George Bacovia
© 2000-2012  by All rights reserved.
Toward Autumn
Fevered on the roads,
When autumn comes around,
One thought masters me,
Hounds me and goads:
- Vanish faster!
George Bacovia (1881-1957)
Spre Toamna
Pe drumuri delirand,
Pe vreme de toamna,
Ma urmareste-un gand
Ca ma indeamna:
- Dispari mai curand!
In casa iubitei de-ajung,
Eu zgudui fereastra nervos,
Si-o chem ca sa vada cum ploua
Frunzisul, in targul ploios.
When I reach my loved one's house,
I shake the window nervously
And call her to see rain fall
In the rainy town, on greenery.
But look, that's a Jewish corpse ...
The weader's soggy, mud and rain -
To the strange semitic murmuring
I add myself, and fall in line.
Dar, iata, si-un mort evreiesc ...
Si ploua, e moima, noroi -
In murmure semite
M-adaug si eu in convoi.
Si nimeni nu stie ce-i asta -
M-afund intr-o crasma sa scriu,
Sau rad si pornesc inspre casa,
Si-acolo ma-nchid ca-n sicriu.
And no one knows what's going on -
I sink into a pub to write,
Or laugh and head towards my home,
And lock myself as in a tomb.
And fevered as ever,
When autumn comes around,
One thought masters me
And sends me to sleep:
- Vanish faster!
Si mereu delirand,
Pe vreme de toamna,
M-adoarme un gand
Ce ma indeamna:
- Dispari mai curand ...