deserts,
Ancient cities shining appear,
White and mythical seem — scattered with tales
Like golden threads through their dark foliage.
And the clouds hang in the sky, phantasms
Of fire and gold that thread into armies,
The woods moan, and the sea sleeps in spasms.
I reach the shore — it bends like a lyre
With waves trained in long rows,
A small harbor, which breathes gentle rays.
The heavy thoughts of the Western ship
Dark — I release it on the waves,
France dissipates into planks.
What I encounter first on the shore is a tumult,
A too sure prophet of human life,
You are ash again and life is smoke.
But do not think that in vain desires
I seek luck to find you,
Worldly luck — airy smiles!
Let others build from ruins
Walls for a day on the patient back
Of the old earth, which is not mine.
In the ant nests of the West, they make all
Life with crazy desires,
Not knowing that there is nothing in the world.
They seek truth — they find falsehood.
Generations come and go — all are deceived.
I seek not truth, but wisdom.
For the wisdom that is empty of wisdom,
No matter how many truths it may know,
Is a source of bitterness and disease.
In the chest of gold, no matter how much it accumulates,
With gold, bitterness is never extinguished
And peace will only be found in the heart.
The present easily weighs on the scale
of wisdom… and it is happiness.
With the wealth of the rising sun’s dawn,
I load it, with its thoughts — the thought.
I walk straight, there toward the grizzled ones,
Gigantic walls that seed their lineage into the field.
From deep woods, which bury the mountains,
Barely showing their caps in the snow,
Climbing into black rocks crowning their foreheads,
Through a series of woods, palms raised in the sun,
Through laurel groves, where olive trees grow,
Figs touch green paths in bloom.
From the low branches, their arinii trunks rise
scattered in the world, under rocks that fall,
Springs jump through mossy roots.
From proud gardens in the sky rise
White domes of gold.
With suns, the ancient city seems to be sprinkled
And scattered through laurel groves,
White houses stand, quiet abodes.
On gates, verses are written in Moorish languages.
And the paths are paved with marble,
And without gates are the holy groves.
On high stairs, flowers of fire are planted.
On laid-back stairs, white and soft faces,
Black hair combed in the sun,
Or dreamy stand amorously ill.
Ah, it is the shining city
Where the Emperor of India resides:
He himself is a sun under the sun.
His wife is that Scheherazade,
Full of wisdom and beauty:
To look only at the sun is suitable.
In a round-domed serai,
On marble stairs, I climb my foot,
On tall pillars, I let my shadow penetrate.
Under the gate’s vault, I walk on a carpet of flowers,
Its path is through gold goblets:
In them, lilies surpass ivory.
On the white walls of marble, I climb pilasters,
Smooth, rosy, mirrors of purple,
Reflecting green leaves and blue flowers.
A cool scent steals my feelings.
The door of a hall is open,
And new wonders amazed my eyes.
With soft shadows of her thoughts,
A painter blossomed the ceiling, the walls,
With slender faces, oriental tales.
On long rugs laid out are houris,
And from the silver cage, myrrh smells
With blue smoke forming the shapes of paintings.
From rose velvet with threads drawn on the edges,
It rises in a canopy of curtains,
Shading a bed with silk pillows.
On that bed, a throne embroidered with stars,
She sits stringing pearls in her lap
The wise queen. Among them
Feet of snow, small and bare,
She stretches smiling as in a dream on a chair
Of cherry velvet, soft and smooth.
Pains and years, and all disdain
These dreams come alive before my eyes:
I wonder how a faun marvels on Olympus.
Beautiful is in her pleasure,
With her white face, she lights up the hall
And her eyes pour out mysteries,
Large and deep, cut like almonds,
And in her black hair, her body is snow,
Sunk — a virginal Italy.
Who would see her not kneel?
I knelt. — I knew, stranger,
That you would come — prey to desires –
To listen to me and take from me
The flower of wisdom and beauty,
To enlighten the thoughts in you.
I knew — the prophetic witch –
To attract with the rays of mystery and tale
Poets with hearts desiring heavens.
Rise and come to sit
Here, next to me, climb on this pillow…
With her bare and white arm, she folds it.
I listened… I rested my side on
Sweetly cooked pillows — and my knee
Bowed… to the worshipers of the past.
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Julia Kalman 