Poetry

Autor : Nichita Stanescu - Eng

Poetry is the weeping eye
it is the weeping shoulder
the weeping eye of the shoulder
it is the weeping hand
the weeping eye of the hand
it is the weeping soul
the weeping eye of the heel.
Oh, you friends,
poetry is not a tear
it is the weeping itself
the weeping of an uninvented eye
the tear of the eye
of the one who must be beautiful
of the one who must be happy.

From the book „Bas-Relief with Heroes”
english translation by Thomas Carlson and Vasile Poenaru.

Opera Apartinand Nichita Stanescu - Eng | |

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