by Profira Sadoveanu (1906-2003)
excerpts THE BELLS In the city buried Under snow,As if in a duffle coat,You can hear a muffled Plaint.It's a coppery lament, "Ay! Ay!..."Like a fluttering It's passing,Over this white burialAnd it wails and wails And wails,Asking for a miracle.After it, a flock of crows,Little gravediggers ariseAnd with pomp They fly and fly,"Ay! Ay!..." Clapping fast Their scared wings,While the city falls asleep In these white sheets.On its back,A stony sleep And heavy dreamsInto ice floe turnedIt seems! HELP! White night? Mist and clouds?Who is asking For help?All the city's waking up,All the lights are winking now!The door questions,"Who built me in?"The window cries,"Oh, my God, I'm going blind!"The thermometer,"I have one mile of a beard!"The chimney gasps,"I can't breathe anymore!"The roof shouts,"My hat is a mountain!"The fence wonders,"A bridge appeared over me!"The apricot tree yells,"I'm buried to my neck!"The tram whistles,"I got frozen over night!"The road echoes(as if from a barrel),"Hey, help, help me out!I'm dying! Dig me out!" Tineretului, 1963
by Profira Sadoveanu (1906-2003)
by Profira Sadoveanu (1906-2003)