miercuri, 25 mai 2016

an empty birthday card / o felicitare goală - poem

- David A. Marin
(Traducere mai jos).


This year, I got a birthday card
There was nothing written inside,
No memorable cover.
No couple bucks.
It was as blank as an empty canvas
Covered in naught.
( I looked at it today and laughed
Maybe I ought to frame it
Sell it as modern art. )

There was no metaphor intended,
Girls forgot to write
They were busy smoking, asking for a light.
There was no metaphor intended,
But I saw one nevertheless.
There was no metaphor intended,
But it was a perfect show
Since they remembered buy, forgot yet write.
Chasing form, forgetting essence,
Chasing cover, forgetting content,
It was the most capitalistic gift I have ever got
And that is an amusing thought
Since my pals and I, we give and receive money.
“We accept it as a root of evil, but
Don’t take a piece out of my pie. “
So Floyd said.
  
This year, the person who gave me that card
We blocked each-other out of our lives, now she’s gone.
I smiled as I locked away the pictures of us
My phone lighting up like fire with texts, swears and insults
Like a pigeon, almost collapsing from the weight of the death letter he carries
Strapped so gently to its wings, yet suffocating.

Alas, I kept the empty card
And me, myself and I,
We talked and laughed,

For we, and I mean I, know it is me that should be writing inside.  

*


Anul asta, am primit o felicitare de ziua mea.
Nu scria nimic in ea.
Nu avea coperta memorabila
Si nici un eurocent,
Sau un amendament.
Era goala ca o panza alba
Acoperita in colorat nimic.
(Azi m-am uitat la ea, 
am ras
m-am gandit sa o inramez
sa o vand drept arta moderna).

Nu a fost nicio metafora intentionata,
Au uitat sa scrie,
una prea ocupata fumand si luand pastile.
Nu a fost nicio metafora intentionata,
Dar eu am vazut una oricum.
Nu a fost nicio metafora intentionata,
Dar a fost insa una agasanta:
Fugim dupa forma, uitam fondul,
Fugim dupa copertă, uităm totul.
Cadoul perfect capitalist.
Superb de trist.
Si acesta e un gand amuzant,
Pentru ca în cercul meu, ne dăm direct bani.
“Acceptam banul ca sursa de rele
Dar nu imi lua din ciocolățile mele”
Așa ziceau și Floyd.

Anul asta, persoana care mi-a dat aceea felicitare
Ne-am blocat unul pe celalalt, totala separare
Azi ne iubim, maine unul figurativ moare.
Am zambit cand am pus deoparte o poza cu noi
Gandindu-ma ca a fost frumos, dar ca nu vom mai avea momente noi.
Telefonul meu ardea cu mesaje, injuraturi, insulte grave
Ca un porumbel, aproape cazand din ceruri
Din cauza greutatii scrisorii de moarte
prinsă de el, sufocant, 
porumbelul zburând, fără stol, și zdruncinat.

In fine, am pastrat pleșuva felicitare
Si eu, cu mine si cu sine,
Am ras si am zambit, chiar deloc sumbru…
Caci noi, adica eu, stim ca eu sunt cel ce ar trebui sa scrie inauntru.









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