| George Bacovia |
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| Nocturne |
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| I'm stuck here ... and the slush drips, water, mud ... To know nothing again, there'd be one method - A gas lamp's in the throes, it's there, it's not there, - An alcoholic crosses the dismal square. |
| 1881-1957 |
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| Nocturna |
| Stau ... si moina cade, apa, glod ... Sa nu mai stiu nimic, ar fi un singur mod - Un bec agonizeaza, exista, nu exista, - Un alcoolic trece piata trista. |
| Orasul doarme ud in umezeala grea. Prin zidurile astea, poate, doarme ea, - Case de fier in case de zid, Si portile grele se-nchid. Un clavir ingana-ncet la un etaj, Umbra mea sta in noroi ca un trist bagaj - Stropii sar, Ninge zoios, La un geam, intr-un pahar, O roza galbena se uita-n jos. |
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| Soaked in the heavy dampness the town sleeps. Between these walls she too sleeps, perhaps, - Houses of iron in brick houses, And the heavy doors close. Upstairs the quiet humming of a piano; Struck like a gloomy sack in the clouds, my shadow - Drops spurt, It's snowing slops, From a window, in a vase, A yellow rose looks down.. |