Such a deep silence surrounds me, that I think I hear
moonbeams striking on the windows.
In my chest,
a strange voice is awaken
and a song plays inside me
a longing that is not mine.
They say that ancestors, dead before their time,
with young blood still in their veins,
with great passion in their blood,
with the sun still burning in their blood
come,
come to continue to live
within us
their unfinished lives.
Such a deep silence surrounds me, that I think I hear
moonbeams striking on the windows.
O, who knows, soul of mine, in which chest you will sing
you also, after centuries,
in soft ropes of silence,
on harps of obscurity - the drowned longing
and the pleasure of living torn? Who knows?
Who knows?
Notes
To read the original version in Romanian click here
http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/118938-Lucian-Blaga-Liniste
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Comments
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oh my! this poem has a translucence to it as if existence were in cloudy panes of glass that we might see through to other places and times... the haunting moonbeams and glass, the deeper questions and the simple honesty...we do not know yet we feel some things so strongly... wonderful poetry, and a remarkable translation...the meter of the poem comes through and it is an important part of it, the rhythmic feel to the verses... thank you MariGoes...h
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"I think I hear moonbeams striking on the windows." That's indeed a deep silence.
It's a way of seeing ourselves as more than transient beings, having some task, that is not only passed down, but that we in our turn hand down.
Indeed who knows. -
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I'm not sure, but I think that with that line, he meant he could hear the voice inside himself. Completely away from any other sound, to listen to his heart and soul. Well, that is how I read it anyway.
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