George Bacovia
© 2000-2012  by All rights reserved.
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.
George Bacovia (1881-1957)
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.
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..