Poem
Simona Popescu
My Life
My life?What can I tell it about me?
At 16. I came into the world to understand nothing.
At 17. the voice behind the window
the hand holds out the ticket
and.—then on the screen, something just stupid:
Youth conquers all! (and all youth).
At 18. One day I wonder why write what’s the point… since…
why… for who… those people
don’t even have time for themselves… and. don’t even want to… and. aren’t even. interested…
Inside me there’s a young girl and an old one and some know one and some the other.
19. Because you tell me what to do
so I will know what not to
and tell me what to say
so I will know what not to.
I proceed the way I know is right by
banging my head against the wall and banging my head…
20. Friends are good and enemies bad
weigh order and harmony
which will betray
which will transform
which will be torn from your heart?
21. I pity the powerlessness of poetry
A lemon wrung for a sated tribe.
We have no plan, amigo
A past for all
A country for all
What was green has withered
What was sweet was eaten.
22. I’m not hungry not thirsty
but I feel empty
in my stomach.
I’m so lonesome.
23. My youth was made for waiting.
Adulthood springs on you
what can you do?
24. I’m fed up with wilted precociousness
I hate literary sensations…
Which one of us was saying “We need a hero”?
You’re 24 now
What will our progeny understand?
[…]
25. I have nothing to say
I’m not a joiner
and my heart and brain seem weird.
I am still a young person
I feel like a woman and like a man
I write like a woman and like a man
I am ageless
I protect myself as I can
Talking about myself about nothing about everything.
26. Russian doll, russian doll
how many of you are there?
Is the one in the middle the oldest?
The wrinkled one calm fearless
The littlest little doll
the baby-baba you feel so sorry for?
27. You’re like a mom taking care of the child… you were.
28. I look at an Arab book, that has the beginning at the end.
29. A sudden desire then even more intense to be done with me!
30. Time curls. The body recalls. I am holding a big, yellow balloon. I put my cheek to it. Inside is quiet. Inside it holds the floating silence I hold in my arms. Silence is round and colored yellow. I release it into the world.
31. Those who write to be better.
Those who write to not be forgotten.
32. The way a forgotten moon-ray
fertilizes a soft, hot brain…
and I won’t finish the poem won’t finish it won’t finish it won’t finish it…
What am I in all I’ve put here?
What am I in all I’ve left out?
33. I am a poet in my manner, someone told me once.
34. I have two hearts. It’s okay.
35. Where is the author when he’s not writing? Where is the author when he is?
36. “Herz Im Kopf.” Heart and head are together, one cares for the other, and the other for one. Eyes swallow. Mouth quiet. Mouth quiet for a while. It has no one to talk to. But walking is also a way of talking.
37. I started this song…
“O reader (I cannot say dear reader, amigo
like Martial and so many after him
because I’m embarrassed and I don’t want you to think
I’m flattering you…),
O reader, I don’t know how to start and I’d rather
be done with you already”…
© Translation: 2017, Sean Cotter
My life
My life
My life?Ce să-i spun despre mine?
16 ani. Eu am venit pe lume ca să nu înţeleg nimic.
17 ani: vocea din spatele ghişeului
mîna întinsă biletul
şi.-apoi pe ecran o prostie lată:
Tinereţea învinge totul! (şi toate tinereţea).
18 ani. Şi mă întreabă într-o zi că de ce scriu ce rost are... că...
de ce... pentru cine... ăştia
n-au timp nici de ei... şi. nici nu vor.... şi. nici. nu-i interesează…
Am o faţă tînără şi una bătrînă şi unii o ştiu pe una şi alţii pe cealaltă.
19. Căci spuneţi voi ce să fac
să ştiu ce să nu fac
şi spuneţi voi ce să spun
ca să ştiu ce să nu spun.
Merg înainte cum cred eu chit că
dau cu capul de zid şi dau cu capu de zid…
20. Prietenii sînt buni şi duşmanii răi
măsură ordine şi armonie
care va trăda
care se va metamorfoza
care va fi scos de la inima ta?
21. Mi-e milă de neputinţa poeziei
O lămîie stoarsă în faţa tribului sătul.
Nu avem nici o ţintă, amice
Trecut al tuturor
Patrie a tuturor
Ce-a fost verde s-a uscat
Ce-a fost dulce s-a mîncat.
22. Nu mi-e foame nu mi-e sete
dar simt un gol
în stomac.
Mi-e tare urît.
23. Tinereţea mea a fost făcută pentru aşteptare.
Maturitatea te va-nşfăca
n-ai încotro
lasă-i pe mînă doar pielea ta!
