Poems by Gelu Vlaşin

translated from Romanian by Margaret Wilmot & Mirona Palas [MTTLC student]

1. Ayla, Ayla!
You smile
and the earth shakes under me
you listen to wings fluttering and my wings
uncouple, dance – each free
you speak and the air around you
becomes impossible to breathe
With you, it’s another kind of feeling
an endless flying toward the world
a particle of thought which brings
an experience of truth
that round space
where all the world’s wonders are alive
in a single place

(or, more literal)

Ayla, Ayla!
when you smile
the earth shakes under me
when you listen to wings fluttering
my wings start dancing each to its own beat
when you speak the air around you
becomes impossible to breathe
With you, it’s another kind of feeling
flight unceasing towards the world
a particle of thought which leads
to an experience of truth
that round space
where all the world’s wonders are alive
in a single place

2. I’d feel you even closer Ayla
let a kiss fall
on your naked shoulder
listen to the vibration of your skin
that song of such popular appeal
on my lips a tantric cry
fingers dancing free
to a Maltese beat
I somehow miss you, Ayla
the playful chime of your voice
mingling with scents of tropical forests
and fresh mown grass
in Aluche Park

3. Today Ayla’s making me sad
today because
she’s sitting in my lap
gazing at a Titian
I think eyes-wide Ayla’s painting
and when Ayla paints
the world is transformed into
the kernel of a rotting apricot
while when Ayla’s eyes begin moving
the whole world dances –
then a world’s sadness wraps me close
as jellyfish-wings
So when Ayla paints
I feel my flying is a flowing
through the world

4. When I quarrel with Ayla
yellow butterflies seem to drop
from a Tintoretto ivory tower
butterflies which settle
one by one
in an imaginary circle
where a naked Ayla sleeps
her breasts white swans
heaving in the light
soon to dawn
When I quarrel with Ayla
my words pour back out of her mouth
and from this outrush
new breath
flies up
into the world.

5. When Ayla feels dreadfully beautiful
the world turns into green absinthe
fragrant with orange-apple
we cross in a single scream
dream-somersault among
raisins, ham and olives
on a tablecloth caked with’
unperishing poems
Ayla, exuberant
is painting a fan
shaped like a sword from Toledo
while Istymo flings
protective arrows at
the cardinal points
from which erections
have disappeared

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