Verses by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Julia Kalman
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When the northern winter’s harsh embrace,
Sweeps across vast and open space,
Fields adorned with a silver sheen,
Winds shake wings, snow descends serene.
I love to sit in my chair by the fire,
Hear distant dogs bark and inquire,
To quench the ember, crush it with tongs,
Contemplate tales in poetic songs.
On the floor, maidens sit around,
Carding wool, their laughter’s sound,
And I, lost in thoughts, away from the crowd,
Mentally traverse the stories I’m allowed.
The clock tolls like an old, hoarse cricket,
Warmth courses through my distinguished wicket,
I see golden roses and passionate kisses,
In flames, stories burst, scattered like wishes.
As a wise old woman’s tender murmur,
My hearth tells the most beautiful glamour.
I hear it speak as I wish to hear,
Mixing the other tales with its fiery flare.
Proudly, this blend unravels my thought,
Stringing a thousand beads, finely wrought;
An endless, gleaming, and lucid thread,
Sleep embraces me, follows where it’s led.
Through their echoing strand, the clock, with sorrow,
Resounds like an aged, raspy morrow,
Even my mother’s prayer falls behind,
To luminous thoughts, it leaves a clue to find.
I reach her, and the night, shadows extend,
On her sweet forehead, gentle dreams I blend,
Love softly moistens his extinguished wings,
I seek profound kisses in her eyes that sings.
But all those fairy tales in my dreams persist,
They entwine, wrap, fight, and coexist,
The children from fables with sweet gazes,
Dark-haired girls with delightful phases,
And handsome youths with luminous attire,
Eyes like goats, tall, proud like a fir.
In the dreams of my sleep, they gather and blend,
Celebrating weddings that seem to never end.
It seems to me then that proud Beauty,
With eyes like blue stars, blonde, a wheat spike,
Falls in love with me, light and airy,
Sits on my knees, conjures my neck with a pike.
I smooth with my hand her arched brow,
She closes her eyes, smiling in her dream somehow,
Her eyes filled with tears that she doesn’t comprehend,
With barely open lips, she whispers a gentle blend.
It feels like summer, the night sweetly brown,
Fields undulating, rivers gently down,
Clouds shattered by a harmonious moon,
Stars shaking from the sky, a celestial monsoon.
Through blossoming fields, we walk together,
Collecting bright flowers for her, I gather,
She smiles sweetly at my gentle care,
My soul laughs, my heart aware.
The moon, an angel, gently watches the earth,
Sleep brings forth children of innocent mirth.
Each wave on the river wears a sunray,
Trees tremble in the rocky stony way.
Light scatters in a luminous tapestry,
On cherry trees in deep gardens, see,
And I, by the trunk of one, dream of her awake,
In a rain of pink flowers, for her, I wait.
She comes, and on my breast, when she lies,
In my locks, she tangles her little hand,
Her damp-breath, pure and childlike,
Softly blows on my forehead, my eyes understand.
Then her astonished face presses on my chest,
And tears of love flood her eyes blessed,
And on my hands, mouth, and her fair neck,
Slowly, drunk with love, I caress, I peck.
A thousand kisses awaken in her a myriad dreams,
Her troubled forehead bends like a lily it seems;
In her clear eyes, beneath her closed lashes,
A world of dreams, a world of serenity clashes.
Without words, she speaks, and her sweet smiles,
Blend with tears and gentle sighs for miles,
She sleeps so awake, when waking from her rest,
With her lips, she seeks me, her eyes smile best.
In the dream, the sun burns, the sky is ablaze,
On the lake, the boat is pushed by the waves,
And the waves, surprised, deep, and bubbling,
Reflect the shores, darken, and keep shuffling.
In the boat, I sit and listen to my heart’s beat,
For I, like a hirondelle, again run to her feat.
On the tree-lined shores, the leaf is silent,
The mysterious smile on the silent world is violent.
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Julia Kalman 