Best of Love Poems: ‘To She Who Lies’

Verses by Ion Minulescu, translated by Julia Kalman

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I know you’ll deceive me, perhaps by tomorrow…

Yet, as you give yourself entirely today,

I shall forgive you –

An ancient sin,

And you are not the first guilty one!…

In your honor,

The most beautiful of all the lying girls,

I burned intoxicating fragrances in silver tripods,

On the bed, I scattered carnations

And poppies –

All flowers stained with blood –

And with the scent of fir, I stained the lace of the pure pillows,

And in the wall carpet, like in a vase, I embedded

Three green branches of lemon balm

And a dried sprig of Eucalyptus.

But behold,

The midnight strikes…

The time when lovers, in days of yore,

Sipped blessed poison together with their mistresses…

So come,

Come and unravel your hair from the ivory comb,

Fix into your eyes the Lie,

And in the warmth of your lips, the Truth.

And tell me:

Out of all those fortunate to have you so,

How many have died

And how many curse the inability to forget you?…

I know you’ll deceive me, perhaps by tomorrow…

Yet, as you give yourself entirely today,

I shall forgive you –

An ancient sin,

And you are not the first guilty one!…

Therefore, I do not ask for honeyed words of kisses,

I do not ask you to tell me

Anything you’ve told others,

But everything you’ve never told anyone.

And I do not ask for wild and endless passion,

I do not ask

For anything that the pale poet

Begs for forever and ever, in solitude,

I only ask you to change, if you can, a moment

From the sequence of similar moments,

To pour into my soul the infinity of a cup of mead,

To weave a laurel crown in my hair,

And in your gaze

To forever petrify the lie of immaculate love.

And thus, silent –

Like two shadows, laid on the heap of flowers –

Let us begin the ceremony at midnight

And finish it tomorrow at dawn!

Ion Minulescu (January 6, 1881 — April 11, 1944) was a Romanian avant-garde poet, novelist, short story writer, journalist, literary critic, and playwright.

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