Ruth O’Callaghan

Chronicle

...On some days a plash of oars
breaks the sleek of water

and a ripple will rim towards us
eddying outwards in ever fainter circles

as history, once so delineated,
pales into uncertainty

under layers of time, of stories, told,
re-told, Chinese whispers

that hang in the air, re-defining dynasties,
empires, the cartographers’ art

begun in playgrounds where children edge
blues and reds, making squares triangles

in cheap colouring books,
so occupied with such small tasks

that the unseen oarsman
—had you forgotten him?—

rounds the bend while beyond,
where willows sweep the water

and shadows under trees remain motionless,
hanks of mist unravel

like sleeves of shop girls reaching out
in the narrowing of the day.

Roxana Mandrican

Ruth O’Callaghan

Cronica

Un plescait de vasle uneori,
Striaza luciul apei

Si valuri mici alearga catre noi
Involburate-n rotocoale ce se pierd

Istoria, candva atat de bine conturata
Paleste-n indoiala

sub apasarea vremii si-a povestilor
spuse la nesfarsit, soapte neantelese

atarna-n aer, schimba dinastii,
imperii; cartografia

s-a nascut din jocuri de copil
ce deseneaza triunghiuri rosii si albastre

in carti colorate, ieftine
atenti la treaba lor neansemnata
incat vaslasul nevazut
-sau l-ai uitat deja?-

se strecoara pe sub salciile
ce-ating oglinda apei

iar umbrele copacilor raman inerte
aburi de ceata se desfac

ca manecile vanzatoarelor
cand se apropie-nserarea