Verses by Lucian Blaga, translated by Julia Kalman
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Dearest to me is love,
haunted by eyebrows, above,
earthly brows that gently trace,
long, sunrise-kissed, a tender grace.
Dearest to me is love’s embrace,
sun throughout the endless days,
love that carries within its core,
both death and remedies galore.
It’s said, when the poppy’s ripe,
shed its petals with a whispered swipe.
Dearest to me is love’s sweet sway,
whispering both a yes and nay.
Dearest to me is love’s vast sea,
making the heart a boundless lea,
vast as the world, on the horizon wide,
tiny as a tear, in sorrows it hides.
Dearest to me is love’s fine art,
turning earth into stars, a work of heart,
across our blue meadows’ expanse,
painting constellations in a cosmic dance.
Blood knows its own dream, untold.
Dearest to me is love, uncontrolled,
with heights and depths so profound,
with all the wonders it has found.
Dearest to me is love, untamed,
a place where it cannot be contained,
for its beauty vanishes, you see,
within the beauties yet to be.
Dearest to me is love’s delight,
sometimes a storm in the night,
and a sin it might conspire,
burning at midnight, the moonlit fire.
From the breath of the body’s shrine,
the soul emerges, so divine.
Dearest to me is love’s sweet art,
a pursuit that captures my heart.
May the gods hold our love near,
as we dance with joy, sans fear,
like linen threads skillfully spun,
weaving the fabric of destiny, begun.
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Julia Kalman 