Poem
Dumitru Crudu
After her daughter got married . . .
After her daughter got married, Mrs Moraru wanted to divorce Mr Moraru. But she didn’t divorce him, even though She dreamed of it her whole life. All the love between them drained away like an egg yolk. Then they started to get old And they started developing ailments. And she couldn’t live without love. Mr Moraru became very selfish. And he had only one thing on his mind: How to save his skin and live as long as possible. And all day long he hung around on polyclinic corridors Like in a forest, forgetting all about Mrs Moraru And not doing anything around the house anymore and abandoning Mrs Moraru To manage on her own. When Mr Moraru died I went with her To the office of the director of the Doina Cemetery And he asked her obliquely: Would you like to reserve a burial plot next to your husband’s? and Mrs Moraru declined. At the time I thought that she’d been offended by the blunt, cynical question put by the cemetery director, a man who, all the while he talked to us, kept making a chomping sound with his teeth, although he didn’t happen to be eating. Then, a year later, when Mrs Moraru died and was buried at the other end of the cemetery about a kilometre away from Mr Moraru I understood why she had refused to buy a burial plot next to her husband’s. Finally, they were divorced.
Nadat haar dochter was getrouwd . . .
Nadat haar dochter was getrouwd, wilde mevrouw Moraru van meneer Moraru scheiden. Maar ze scheidde niet, al Heeft ze er haar hele leven van gedroomd. Hun hele liefde liep leeg als de dooier van een ei Toen begonnen ze ouder te worden En werden met kwaaltjes overladen. En ze kon niet leven zonder liefde. Meneer Moraru was erg egoïstisch geworden. Hij dacht maar aan één ding: Hoe hij zijn huid kon redden en langer kon leven Dag in dag uit hing hij rond in de gangen van de polikliniek Als in een bos, en dacht helemaal niet meer Aan mevrouw Moraru Deed niets meer in huis en liet mevrouw Moraru Helemaal aan haar lot over. Bij de dood van meneer Moraru ging ik met haar Naar het bureau van de directeur van de begraafplaats ‘Doina’ En die vroeg haar met een schuine blik: Wilt u uw plaats reserveren naast het graf van uw man? Wat mevrouw Moraru heeft geweigerd. Ik meende ter plekke dat ze boos was vanwege de brutale en cynische vraag van de directeur van de begraafplaats, een kerel die de hele tijd dat hij met ons sprak met zijn tanden maalde, al had hij niets te eten. Pas een jaar later, bij het overlijden van mevrouw Moraru, toen ze helemaal aan het andere eind van de begraafplaats op een kilometer afstand van meneer Moraru werd begraven heb ik begrepen waarom ze had geweigerd een plaats naast het graf van haar man te kopen. Uiteindelijk is ze toch gescheiden.
După ce fata ei s-a căsătorit, doamna Moraru a vrut să divorțeze de Domnul Moraru. Dar n-a divorțat, deși Toată viața ei a visat asta. Toată dragostea dintre ei s-a golit ca gălbenușul unui ou Când au început să îmbătrânească Și au dat bolile peste ei. Și ea nu putea trăi fără dragoste. Domnul Moraru a devenit foarte egoist. Se gândea numai la un singur lucru: Cum să-și scape pielea și să trăiască mai mult Și toată ziua freca menta pe coridoarele din policlinci Ca într-o pădure, uitând cu totul De doamna Moraru Și nemaifăcând nimic prin casă și lăsând-o pe doamna Moraru Să se descurce singură. Când a murit domnul Moraru am intrat cu ea În biroul directorului cimitirului „Doina” Și acesta a întrebat-o pieziș: Vreți să vă rezervez loc de mormânt lângă soțul dumneavoastră? și doamna Moraru a refuzat. Acolo pe loc am crezut că a supărat-o întrebarea brutală și cinică a directorului cimitirului, un tip care, cât timp a vorbit cu noi, a clănțănit mereu din dinți, deși nu mânca nimic. Apoi, peste un an, când a murit și Doamna Moraru și a fost înmormântată tocmai într-un alt capăt al cimitirului la vreun kilometru distanță de domnul Moraru am înțeles de ce a refuzat să-și cumpere loc de mormânt lângă soțul ei. În sfârșit, a divorțat.
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Poems of Dumitru Crudu
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After her daughter got married . . .
After her daughter got married, Mrs Moraru wanted to divorce Mr Moraru. But she didn’t divorce him, even though She dreamed of it her whole life. All the love between them drained away like an egg yolk. Then they started to get old And they started developing ailments. And she couldn’t live without love. Mr Moraru became very selfish. And he had only one thing on his mind: How to save his skin and live as long as possible. And all day long he hung around on polyclinic corridors Like in a forest, forgetting all about Mrs Moraru And not doing anything around the house anymore and abandoning Mrs Moraru To manage on her own. When Mr Moraru died I went with her To the office of the director of the Doina Cemetery And he asked her obliquely: Would you like to reserve a burial plot next to your husband’s? and Mrs Moraru declined. At the time I thought that she’d been offended by the blunt, cynical question put by the cemetery director, a man who, all the while he talked to us, kept making a chomping sound with his teeth, although he didn’t happen to be eating. Then, a year later, when Mrs Moraru died and was buried at the other end of the cemetery about a kilometre away from Mr Moraru I understood why she had refused to buy a burial plot next to her husband’s. Finally, they were divorced.
After her daughter got married . . .
After her daughter got married, Mrs Moraru wanted to divorce Mr Moraru. But she didn’t divorce him, even though She dreamed of it her whole life. All the love between them drained away like an egg yolk. Then they started to get old And they started developing ailments. And she couldn’t live without love. Mr Moraru became very selfish. And he had only one thing on his mind: How to save his skin and live as long as possible. And all day long he hung around on polyclinic corridors Like in a forest, forgetting all about Mrs Moraru And not doing anything around the house anymore and abandoning Mrs Moraru To manage on her own. When Mr Moraru died I went with her To the office of the director of the Doina Cemetery And he asked her obliquely: Would you like to reserve a burial plot next to your husband’s? and Mrs Moraru declined. At the time I thought that she’d been offended by the blunt, cynical question put by the cemetery director, a man who, all the while he talked to us, kept making a chomping sound with his teeth, although he didn’t happen to be eating. Then, a year later, when Mrs Moraru died and was buried at the other end of the cemetery about a kilometre away from Mr Moraru I understood why she had refused to buy a burial plot next to her husband’s. Finally, they were divorced.
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