by Mihai Eminescu (1850-1889)
excerpts To you I am descending, oh you, deluded souls!To set your gall a-seething-you, minds like fumaroles- I'm carrying a curse;My curse is misanthropic, with purple, claw-like hand-With this I stamp your foreheads, instead of cattlebrand: A stigma, if not worse. Although I know my lyre is doomed to sound in vainAround your fuddled reason, soaked in the vices' rain And spurred by passions' shove,Around your fuddled reason, which orgies caused to sink,From many frenzies rotten-now parched by too much drink And drained of ardent love.…What can I ever winnow from your exhausted wight?No fire free from dying, no undeceiving right, Oh, youngmen, dead-alive!How could I praise your courage when it's displayed in furies,In heaps of bottles broken with noisy shameless houries Whom orgies cause to thrive? 1869 English version by Andrei BANTAŞ
by Mihai Eminescu (1850-1889)
by Mihai Eminescu (1850-1889)