IOANA IERONIM

The Age of a Scribe


You get clothed in people’s lives
you bear their blessings and their cross in your ghost and flesh
you observe the ebb and flow of silence, the edge of a voice, of a dream, of a curse,
you make the sentence of several lifetimes your own
in words as old as the stones that you tread on, as blunt as an ultimatum,
as fresh as the bleeding wounds videotaped for the News.
You grasp the colorful ephemera of city bustle, sentiments eluding their own bearers,
the frostbite of politics, vain and deadly masquerades.

What meter could measure your age between life lived and not?
between the solitude of writing, like Euripides in a cave
and life itself, reckless greedy sweet wasteful wasted in blind jamboree.

What scales will measure your age, wounded healer?
You who have lived the lives of many
more intensely than they themselves have.

You
the timeless one
who has written.

Alina Olimpia Gaci Miron

Ioana Ieronim
 

Varsta unui scrib

Te-mbraca ei cu vietile oamenilor
le porti binecuvantarile si crucea lor in duhul si carnea ta
observe fluxul si refluxul linistii,ascutimea unei voci, a unui vis, a unui bluestem,
faci ca propozitiile mai multor vieti sa devina ale tale
in cuvinte vechi ca pietrele pe care pasesti, la fel de taioase precum un ultimatum,
la fel de proaspete precum ranile sangerande inregistrate pentru Stiri.
Prinzi vremelnicia colorata a freamatului orasului, sentimente ce se feresc de cei care le poarta,
degeratura politica, mascarade vanitoase si fatale.

Ce metru ar putea numara varsta-ti intre viata traita si cea netraita?
intre singuratatea scrierii, precum Euripide intr-o pestera
si viata in sine,nechibzuita lacoma dulce risipitoare pierduta intr-o petrecere oarba.

Ce balanta iti va masura varsta, tamaduitor ranit?
Tu care-ai salvat multe vieti
mai intens decat au facut-o ei insisi.

Tu
cel etern
care ai scris.