Verses by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Julia Kalman
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Lonely stands the castle, mirrored in the lake,
Chained in waters deep, where shadows slumber, never wake.
It rises in silence, midst the pine-trees’ gentle sway,
While rippling waves in circles cloak it with shadows gray.
Through arched windows, curtains tremble long and free,
Sparkling like morning frost, a gleaming filigree.
The moon quivers in the woods, grows and enlarges bright,
Painting on the skies the rock’s edge and tree’s proud height.
Oaks stand sentinel, giants gathered in a ring,
Guarding its sunrise as a secret, precious thing.
Only white swans, gliding from the reeds with grace,
Mistresses of the waters, bring a tranquil space.
Their wings outstretched, they dance upon the liquid sheet,
In trembling circles, then in trails of vaporous heat.
The rushes rustle softly, heralding waves’ advance,
In the blossomed grass, a sigh, a distant gryphon’s trance.
Summer’s sweetness fills the air, a melody so fine,
Only the knight, sighing, gazes at the vine-laden shrine.
Balcony laden with leaves, where roses intertwine,
Scarlet blooms of Shiraz, and vines like faces divine.
The water’s breath intoxicates, as does the evening air,
Guitar’s gentle drops sweeten the charm everywhere.
“Oh, show yourself again in silken gown so bright,
Loaded with a silver powder, a shimmering delight.
I’d gaze upon your radiance throughout my days,
While your white hand would smooth the golden hair’s soft haze.
Come, play with me, cast your fortune with a throw,
From your sweet bosom, the meadow’s wildflower to bestow,
Let it fall like a soft note on the guitar’s strings,
Ah! The night is so white, as if with snow it clings.
Or in the perfumed shadow of the boudoir’s grace,
Let me savor the scent of linen’s soft embrace.
Cupid, mischievous page, will conceal with his hand,
The globe of the lamp, my melodic command.”
Silk rustles dryly on the floors, ‘midst glasses’ gleam,
Between Shiraz roses and lianas of azure sheen.
From the flowers, the maiden laughs and leans so fair,
Like an angel’s face, she graces the balcony’s lair.
She throws a rose with a flourish, hands to her lips in jest,
As if scolding him warmly, whispers with zest.
Then disappears within, steps heard descending,
Swiftly through the door, their arms entwining.
Arm in arm, they stride, a perfect pair they make,
She, beautiful, he, young, both tall in love’s wake.
In the shaded banks, the boat begins to glide,
With its pregnant belly, in the lullabies of tide.
It moves slowly forward, paddles softly kiss,
Rocking with enchantment and beauty’s bliss.
The moon, full and round, rises high and bright,
Leaving a sparkling trail, a path of radiant light.
The wide shadows of lime trees, with flowers low to the ground,
Quiver gently by the dark water’s bound.
Above the girl’s blonde head, flowers fly and rain,
She holds onto her lover, with both hands refrain,
And leans her head back, “You astonish, save me,
Ah, how thrillingly sweet your words can be!
How high you lift me in your thoughts, on a chariot,
When your soul’s pain is my only cherished ornament.
Your gentle voice, like fire, desires and trembles,
A love story from ages, in its softest rumbles.
All your dreams, your eyes so deeply sad,
With their moist depth, my entire mind you’ve clad.
Give me your black eyes, don’t turn them away,
For their sweet night, I’ll never have enough, I say.
I would be blinded gazing into their abyss,
Oh, listen only this way, waves prophesy with bliss!
Dark woods whisper, blue springs tell their story,
Of our love alone, in their watery quarry.
And the shivering stars, so cold in the black pines,
Tell tales of our love, as the night softly shines.
Could you abandon the helm, cast the oars away,
Let them carry us wherever, in their own way,
For wherever they desire to take us with their might,
Happiness prevails, be it life or be it night.
Fantasy, oh fantasy, when we’re all alone,
How often you lead me over lakes, through seas unknown!
Where have you ever seen such lands unfold?
Did these events occur in the fourteen hundredth old?
Nowhere can you freely lose yourself in its gaze,
As you wish, as you please, caress the child’s daze,
Place your arm around her neck, lips to lips, chest to chest,
Ask with your eyes alone, “Do you love me? Confess!”
Ah, just as you stretch your hand, the uncle appears,
A congress of kin, perhaps an aunt, it steers.
Swiftly turn your head, look down in meekness so,
Is there no corner in this world for love to grow?
Like Egyptian mummies, they sit stiff in their chair,
Your hands clenched, playing with your fingers fair.
A cigarette twisted, counting mustache hairs with care,
In culinary ponderings, trying to be clever and aware.
I’m tired of such a life, not sipping from its glass,
But this misery, this prose, is bitter, alas.
To sanctify with tears an instinct so vain,
Diverted to birds, twice a year like rain?
You don’t live, but another lives through you,
He laughs with your mouth, rejoices, whispers too,
For your lives, with all, are like flowing waves,
Only the river is eternal: the river, the Demiurge.
Don’t you feel that your love is a foreign one? Foolish!
Don’t you see only wonders in the midst of the rubbish?
Don’t you see that your love serves a cause of nature,
A cradle for lives that breed seeds of hatred for sure?
Don’t you see your laughter is your children’s cries,
Culprits for the fact that Cain’s race never complies?
Oh, puppet theater, human words’ gossip,
Parroting tales and jokes without true grasp of it.
Actors speaking endlessly, saying over and over,
What centuries have said, and centuries will uncover,
Until the sun extinguishes in the deep abyss.
What? When the moon slips through clouds’ dark hiss,
You’d cling to your world of thoughts as it follows her,
Sliding on icy lanes where snowflakes confer,
Gazing through shiny windows at lights that twinkle,
And see her surrounded by a swarm, love’s stars sprinkle.
Hear the jingling of spurs, the rustle of dresses,
While they twist their mustaches and play with tresses.
Ending with a glance, love’s silent agreements,
With your ridiculous feelings, you thaw at her gate.
Passionate and stubborn, to love her as a child,
When she’s cold and whimsical, like April, beguiled?
Clasping her in your arms, losing your mind,
Admiring her from head to toe, like marble, enshrined,
Like a Paros statue or a Corregio canvas rare,
When she’s cold and coquettish, it’s absurd, beware.
Yes, I once dreamt of one who’d love me so,
Lost in thoughts, she’d look over her shoulder, you know.
I’d feel her so near, understanding without words,
From our humble life, an epic unfolds in herds.
I no longer seek, what is there to seek?
The same old song, the thirst for eternal peace I speak.
But the organs are shattered, in irregular cries,
The old song still lingers, as a spring in surprise.
Here and there, a purer ray penetrates the scene,
From a Carmen Saeculare, once dreamt, it seems.
Otherwise, it whistles and cries, bursts and resounds,
Tumultuous and wild, over the strings it bounds.
In my mind, the wind passes, leaving it desolate,
The eternal, unyielding song, harsh and sedate.
Where are the clear lines of my life to tell?
Ah, the organs are shattered, the maestro is insane!
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Julia Kalman 