Poem
Răzvan Ţupa
PAIN IS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE
a romanian body knows how to sidestep decisions it feels that in such cases it can no longer justify its comfortable suffering for this with your entire body you must stay here until it’s very late you can be a keychain or a gummed sticker but one day the music of breathing will disappear all on its own or conversely my hands ready to receive silence like a sandwich I waited in the bus station until I was on the verge of tears the air had the freshness of new leaves I’d prepared everything; men had taken their places I just had to watch out for the arrow-swift hordes of evening they were debating what part of me should be devoured first they couldn’t believe it when I arose with easy strides to take charge of matters in my native language as on a skateboard
© Translation: 2010, Răzvan Ţupa
PIJN IS EEN VREEMDE TAAL
een roemeens lichaam weet hoe het keuzen kan ontwijken het lijkt dan alsof het niet langer zijn comfortabele pijn kan verontschuldigen daartoe blijf je tot laat met je hele lichaam hier je kunt een sleutelhanger of een plakplaatje zijn en op een dag zal de hele muziek van de ademhaling uit zichzelf verdwijnen of omgekeerd met handen klaar om de stilte als een sandwich te ontvangen ik wachtte in het busstation tot ik bijna in tranen uitbarstte de lucht had de smaak van verse bladeren ik had alles voorbereid; de mensen waren op hun plaats ik moest alleen uitkijken voor de pijlsnelle horden van de avond ze dachten na over welk deel van mij ze het eerst wilden consumeren ze konden het niet geloven toen ik me met bedaarde pas oprichtte om mijn zaakjes te regelen in mijn moedertaal als op een skateboard
© Vertaling: 2005, Răzvan Ţupa
DUREREA E O LIMBĂ STRĂINĂ
un corp românesc ştie să nu aleagă i se pare că atunci n-ar putea să-şi mai scuze durerile comode pentru asta stai aici întârzie cu tot corpul tău poţi să fii un breloc sau un abţibild şi într-o zi toată muzica respiraţiei o să dispară de la sine sau invers cu mâinile pregătite să primească liniştea ca pe un sandviş am stat în autogară până mi-a venit să plâng aerul avea gustul frunzelor proaspete pregătisem tot; oamenii erau la locul lor nu aveam decît să privesc hoardele ultra-rapide ale serii se gândeau ce bucată din mine să consume mai întâi nici nu credeau când m-am ridicat cu paşi liniştiţi să-mi văd de treabă în limba mea maternă ca pe un skateboard
© 2005, Răzvan Ţupa
From: „corpuri româneşti”
From: „corpuri româneşti”
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Poems of Răzvan Ţupa
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PAIN IS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE
a romanian body knows how to sidestep decisions it feels that in such cases it can no longer justify its comfortable suffering for this with your entire body you must stay here until it’s very late you can be a keychain or a gummed sticker but one day the music of breathing will disappear all on its own or conversely my hands ready to receive silence like a sandwich I waited in the bus station until I was on the verge of tears the air had the freshness of new leaves I’d prepared everything; men had taken their places I just had to watch out for the arrow-swift hordes of evening they were debating what part of me should be devoured first they couldn’t believe it when I arose with easy strides to take charge of matters in my native language as on a skateboard
© 2010, Răzvan Ţupa
From: „corpuri româneşti”
From: „corpuri româneşti”
PAIN IS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE
a romanian body knows how to sidestep decisions it feels that in such cases it can no longer justify its comfortable suffering for this with your entire body you must stay here until it’s very late you can be a keychain or a gummed sticker but one day the music of breathing will disappear all on its own or conversely my hands ready to receive silence like a sandwich I waited in the bus station until I was on the verge of tears the air had the freshness of new leaves I’d prepared everything; men had taken their places I just had to watch out for the arrow-swift hordes of evening they were debating what part of me should be devoured first they couldn’t believe it when I arose with easy strides to take charge of matters in my native language as on a skateboard
© 2010, Răzvan Ţupa
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