duck series

I see them clearly in the transparent air
a line of grey and silver ducks
they walk slowly into the distant time
of the lake, free from doubt or regret,
they return home, each one smaller
than the one before it,
a quiet death in each footstep.
















Acum, pe-ntregul câmp n-ai să citeşti
Decât cuneiforme păsăreşti.

Dar spre-a fi scrise, trebuia să vină
Din cer, transport de linişti şi lumină.

Atâta alb, atâta dăruire,
Ca un ecou din nemărginire.

Atâta alb, tot alb jur împrejur,
Dând celor vii şi mai exact contur.

Miron Radu Paraschivescu (Zăpezi)

Th’entire field has turned, from tree to tree,
Into a bird cuneiform marquee.

One needs, however, to properly write,
A heavenly cargo of quiet and light.

Such selfless white, such generosity,
--A boundless echo from infinity.

So white, so white is all around, so pure,
Giving the living a finer contour.


Snow
trans. by Cristina Hanganu-Bresch