Magda Cârneci
A sea of flames
Requiem in a Classical Style
A sea of flames
Sometimes I see finding myself on the streets among the crowds
in the absence of any drug except the solar light or in trams
narcotized by the mass of warm and moist bodies or before the amber
Subway exits
pouring out fields of anonymous bright faces
I see suddenly I see that we are flames
flickering flames twisted by the wind
long glowing cones plaited with thin rays
small red white golden flames
gliding through bus-stations, windows and stores
flame upon flame in a fiery sea stirring burning quickened drops
flowing on sidewalks, rising in elevators
staccato flickers against the evening sky.
these clothes these shoes these uniforms of sex
and flesh which interrupt the ocean of fire
which separate me from all of you and from yourself
twin sister world
coagulated fire intensity at a standstill o, world flimsy backdrop
soaring buildings and highways and subways
airports and movie theaters and civilizations
over the living flames that we are covering our incandescence
One day at one certain moment they will crumble will dissolve
will disappear like a cloud of vapor and dust
swept away by one single unique hand evaporated
like the pale molecules of a spectral hallucinogenic gas
and we`ll become I see it I see-
in the clammy hospital beds in the waiting rooms
of the railroad stations in the doctor`s offices
there where I recognize myself ageless and illimitable in
strange and young girls in soldiers and office workers,
in the crowds oozing like an electric lava over the streets
at noon hour-
we`ll be one single Body vast pulsating with one composite
Face a brilliant overflowing rustling everywhere in space
one Heart endlessly throbbing one Mouth
all-speaking one infinite Hearing one immensurable Eye
starring silently at itself we`ll be one Blood
irrigating the void with its arteries and veins
drawing a fantastical silhouette over the darkness
one simultaneous Dream
in the unique single Brain pouring one cresting wave
of light unfolding from its ghostly cocoon one Illumination
and one shared Death
When all of us everyone at once our faces upwards flickering flames
in a sea of flames all laughing roaring in laughter we`ll drink at
the same time
its bittersweet infinite chloroform
full of stars planets visions fallen below quietly burning;
all absorbed in the ultimate Thought immense deserted isolated
gazing with melancholy into space into itself an infinitesimal
point
a larva a pupa in bloom a small and white child
tumbling through the void like a small and white universe
ready to start over to be born once more and to smile
for this world ends not in a book
this world ends in a Thought.
translated by Adam J. Sorkin with the poet
Requiem in a Classical Style
For those who died in Bucharest, December 1989
1.
With a drop of blood, innocent bright
liquid,
could a putrid, slumbering sea of
marrow be purified?
Could only one body, mine, inscribed
crosswise upon you,
cure your sickness, o homeland?
And a thousand bodies, young boys,
young girls,
thrown into the starry vault of your
mouth, your greedy belly,
your bloated memory, could they satisfy
your hunger?
Let me be the solitary seed for a
redemptive and young matter,
Let me become the flowering field for
an unknown, invincible plant,
Would that we were myriad of unconsumed
pyres to light your darkness?
Could a shower of love, a downpour,
save a land?
A cataract, a flood, a billowing sea of
blood?
Could your corpse be reanimated by a
sea of blood?
3.
Should I be the one to defy you, to
accuse, to curse,
the first to cast the stone at your
face, in reproach and hatred?
Should I be the one to crucify you one
more time-
you, so often cut and wounded,
stoned, nailed up, disfigured?
Should I set fire to your ever
multiplied, ever burning pyre?
to this famished destiny that devours
you, should I add a blasphemy,
Never to be satisfied with hunting you,
through all eternity?
If I do not burn together with you,
then it would be in vain
for the tormented light of your body
to illuminate the dark.
If I do not crucify myself with you,
mocked and martyred within you,
then your endless sacrifice would be
in vain.
If I do not love you, then it is myself
I do not love.
Alienated and festering, I would
vanish into the corrupt world.
If we do not love each other, who or
what could bring this sad land
back from the dead, this blood, these
bitter words?
6.
Come once more, vast suffering woman,
unconsoled,
follow in the wake of your martyrs,
young girls, young boys,
those who have not yet become weary,
who have not fallen asleep,
who have not run away, and who will
never forget anything.
Come, o homeland, before your dead and
your living,
to bathe yourself in the clean dust
of their feet,
to purify yourself in their endless
suffering.
You will be created anew. In each of
us. You will be forgiven once more.
Reborn. A virgin. How many times?
Again and again.
Ocean of old marrow, chaotic magma,
greedy ravenous mud
spread everywhere, through hamlets
and recesses, fields and towns,
You will engulf us, you will again
swallow us into you-
luminous tide of blood, loving lava
of fire,
your powerful current will wash us into
the final delta of our silence:
where out of eternity
new worlds
new worlds
unborn children
and your Ideal Form
dreamed once again
are forged
for all Eternity.
translated by Adam J. Sorkin with the poet
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