24. Mi-e silă de precocitatea ofilită
mi-e scîrbă de senzaţiile literare…
Cine din noi spunea: “Avem nevoie de un erou”?
Ai acum 24
Ce vor înţelege progeniturile noi?
[...]
25. Cocujo.
Nu ştiu nimic să spun
nu pot să mă adun
şi inima şi creierul îmi sînt străine.
Sînt încă un om tînăr
Simt ca o femeie şi ca un bărbat
Scriu ca o femeie şi ca un bărbat
Simt ca un copil ticălos şi nevinovat
Sînt fără vîrstă
Mă apăr cum pot
Vorbind despre mine despre nimic despre tot.
26. Matrioşka, matrioşka
spune căte păpuşele mai sînt la rînd ?
Ai în miezul tău oare şi păpuşa cea mai bătrînă ?
E acolo zbîrcită senină lipsită de frică
Matrioşka cea mai mică
babă-copilă de care ţi-e de pe-acum aşa milă?
27. Ai grijă ca o mamă de copilul… care ai fost.
28. Mă uit la o carte arabă, cu începutul la sfîrşit.
29 O dorinţă bruscă şi-apoi tot mai intensă să se termine cu mine!
30. Timpul se buclează. Corpul şi-aduce aminte. Ţin în braţe un balon mare şi galben. Îmi pun obrazul pe el. Înăuntru e linişte. Înăuntru se află închisă tăcerea plutitoare pe care eu o ţin acum în braţe. Tăcerea e rotundă şi are culoarea galbenă. Îi dau drumul în lume.
31. Cei care scriu ca să fie mai buni.
Cei care scriu ca să nu se uite pe ei.
32. Cum trece raza de lună uitată
fecundînd creierul moale şi cald…
şi poemul n-am să-l termin n-am să-l termin n-am să-l termin…
Ce sunt din tot ce-am adunat aici?
Ce sînt din tot ce a rămas pe dinafară?
33. Eu sunt poet prin comportament, mi-a spus odată.
34. Am două inimi în mine. Mi-e bine.
35. Unde e autorul cînd nu mai scrie? Unde e autorul cînd scrie?
36. “Herz Im Kopf”. Inima şi capul sînt împreună, se ţin una de altul, unul de alta. Ochii înghit. Gura tace. Gura tace demult. N-are cu cine vorbi. Dar şi mersul e un fel de vorbit.
37. Am început acest song…
“Cititorule (nu pot să zic lector amice
precum Marţial şi zeci după el
că mi-e ruşine şi nu vreau să crezi
că-ţi fac curte…),
Cititorule, nu ştiu cum să-ncep şi-aş vrea
să fi terminat cu tine deja”…
© 2007, Simona Popescu
From: Lucrări în verde. Pledoaria mea pentru poezie / Works in Green. My Defense of Poetry
Publisher: Cartea Românească, București
From: Lucrări în verde. Pledoaria mea pentru poezie / Works in Green. My Defense of Poetry
Publisher: Cartea Românească, București
Poems
Poems of Simona Popescu
Close
My Life
My life?What can I tell it about me?
At 16. I came into the world to understand nothing.
At 17. the voice behind the window
the hand holds out the ticket
and.—then on the screen, something just stupid:
Youth conquers all! (and all youth).
At 18. One day I wonder why write what’s the point… since…
why… for who… those people
don’t even have time for themselves… and. don’t even want to… and. aren’t even. interested…
Inside me there’s a young girl and an old one and some know one and some the other.
19. Because you tell me what to do
so I will know what not to
and tell me what to say
so I will know what not to.
I proceed the way I know is right by
banging my head against the wall and banging my head…
20. Friends are good and enemies bad
weigh order and harmony
which will betray
which will transform
which will be torn from your heart?
21. I pity the powerlessness of poetry
A lemon wrung for a sated tribe.
We have no plan, amigo
A past for all
A country for all
What was green has withered
What was sweet was eaten.
22. I’m not hungry not thirsty
but I feel empty
in my stomach.
I’m so lonesome.
23. My youth was made for waiting.
Adulthood springs on you
what can you do?
24. I’m fed up with wilted precociousness
I hate literary sensations…
Which one of us was saying “We need a hero”?
You’re 24 now
What will our progeny understand?
[…]
25. I have nothing to say
I’m not a joiner
and my heart and brain seem weird.
I am still a young person
I feel like a woman and like a man
I write like a woman and like a man
I am ageless
I protect myself as I can
Talking about myself about nothing about everything.
