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From the volume “Tales and Poems for Light in the 21st century” by Gabriela Anderson
THE VEIL
Wrapped in her veil of light and stars,
The girl turned on her heels
And spoke as she walked out of mesh:
“The emeralds of forests fresh,
The wild glade of my dreams,
You cannot buy with all your cash,
Nor can you win on paths of flesh
The palace of my whims…
For, far from lush intent, it mars
The thieving hands beyond the pale.
For God is Father to the nymphs
Who took upon His veil.”
The beauty of the light divine,
From centuries within,
Has reached the steam, the trains, the might
Of irons, silicones, and steels,
And bent the routes of glossy flight.
The gentleness of mighty hymn
Spread blessings on fast meals
And mingled with the daily right
Of gentle hearts to peace.
It was a day of sunshine bright
When the frail girl said “No”
Wrapped in her veil. A modest flight
While God beheld her in His sight
Sheltered from what is foul.
But at the gates a flame arose
Protective like a wall, though thin,
From strengths of centuries within,
To guard the temple of the soul,
To keep it clean in ardor still
To keep it tall like the green hill,
Immutable in an old pose,
Unbending like a silver spine,
Brave and alive while it beholds
The beauty of the light divine.
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2 poems by Gabriela Anderson, published in the International Notebook of Poetry, LiterArt XXI, GA
MORNING AT THE WINDOW (for the students killed in Bucharest in the 1989 revolution)
Along the streets
lamps died out in a row
The trees
green twigs and leaves
smell May fresh.
In the shade of a van
a girl’s thin body is becoming a bow
in the arms of her man.
Tall gables and dust
Gardens
one, two, three —
Memories and rust
camps of dispair
The Royal Palace
Must
Be
Ours!
In the shade of a tree
a girl’s body grows flowers
in the arms of her man.
Kiwi and French pie
Pieces of exotic dreams
still lie
on stone market stalls
A beggar falls
under the hymns
of the journalist’s pen.
In the garden of whims
a girl’s body is buddying
in the arms of her man.
Our Father will pardon
(Candles: one, two, three)
The cupola covers
an innocent statement
the quick men’s debates
the air vibrates
from bullets
PPfheeee….
In the Botanic garden
the howl of a dog intonates
an old Byzantine lament.
White lamps are dead in the sky.
In the dim halls of fears
a girl’s body drops petals
like tears.
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SONG
And you see
The rains of June were my bridal veil,
A spray of lightening diamonds
The rains of June when they came with the odor of lime-tree
and moss,
a breeze and a sail,
on the ocean of loss,
raindrops burning the roof of the haunted houses
for me,
and a spray of lightening – diamonds
as my clothes…
How many times did you see
the wedding of ice and heat?
the rains of June through an open window?
How many times in one life
did your heart beat?
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First 2 stanzas of “Watercolor” by Ion Minulescu (Bucharest, 1920), and the 1st stanza of “Echo-free romanza” by Minulescu
translation from Romanian by Gabriela Anderson
copyright protected
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“In the city where the rains fall
three times every week or so
City dwellers on the sidewalks
Hand in hand will gently stroll.
And in this most rainy city where three times a week it showers,
City dwellers on the sidewalks
with old wet moaning umbrellas,
overwhelmed by so much pouring,
Look like manequins in motion
exiting stores at high hours. (…)”
“În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Orăşenii, pe trotuare,
Merg ţinându-se de mână,
Şi-n oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână,
De sub vechile umbrele, ce suspină
Şi se-ndoaie,
Umede de-atâta ploaie,
Orăşenii pe trotuare
Par păpuşi automate, date jos din galantare.(…)”
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Love, home-décor of porcelain, dear,
An ephemeral existential self,
Once more I find you on the same high shelf
On which I left you no less than last year.
(…)
“Iubire, bibelou de porţelan,
Obiect cu existenţa efemeră,
Te regăsesc pe aceeaşi etajeră
Pe care te-am lăsat acum un an…”
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