From far away, through clear air, I hear from deep within a tower's chest
the rhythmic strikings of its heart-like bell
and mellowed out by distant sounds
it seems to me
that stillness courses through my veins, not blood.
Oak standing at the forest's edge,
why am I overcome
by such smooth, downy stillness
when lying in your shadow,
under your soothing playfulness of leaves?
Oh, who knows? - Perhaps
it's out of your trunk they'll carve
one day not long away from now, my very coffin
and it's the stillness
that I'll taste between its planks
making itself apparent as of now:
your leaves instill it in my soul -
I listen how within your trunk the coffin grows,
the coffin that's my very own
and swells with every second that elapses,
Oak standing at the forest's edge.
The above is my translation of the poem "Gorunul" published in 1919 by Lucian Blaga1. Here's the original, in Romanian:
In limpezi departari aud din pieptul unui turn
cum bate ca o inima un clopot
si-n zvonuri dulci
ca stropi de liniste imi curg prin vene, nu de sange.
Gorunule din margine de codru,
de ce ma-nvinge
cu aripi moi atata pace
cand zac in umbra ta
si ma dezmierzi cu frunza-ti jucausa?
O, cine stie? - Poate ca
din trunchiul tau imi vor ciopli
nu peste mult sicriul
ce voi gusta-o intre scandurile lui
o simt pesemne de acum:
o simt cum frunza ta mi-o picura in suflet -
ascult cum creste-n trupul tau sicriul,
cu fiecare clipa care trece,
gorunule din margine de codru.
This poem has always been one of my favorites, despite the fact that it's not one of Blaga's most popular or even more commonly known poems. The poem considered "the best" of Blaga's is indeed the one that Hannah translated recently, triggering my recollection and translation of this old favorite of mine. ↩
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