Mihail Galatanu

Linistea din mama

Indura-te, Doamne. si adu totul inapoi. Adu totul din mama.
Adu-ma - si aduna-ma - in mama mea, chiar inainte
din clipa ce tandari burta ii facea.

Am spart un geam, Doamne, primul meu geam,
in mama.
Nu cu mingea pe strada. Nu cu prastia
pe maidanul dintre curti.
Cu totii sintem, Doamne, niste mancurti,
care-am uitat linistea noastra din mama.

***

Placenta susura, gingura. Placenta curge pe linga noi
ca viata.
ca un riu din mama.
Placenta ei este vreme si timp. Placenta ei
devine karma. Pe placenta ei, pe dinlauntru,
pe peretii placentei ei, viata mea statea scrisa,
meridian linga meridian,
abscisa sub abscisa.

***

De ce nu-mi dati voie, de ce nu ma lasati
Sa ma intorc in mama?
Acolo e fericirea mea, si Raiul meu
Si mintuirea mea, si Paradisul.
Acolo este tinerete fara batrinete si viata fara de moarte.
Acolo este Valea Plingerii
peste care io am trecut.

Alergind un iepure.
Un iepure de lut.

Acolo singele meu se intoarce sa se improspateze.
Carnea mea sa se curete.
Picioarele si miinile mele, sa se faca la loc
Moristi si sfirleze.

In timp ce mama mea cinta
Si trebaluieste
io stau pitit in burta ei,
ca un peste.

Ca un chit sfint
in care s-a pogorit
duhul lui Iona.

Sint pestele din burta mamii mele
pe care romanii il pictau in pesteri.
Iar burta ei e Capela Sixtina in care, inca, se scrie poveste vietii mele,
de catre cinci ingeri, calfe si mesteri.

O, Ichtios, Ichtios,
sint salvat!
Christoase, fii binecuvintat!
Mama mea niciodata
Nu ma va mai naste barbat!

Florentina-Claudia Tinte Rahire

The Stillness in Mother

Have mercy, Lord. And bring all back. Bring all of mother.
Bring me about – and bring me together – in my mother, even before
the moment her belly was being split
I’ve broken a window, Lord, my first window,
inside mother.
And not with a ball on the street. Not with a sling
on the ground between the yards.
We all are, Lord, some stultifies,
And we’ve forgotten our stilness in mother.

***

The placenta is purling, babbling. The placenta is flowing by us
like life is.
like a river inside mother.
Her placenta is season and time. Her placenta
becomes karma. On her placenta, inside of it,
on her placenta’s walls, my life stood written,
meridian to meridian,
abscissa under abscissa.

***

Why don’t you allow me, why don’t you let me
To return into mother?
There is my happiness, and my Heaven
and my redemption, and Paradise.
There is the nevrending youth and neverending life.
There is The Valley of the Death
I have passed through.

Running after a rabbit.
A rabbit of clay.

There my blood returns to refresh.
My flesh to clean itself off.
My feet and my hands, to become again
Rattles and whirligigs.

While my mother’s singing
and keeping herself busy
I stay hidden inside her belly
just like a fish.
Like a holy whale
where Jona’s ghost
came down.

I’m the fish inside my mother’s belly
painted by Romans inside caves
And her belly is the Sixtin Chapel where, still, the story of my life is written,
by five angels, hodmen and masters.

Oh, Ichtios, Ichtios,
I am saved!
Bless you, Christ!
My mother will never
breed a man of me!