How Love Poems Transformed My Journey
❤️Dear Valued Writers, this summer hit me hard taking away three cherished literary mentors and my dear uncle, one after another.
In this tough time, I found comfort in your stories, which gave me a bright spot of happiness.
To cope, I threw myself into work — I translated, wrote, cleaned my house, helped a new author, and looked to music and swimming for solace.
I also spent some quality time with my family and friends.
But now I crave something more delicate: — love poetry.
So, instead of sharing my planned post about my first year here, I’m offering you some Romanian love poems translated into English by me, along with poems by Kahlil Gibran, Shakespeare, and E.E.Cummings.
Let’s immerse ourselves in the myriad forms of love — falling for life, for ourselves, our partners, our books, our art, and our passions.
I confess love can make me lose track of things, but it’s a nice way to get sidetracked.
I’ll follow my heart, and I’ll open up to my family, neighbors, friends — and you.
With all the love a writer’s heart can hold,
Yours truly,
Julie
Intro
This article features translations of select poems by Mihai Eminescu, translated into English by Julia Kalman.
Mihai Eminescu (15 January 1850–15 June 1889) was a renowned Romantic poet, novelist, and journalist, recognized as Romania’s most important poet.
Source: Wikipedia
Desire
Come to the forest, by the trembling spring,
Where the porch of furrows, branches swing.
Stretching out in my arms, run with glee,
Fall on my chest, let your spirit be free.
I’ll unravel the veil from your golden head,
Lift it from your cheek, where it gently spreads.
Sit on my knees, just you and I,
And in your hair, teardrop-like flowers will fly.
White forehead in your yellow hair,
Lay it softly on my arm with care.
Surrendering to the hunger of my kiss,
Your sweet lips, an exquisite bliss.
A blissful dream will be our guide,
Charmed by a melody, side by side.
Lonely springs and gentle winds will play,
Asleep, in the woods, we’ll find our way.
Imagine
In the beauty of your form, like a sculptor’s touch refined,
All my past, a fleeting moment, all my being, a second’s bind,
I forget all things, nothing comes to my mind;
Except my soul mingling with your warm breath, combined.
Your mouth burns like fire, your face ablaze,
Your breath has the power even the dead to raise.
Your hand, oh, your sweet hand, I feel it so much,
Your heart, with its tremors, its beats I clutch.
You, whole and enraptured by your deep love,
Clasping to my chest, like children to their mother’s alcove.
My Love, My Life, My Soul
With that proud, wild grip, a vine clinging so tight,
As ivy trembles around the mighty oak’s height.
Do you not see? I cannot find words in the vast world,
To tell you once again, my soul! How dear you are, unfurled.
How dear you are… Do not ask what my heart feels,
Oh, my past life seems like a mere wound that heals.
And what sweet release your beautiful mouth bestowed,
When you sway, when you rejoice, and laughter freely flowed.
I observe every movement with a deep, covetous gaze,
My thoughts etch upon your every move, like a pattern ablaze.
Deeply in Love
To remain in the recesses of my mind, deeply engraved,
To weave with icons the book of my life, so sorrowfully paved.
I’ve thought much before, now I think of nothing,
Only you, only that I love you, is all echoing.
Yet, even this, I cannot say is a thought,
It’s my life itself, onto the ground it’s brought.
For my love and my life are not distinct things,
United like blood and chest, the connection it brings.
Without blood, there’s no life, without your love, no me,
And a moment without you is a heavy calamity.
Your Absence Is Poison
I don’t want myself, I don’t want the world, it’s all mere chaff,
Without you, the moonlight darkens, grows ill, and I laugh.
You’re my life, my sight, my hearing’s vital nerve,
Your absence is poison, urging me to self-preserve.
If I despise the breath within me, desire it to cease,
If I wish for death a hundred times, I flee from you, at least.
Oh, what’s in you, the mystery of your proud youth,
How can you have within you a hundred lives, forsooth?
How can you be the one who carries my head in hand?
If I die a hundred deaths beneath your eyes, I understand.
Your Kiss
The kiss of your mouth is like a honeycomb’s bliss,
The more mine indulges, the more it craves, like a hungry abyss.
I live lazily like a plant, and now my mind seems to weave,
Into the poisonous intoxication of thought, it starts to cleave.
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Julia Kalman 