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Marin Sorescu
The snail carefully seals his eyes With wax And tucks his chin tightly to his chest. He stares Into himself.
Above him Is his shell— His perfect creation, Which disgusts him—
Arrayed about the shell Is the world, All the rest of the world, Distributed everywhere According to irrefutable laws, Which disgust him—
And in the center of this Cosmological disgust Is himself— Snail— Which disgusts him.
translated by Adam J. Sorkin and Lidia Vianu
“Peter,” says God, “Does it ever happen to you that you do the very same thing More than once? For instance, I’ve created the world A few times over, Because I forgot I’d already created it. It seems I get a notion to make something Extraordinary, but then… What was it? Hmm, what was it? And so I slap down another world— Not once, but again and again.”
“I’ve heard tell about parallel universes, About the red shift and the such,” Says Peter, “But I’d no idea this was on purpose.” “On purpose? Don’t be a ninny. They’re all the selfsame one Made many times over, because I keep forgetting.
“Hey, Peter, you know what—can you give me something for the memory?”
translated by Adam J. Sorkin and Gabriela Dragnea
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