AT THE TABLE BY THE WINDOW

“What a won-der-ful place for weeping and smoking you have here!”
I said to the barman, for oftentimes, at the table by the window,
late at night, I have sighed,
thinking that you are far, far away, my love,
and that I shall never see you again.

And he, “a face oiled like an iron padlock”,
puffed and blew into a glass to cloud it:
“Sir, we would be honoured for you to weep here with us,
we would be honoured for you to smoke! And so we can weep together,
in your honour I’m giving myself two slaps!
In your honour I’m giving myself yet another!
Anyhow, in Romanian culture there’s too much weeping,
for, by your leave, we are a weepy nation!”
And his old cherubic head slowly sank between the glasses –
a moon between snowy hills.

And the pub was packed: three or four blokes to a table,
hunched like badgers over their ashtrays.
(Faces contorted with pain
and silent as in a dream.)

Then it was midnight, then midnight passed
and the hunches of their backs began to quiver, to rise and fall,
as though each had a turkey under his coat
with its claws dug into his ribs. And the barman walked among the tables singing:
“But how can I forget you, how can I forget you, how can I forget you
when your kiss is so sweet!”
Then from the collars the turkeys poked out their necks, like snakes,
red tasselled banners by every ear, hideous banners, beaked banners,
and the laments went from table to table like beggars:
“Glug-glug-glug, Maria, why did you leave me?
Glug-glug-glug, Maria, why did you deceive me?
Glug-glug-glug, Maria, it was for you I rotted in gaol!
Glug-glug-glug, Maria, what am I to do with five children?”

And each table
was like a house
with three or four smoking chimneys,
and we were drinking with our elbows on the roof.

And beneath the ceiling, creaking away,
the fan was winding our lungs into a grey clew.

Tears and ash in the ashtrays, black water.

And as thus I sat with my face to the wall
I began to laugh.
And I pointed my finger upwards and said:
“They’ve stopped work! They’ve stopped all the work!”
And going out into the street I looked at the sky:
and the sky was like a building site hastily abandoned at the onset of winter.

AAN DE TAFEL BIJ HET RAAM

‘Om te huilen en te roken is het hier ge-wel-dig!’
zei ik tegen de barman, want aan de tafel bij het raam
had ik al vaak ’s avonds laat gezucht
bij de gedachte dat je ver, ver weg bent, mijn liefste,
en dat ik je nooit meer terug zal zien.

En de ander, ‘een gezicht geolied als een ijzeren hangslot’,
hijgde en ademde in zijn glas zodat het besloeg:
‘Meneer, het is ons een eer dat u bij ons huilt,
een eer dat u bij ons rookt! En opdat we samen huilen,
geef ik mij om uwentwille een paar oorvegen!
Om uwentwille geef ik er mij nog één!
Hoe dan ook wordt er in de Roemeense cultuur te veel gehuild,
want, met uw verlof, we zijn een volk van huilebalken!’
En hij liet zachtjes zijn oude cherubijnenkop zakken tussen de glazen –
maan tussen besneeuwde heuvels.

En de kroeg zat stampvol: drie, vier kerels aan een tafel,
als dassen over de asbakken gebogen.
(Van pijn vertrokken gezichten,
zwijgzaam als in een droom.)

Toen werd het middernacht, toen werd het na middernacht,
en hun bochels begonnen op hun rug te beven, ja gingen op en neer
alsof ze elk een kalkoen onder hun kleren hadden,
de klauwen in hun ribben gehaakt. En de barman liep tussen de tafels en zong:
‘Hoe kan ik jou ik jou ik jou vergeten,
je kussen zijn zo zoet!’
Toen staken de kalkoenen hun kop onder de kragen uit, als slangen,
als vlaggen met rode kwastjes bij elk oor, afzichtelijke vlaggen, gebekte vlaggen,
en als bedelaars gingen de jammerklachten van de ene tafel naar de andere:
‘Gloe-gloe-gloe, Maria, waarom heb je mij verlaten?
Gloe-gloe-gloe, Maria, waarom heb je mij bedrogen?
Gloe-gloe-gloe, Maria, voor jou zat ik in de bak!
Gloe-gloe-gloe, Maria, wat moet ík met vijf kinderen?’

En elke tafel
was als een huis
met drie, vier rokende schoorstenen
en we dronken met onze ellebogen op het dak.

En onder het plafond, krakend,
spint de ventilator onze longen tot een grauw kluwen.

Tranen en as in de asbakken, zwart water.

En zoals ik daar zat met mijn gezicht naar de muur
begon ik te lachen.
En ik wees met mijn vinger omhoog en ik zei:
‘De werken zijn gestaakt! Alle werken zijn gestaakt!’
En ik liep de straat op en ik keek naar de hemel –
en de hemel zag eruit als een bouwplaats die ijlings was verlaten bij de komst van de winter.

LA MASA DE LANGA FEREASTRA

“Aici la dumneavoastră se plînge şi se fumează mi-nu-nat!”
i-am zis barmanului, căci adeseori, la masa de lîngă fereastră
tîrziu în noapte am suspinat,
gîndindu-mă că tu eşti departe, departe dragostea mea,
şi că nu o să te mai văd niciodată.

Iar acesta, “faţă unsă cu ulei ca un lacăt de fier”,
gâfâia şi sufla în pahar ca să-l aburească:
“Domnule, am fi onoraţi să plîngeţi la noi,
am fi onoraţi să fumaţi! Şi ca să plîngem împreună,
în cinstea dumneavoastră îmi trag două palme!
În cinstea dumneavoastră îmi mai dau încă una!
Oricum, în cultura română se plînge prea mult,
căci, cu voia dumneavoastră, sîntem un popor de plîngăcioşi!”
Şi a apus blînd capul lui de îngeraş bătrîn între pahare –
lună între dealuri ninse.

Iar cîrciuma plină ochi: trei-patru bărbaţi la o masă,
cocoşaţi ca bursucii peste scrumiere.
(Feţe strîmbe de durere
şi tăcute ca în vis).

Apoi a fost miezul nopţii, apoi a trecut de miezul nopţii
şi cocoaşele au început să le tremure în spate, să urce şi să coboare,
de parcă fiecare avea o curcă sub haină
cu ghearele înfipte-ntre coaste. Iar barmanul umbla printre mese cîntînd:
“Dar eu cum să te uit, cum să te uit, cum să te uit
cînd sărutarea ta este atît de dulce!”
Atunci pe sub gulere curcile şi-au scos capul, ca şerpii,
steaguri cu ciucuri roşii lîngă fiecare ureche, steaguri hîde, steaguri cu cioc,
şi vaietele treceau ca cerşetorii de la o masă la alta:
“Glu-glu-glu, Maria, de ce m-ai părăsit?
Glu-glu-glu, Maria, de ce m-ai înşelat tu pe mine?
Glu-glu-glu, Maria, pentru tine am înfundat puşcăria!
Glu-glu-glu, Maria, ce mă fac eu cu cinci copii?”

Şi fiecare masă
era ca o casă
cu trei-patru hornuri fumegînd,
şi noi beam cu coatele pe acoperiş.

Iar sub tavan, scîrţîind,
pe un ghem sur ventilatorul ne depăna plămînii.

Lacrimi şi scrum în scrumiere, apă neagră.

Şi cum stam aşa cu faţa la perete
am început să rîd.
Şi-am arătat cu degetul în sus şi am zis:
“Au încetat lucrările! Au încetat toate lucrările!”
Şi ieşind în stradă am privit cerul:
şi cerul era ca un şantier părăsit în grabă la venirea iernii.