by Gherasim Luca
translated from Romanian by Ştefan Bolea
I am free
so I can pay attention to the things around me
my fingers shivering like poplars, short as bullets
squeezed firmly the woman’s white neck
like ancient poets were squeezing in their usual love fits for nature
flowers – sheep – field and stars
the poets of today, poets with fingers shivering like poplars and short as
bullets
have each at home a woman’s white neck that must be strangled
the clearness with which we’ll perceive the things around us afterwards is so necessary
and their purple tongue, what a foolish spectacle
And now that we are free our stroll along the streets becomes important in a way we can tell:
women are more polished and more provoking today
the gents are more smiling
and our pockets usually loaded with candies and scraps of paper contain stones of all sizes
At the same time with us other men began walking on the great boulevards of the city
they have white fingers, fat like slices of bacon, they keep the fingers in their pockets
stuffed with the last picture of their girlfriends and a snotty handkerchief.
The poets from today, the poets with shivering like poplars fingers, short as
bullets
the poets with pockets containing stones of all sizes
must know that the single difficulty is the smashing of the first window of the great boulevards
because all the other windows will smash by themselves
just as it is enough to extinguish the first star and all the others will be themselves extinguished
I apologize for the star comparison, poets,
it’s only a memory from the old times
when I was ecstatic about blooming trees and I used to faint at every sunrise.
The poets from today, the poets with fingers shivering like poplars and short as
bullets
may throw their stones at the star comparison
it will probably be the first window smashed
then all the other windows will smash by themselves.