Am primit pe emailul ziarului „Cuvânt Studențesc următorul mesaj”:

„Bună ziua, am văzut depliant-ul pe website și aș fi interesat să împărtășesc poezii scrise de mine. Unica problemă este că, din cauza faptului că nu cunosc foarte bine limba română, scriu în engleză.” Mesajul a venit de la Ioan Alexandru Vilt,  student al USV,  Facultatea de Litere și Științe ale Comunicării, specializarea Engleză – Italiană, anul II.

Așa că vom ieși astăzi puțin din tipare și vom publica poeziile trimise de colegul nostru. Și vă provocăm să le citiți și să vă exersați engleza traducându-le.

 

 july’s deadly night

 

– are you okay?

i look at the enlarged sky and at the bright stars,

cursed energy flows through me – again, i fall;

 

she’s been angelic up until then but now,

everything seems so anxious and unwanted – open up my skull

but she’s still there, climbing my walls;

 

asthma and panic attacks are a toxic combination, yet

it releases the buried silences and incomprehensible noises – dig up

the terrible news of separation, like thunder

that echoes through the history of mankind – blessed and then fallen;

 

inhale the smoke – you’ll be fine – then spit,

drink some ale and then repeat until bones crack harder

than they could have ever imagined – a fantasy world

created in a july night and propagated towards madness;

 

jobs that slowly enable sanity break down easily

once the old memories re-appear – she doesn’t care anymore;

 

it’s been a long pause from eternity, this twentyseven years

and then seven times seven years of solitude

await the desperate soul maniac – spirituality is a scam;

 

it won’t be my final fit, just a heart attack – many to come

everytime i phone her and she hangs up saying ‘dear god’

i’m left on speaker, crying my guts out – no surprises

to await at the doorstep, not a flower, not a tear,

not a hint of smile and laughter – happiness in a vase;

 

a black unfillable space, and words that don’t mean a thing

yet they connect – just a coincidence, she’s dead there,

doesn’t have a place where to stay – take a shower, it’s all free.

 

 

could i laugh about it?

 

i do it to myself, whenever – irony applied to copper clothed lies,

an incertitude on how to arrange the flowers on the trash can

to make it seem a work of art – is it contemporary?

 

haven’t participated in a formal exchange

since babylon fell under pressure – not a good choice of words,

many reckon when educated on the purpose

of what they’re trying to convey – ‘oh, nothing at all. that’s the point’;

 

could there be objective truths, in this eternal relativism

and the lack of oxygen makes it harder

to discern the good from prophetical scriptures – i’m aware now;

 

does it work as it is or should i change it, muse

of the heavy smokers, the damned, the self-proclaimed:

it’s just like in kindergarten – i’m a mess;

 

colors and laughter embrace my wings, i may become apathetic

when i’m an adolescent – it’s a trendy destiny;

 

least to press the key will lose its place in the race

of unwanted literary amateurs – boom.

 

 

blowing in the wind

 

in an interstellar burst i am born again, collectivity

against the wall – it’s my turn to define the rules,

add some games to the experience, it is a pleasurable activity

to be able to gain attention and recognition – only virtually;

 

when looking at the sun going down, myriads of tear drops collapse

to the ground, exacerbating the wasted fields – toxic

comprehension of the human path and Dante,

if i recall correctly, never intervened in the divine plan – why should i?

 

dreamless nights due to imbalances – oh, what’s the big fuss,

just a fork in the road and nothing more, i’ll be blowing in the wind

until my lungs can no longer breathe and then

with solitude as a companion, i’ll disappear completely – i’m a radio head;

 

six strings are enough, people want more, they search innovation,

perfect voices, perfect skin, perfect – just like boring diamonds,

all the jewels have some defects – emerald and rubins

color my earrings everytime i am immersed in madness

and then i might cut my nose – better than the ear;

 

i won’t smell the nauseating odours of expectations and ambitions,

i’ll leave it be just as it is – thoughtless and blessed;

 

it may be an expensive perfume that transforms

solidarity into despair and then – what else,

you don’t remember my name, deaf girl, and it’s fine

because i guess you do whenever there’s a compliment

that rises unexpected from the masses and they clap

too loud to be heard by you – isn’t it obvious?

 

i’ve got an incurable disease on the shoulders, a cross

that might well be exterminated by your voice – rain down.

(Ioan Alexandru Vilt,  Engleză-Italiană II)

Foto generică – Pinterest

 

 Ioan Alexandru Vilt