Carol Rumens

And If It Was

If it was only for you
all along, all the time, all the way,
and nothing was left of our brightest exchange
of brain-light and blood-sugar; if
it turned out to be just for the flirt and the flak, the great luck
when it worked, when we came, and I caught
the whiff of your sweat, like human sweat,
and your glow, saw your feathers and hair
flare like an Inca head-dress, though
no more than a match-flame, over and out, not catching
anyone’s fire but mine, any time but now,
would you forgive me, words?

Cristina Nistor

Carol Rumens

Si de-ar fi

Si de-ar fi vorba doar de voi,
de la-nceput, tot timpul, pin` la capat,
si n-ar ramine chiar nimic din scinteietorul nostru schimb
de spiritualitate si de glicemie; daca
s-ar dovedi un simplu flirt si-un blam, ce mare bafta
cind a functionat, cind am terminat si-am prins
aroma sudorii voastre, ca o sudoare umana,
si stralucirea voastra, cind v-am zarit penele si parul
vibrind in vilvataie ca o parura incasa, desi
era doar cit flacara unui chibrit prea iute stins, fara s-aprinda
in nimeni foc, afar-de mine, nicicind afar’ de-acum,
voi m-ati ierta, atunci, cuvinte?

Gwynedd
for Lidia Vianu

We went down to the strait;
We pulled up a grubby edge of the Atlantic
And chilled there in the mud-hole of winter.
We climbed a cloud and left our heads behind.
We took photos of a rainbow: it came out white.
We planted a dill forest.
We listened for the sound of churches singing in Welsh.
In the field at night I tried to pick up fallen washing
But only scrabbled with the hems of moon-shadows.

Gwynedd
pentru Lidia Vianu

Am coborit la strimtoare;
Am tras o margine murdara de Atlantic
Si ne-am racorit acolo, in groapa cu namol a iernii.
Ne-am cocotat pe-un nor si ne-am uitat capetele-n urma.
Am prins in poza curcubeul: ne-a iesit alb.
Am plantat o padure de marar.
Am ascultat sunetul bisericilor cintind in galeza.
Noaptea, pe cimp, am incercat sa ridic rufele cazute
Dar n-am facut decit sa ma joc cu poalele umbrelor lunii.