IOANA IERONIM

Fragments


I can see a road leaving the village,
going across the field
serpentine
still further into fine paths
losing itself in the woods

flocks of sheep
having come down from the mountains
slowly advance in rows
on hill after hill

my train glides at the same pace

it has started snowing slowly
in my native land -
flakes as huge as they were
at the beginning

I’ve been trying to understand
what these icons are saying,
why their simple untranslatable tune
touches so deeply

is this the way we are
advancing toward one another

horizon of some Truth,
coming ever nearer
never arriving?

*

Wading in a gauze of words
up to our knees

entangled in lacy lines

like stones of Mesopotamia
that shed their light
in the dark
of a closed museum

*

She treads barefoot over the Threshold
and comes back
once and again.
She smoothes a path for me to remember

She tells me: "it’s just hide-and-seek
we’re pretending, as we did long ago
when we used to wait for Santa once a year
and for dad to come back from the prisoner camp,
you know"
“The Danube Canal…”
"Yes, remember, every day for so many years."

I’m looking at her small hands that used to play Czerny and Bach
and were held captive and entranced in numberless books
and they healed so many beloved and strangers
and raised beautiful kids

she, who has never lost her own kind of marveling
marvelous eyes.

"Neither is this for good now", she says
"we just leave the door half-open when we go."

From her darkening room
we can see the garden melting in radiant sun
this year's Indian summer

black ripe grapes hang around her window panes,
she wonders whether anyone will be able
to cover the vine against the frost - after

she tries to explain again how that should be done

then she says to me: "hey traveler
you have always returned, maybe
you've never been truly
away

do not forget to spread crumbs of love behind you
now when you leave,
thus we may find our way back
even from that
far”

…

it is then that you put your hands over my face
for a moment
then you let go
you who know about these things

do not avert your eyes, you said,
in the light
decreasing

in the light’s
intense
wakeful
clarity
 

Carmen Dumitru

Ioana Ieronim
 

Fragmente

Vad o ulita parasind satul
traversand campia
serpuind
tot mai depart in carari anevoioase
indepartandu-se in padure

turme de mioare
coborand de pe munte
incet inainteaza-n siruri
colina dupa colina

al meu tren luneca odata cu ele

a-nceput usor sa ninga
pe-ale mele meleaguri natale-
fulgi la fel de mari
ca la-nceputuri.

am incercat sa-nteleg
ce-mi spun aste imagini
de ce usorul lor cant neinteles
atat de-adanc atinge

si-asa inaintam
unul spre altul

orizont al unui Suprem Adevar
tot mai aproape venind
dar n-ajungand niciodata?

*

Ne-afundam pana la genunchi
intr-o tesatura de cuvinte

prinsi in mrejele liniilor dantelate

ca niste lespezi din Mesopotamia
lucind
in bezna
unui muzeu inchis

*

Paseste desculta peste Prag
si se-ntoarce
iar si iar.
Netezeste o cale ca eu sa mi-o amintesc

Imi spune: “doar ne jucam de-a v-ati ascunselea
ne prefacem numai, cum faceam de demult
cand il asteptam pe Mosul o data pe an
si pe tata sa se intoarca de la Canal”
“Da, pe tata, an dupa an.”

Ma uit la mainile ei mici care-au cantat odata Czerny si Bach,
ce fusesera captive in vraja atator carti
si au vindecat atatea persoane dragi si straini
si au crescut copii frumosi

ea, care nu si-a pierdut niciodata mirarea
din ochii-i galesi.

“Si nu e pentru totdeauna”, spunea ea
“lasam usa intredeschisa cand plecam”.

Din camera intunecoasa
vedem gradina topindu-se in soarele intens
vara aceasta indiana

struguri negri copti suspendati in jurul ferestrei,
ea se-ntreaba daca va sti cineva
sa apere via de inghet – dupa

incearca sa explice cum trebuie facut

apoi imi spune: “hei calatorule,
tu care mereu te-ai intors si poate
nici n-ai plecat
vreodata

nu uita sa lasi in urma farame de iubire
acum cand pleci
ca sa gasim calea de-ntors
chiar si
de acolo”

…

atunci iti pui mainile pe fata mea
pentru o clipa
apoi te desprinzi
tu, care stii toate lucrurile astea

nu-ti intoarce privirea, ai spus,
in lumina
ce paleste

in claritatea
intensa
a luminii
de veghe