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God has fire for the sins
and let them disappear
in the inferno He gave
everlasting rapture to Paolo
and to Francesca flying
under rhythms of Chopin
they make love flying
through the spaces of the inferno
as in an eternal empire of love
fuck in flight. Their absence
on earth filled the house
with mourning. Oh, Lord,
make me suffer for them.
Cleanse my inside of all
that remained evil of them,
but take me into the blaze
along with them.
***
Thou grass everlastingly lying down
thou pullest me into the spirit
of the depths on the sand whereon
the infinity often reposeth thou grass
thou attractest me to the transparent
tempests wherein I ha‘ cast my heart
where there’s neither melancholy
nor sadness.
Purple air, the Thracian spring
the wide yard with rustling trees
the wedding was in full swing ‒
the bridegroom happy the bride
happy between the echoes of joyous
laughter and the sound of dulcimer
and the squeaking of violins
and the flowery girls of the mountain
the dancing no longer ended the bride
was taken to dance in competition
four bulky guys were spinning her
more often, the hunks had been invited
from the company where she was employee
they unleashed themselves under the quick
Thracian wind across all this wooded place.
The bridegroom’s dance incited jubilant
shouts he kissed the trodden earth
and was spinning on and on happily
four bulky guys grabbed him and threw
him to the sky and let him fall like the black
lightening he fell and broke his spine.
The bulky guys were laughing. The busy bride
said, “You’ve escaped me: I wasn’t sure, either
that he’s my man.” He returned from the hospital
in a wheelchair. She was changing her love partners.
***
Nothing exists any longer
or this nothing exists
calm enthusiasm. Joy
of the annihilation, abolition
absolute form of joy
the vision of the burial
of illusions. Sacrifices
on the sepulchre of the last
wound breeze of mercy
from barren areas ‒ lives
are interrupted.
The cannibals throw the Roman purple mantle
over these long-tailed, scaly, mutant rats
that morphed into big, disgusting evil-doers,
they squeak haunted by sadness when they lose
it all, when it hurts them when their fangs fall down
they gather together silently under the altars
and they smile indifferently. They don’t like
this country without a god. This world is going
to be forsaken, devastated, gnawed on
and transformed into shit, in it they see only pride,
greed, wickedness, defiance, disdain, cannibalistic
crime, audacity of thieves. Soldiers are waiting
for them to catch them by the tail and to stick
them into the saucepan to cook the soup.
Night by night they counsel one another
under the altar. The priests quake and shout scared,
“Vade retro, Satana!” (Begone, Satan!) and the fire
of the prayer goes out. These are the Romanians
with their bare face.