26. Russian doll, russian doll
how many of you are there?
Is the one in the middle the oldest?
The wrinkled one calm fearless
The littlest little doll
the baby-baba you feel so sorry for?
27. You’re like a mom taking care of the child… you were.
28. I look at an Arab book, that has the beginning at the end.
29. A sudden desire then even more intense to be done with me!
30. Time curls. The body recalls. I am holding a big, yellow balloon. I put my cheek to it. Inside is quiet. Inside it holds the floating silence I hold in my arms. Silence is round and colored yellow. I release it into the world.
31. Those who write to be better.
Those who write to not be forgotten.
32. The way a forgotten moon-ray
fertilizes a soft, hot brain…
and I won’t finish the poem won’t finish it won’t finish it won’t finish it…
What am I in all I’ve put here?
What am I in all I’ve left out?
33. I am a poet in my manner, someone told me once.
34. I have two hearts. It’s okay.
35. Where is the author when he’s not writing? Where is the author when he is?
36. “Herz Im Kopf.” Heart and head are together, one cares for the other, and the other for one. Eyes swallow. Mouth quiet. Mouth quiet for a while. It has no one to talk to. But walking is also a way of talking.
37. I started this song…
“O reader (I cannot say dear reader, amigo
like Martial and so many after him
because I’m embarrassed and I don’t want you to think
I’m flattering you…),
O reader, I don’t know how to start and I’d rather
be done with you already”…
© 2017, Sean Cotter
From: Lucrări în verde. Pledoaria mea pentru poezie / Works in Green. My Defense of Poetry
From: Lucrări în verde. Pledoaria mea pentru poezie / Works in Green. My Defense of Poetry
My Life
My life?What can I tell it about me?
At 16. I came into the world to understand nothing.
At 17. the voice behind the window
the hand holds out the ticket
and.—then on the screen, something just stupid:
Youth conquers all! (and all youth).
At 18. One day I wonder why write what’s the point… since…
why… for who… those people
don’t even have time for themselves… and. don’t even want to… and. aren’t even. interested…
Inside me there’s a young girl and an old one and some know one and some the other.
19. Because you tell me what to do
so I will know what not to
and tell me what to say
so I will know what not to.
I proceed the way I know is right by
banging my head against the wall and banging my head…
20. Friends are good and enemies bad
weigh order and harmony
which will betray
which will transform
which will be torn from your heart?
21. I pity the powerlessness of poetry
A lemon wrung for a sated tribe.
We have no plan, amigo
A past for all
A country for all
What was green has withered
What was sweet was eaten.
22. I’m not hungry not thirsty
but I feel empty
in my stomach.
I’m so lonesome.
23. My youth was made for waiting.
Adulthood springs on you
what can you do?
24. I’m fed up with wilted precociousness
I hate literary sensations…
Which one of us was saying “We need a hero”?
You’re 24 now
What will our progeny understand?
[…]
25. I have nothing to say
I’m not a joiner
and my heart and brain seem weird.
I am still a young person
I feel like a woman and like a man
I write like a woman and like a man
I am ageless
I protect myself as I can
Talking about myself about nothing about everything.
26. Russian doll, russian doll
how many of you are there?
Is the one in the middle the oldest?
The wrinkled one calm fearless
The littlest little doll
the baby-baba you feel so sorry for?
27. You’re like a mom taking care of the child… you were.
28. I look at an Arab book, that has the beginning at the end.
29. A sudden desire then even more intense to be done with me!
30. Time curls. The body recalls. I am holding a big, yellow balloon. I put my cheek to it. Inside is quiet. Inside it holds the floating silence I hold in my arms. Silence is round and colored yellow. I release it into the world.
31. Those who write to be better.
Those who write to not be forgotten.
32. The way a forgotten moon-ray
fertilizes a soft, hot brain…
and I won’t finish the poem won’t finish it won’t finish it won’t finish it…
What am I in all I’ve put here?
What am I in all I’ve left out?
33. I am a poet in my manner, someone told me once.
34. I have two hearts. It’s okay.
35. Where is the author when he’s not writing? Where is the author when he is?
36. “Herz Im Kopf.” Heart and head are together, one cares for the other, and the other for one. Eyes swallow. Mouth quiet. Mouth quiet for a while. It has no one to talk to. But walking is also a way of talking.
37. I started this song…
“O reader (I cannot say dear reader, amigo
like Martial and so many after him
because I’m embarrassed and I don’t want you to think
I’m flattering you…),
O reader, I don’t know how to start and I’d rather
be done with you already”…
© 2017, Sean Cotter
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