opting for the real
I carry such frenzy i’m nervous,
my green limbs galvanize and
won’t perish in amnesia.
No more does stone own me, nor will i carry one last
cutting battle to the grave of stones,
but cut it repeatedly free of the machines.
It is not my place or lore
to set free symbols with their encrypted dints
but to hold and celebrate all cattle
doubly lithe in a dance of ebony.
No more will i carry the heat of misery;
with my arms’ incipient mortar
and faithful hands, i embrace time
to galvanize the possible, the lore of existence.
I’ve never called life sacred. So much
have i seen it
accelerate in concrete form.
Having never been pristine as a star
i can’t ponder
my own life.
I was in it. I carried it in the heat of day.
It dried. Pestilence retreated from it.
I carried it in the wings of birds,
and they gave me new wings to fall into the borealis.
How could i have given credence
to the void? Everything for flight.
for the wish that lifts up the limbs of
the sky and takes flight.
So i extend my hand, and its fingers
are five hands,
thus each hand’s fingers
hand five tomorrows, in which
quintuples tomorrow, in fingers.
Everything for the embrace!
Each bit, everything,
for piping up reborn to shake off privilege,
and for gaiety
to fill up the blood, triply,
One of 12 Elegies from the Romanian of Nichita Stanescu as translated by one Elisa Sampedrin who, as Oana Avasilichioaei points out in a blurb on this privately printed volume of poetry, "risks to not know..."