George Szirtes - Body Songs

1.Back

Slipping his hand down her back he felt her heat,
As creaturely as his own but far better. Her head
Was cool to the touch. Where did they meet,
These two conditions? What was mid-point here?
It was where the nature of creatureliness resided,
Half way between acute desire and fear.

2.Skull

You feel the bones of the face. It is like weeping.
Do animals weep? She seemed to be buoyed
On an enormous reservoir of tears. Her sleeping
Contained time in a cupping of hands,
A time that was to be lamented but enjoyed
In environments of working cells and glands.

3.Leg

Your leg, it seems nothing. Your eyes count
For little. Your organs are obscure, your limbs
Anonymous. Your bodily fluids don’t amount
To a hill of beans, but you are lost in awe
Of the poor rags that live in your dreams
Where desire is king and obeys no law.

4.Neck

The delicate architecture of the neck demands
Study. One needs a certain scholarly devotion
To appreciate its fragility refined into bands
Of necklace, light, and shadow. The very notion
Of its existence has a faintly oriental
Exotic flavour that is not merely accidental.

5.Skin

Skin is enough to send a rhyme-scheme skew-whiff.
Could one but fix a voltmeter to the small bones
Of the wrist it would read off the scale. It is as if
There were convulsions in the circuit. The soles
Of the feet are mother-boards for the stones
We must rush across as if they were hot coals.

6.Heart

What is it burns us up? Let me feel your temple.
Is it your heart, my small and wonderful source
Of delight? My own organ is a poor example
Of the organ maker’s art. My chest wheezes
With its burden, my blood stutters along its course,
My genes whisper lamentable inherited diseases.

7.Aging

The dynamics of aging: a gust of wind
On the surface of the pond. What creatures
Live down there? Deep down perhaps, blind
Animalculae are gathering beneath a rock
Among flamboyant fish with macabre features
Registering various states of shock.

8.Waist

Slenderest. The point at which you break
Into two is where I most like to hold
You together. It is there I feel the ache
Of your otherness, before you expand
Above and below into that blithe controlled
Delight that makes my own flesh stretch and stand.

9.Belly

The dome of the world. Its peculiar swelling
Presents a purely lascivious curve
At tension with itself, smelling
Vaguely of perfume and earth. It is
The last of the good times, the reserve
Of the well fed once gorged on vanities.

10.Hand

Almost another independent being
Stuck to your wrist. I hold it as it grows
Flowers and closes on whatever it’s carrying.
I have wandered down its alleyways
From which everything else follows
That finger points to and palm weighs.

George Szirtes - Cantecele trupului

1.Spate

Coborandu-si mana pe-al ei spate, ii smti caldura
Instinctiva, ca si a lui, dar mult mai buna. Capul ei
Era rece la atingere. Unde s-au intalnit,
Aceste doua stari? Ce miez era aici?
Aici isi avea salasul instinctul,
la mijolc intre dorinta arzatoare si teama

2.Craniu

Simti ale fetei oase. E ca si plansul.
Fiarele oare plang? Ea parea ca pluteste
Pe un rezervor enorm de lacrimi. Somnul ei
Cuprindea timpul intr-un caus de palme,
Un timp care avea sa fie deplans dar petrecut
In atmosfere de celule si de glande lucratoare.

3.Picior

Piciorul tau, nu pare nimic. Ochii tai
Conteaza prea putin. Organele-ti-s obscure, membrele
Anonime. Lichidele-ti corporale nu se ridica
La inaltimea unei gramezi de boabe, dar tu esti coplesita de frica
Zdrentelor care traiesc in ale tale vise
Unde dorinta este stapana si nu se supune nimanui.

4.Gat

Arhitectura delicata a gatului cere
Studiu. Ai nevoie de un devotament nemarginit
Sa apreciezi a sa fragilitate rafinata in siraguri
De salbe, lumini si umbre. Chiar notiunea
Existentei sale are un iz oriental
Exotic, si care nu e doar intamplator.

5.Skin

Ajunge ca doar pielea sa trimita un vers de poezie si-un miros piezis.
Si dac-ar izbuti sa-i prinda de oasele-i micute ale incheieturii,
un voltmetru, i-ar citi marimea. E ca si cum
In circuit ar fi convulsii. Talpile
Picioarelor sunt policioare pentru pietrele
Peste care trecem in graba ca niste carbuni.

6.Inima

Si ce anume ne arde-n sus? Lasa-ma sa-ti simt tampla.
E oare a ta inima, izvorul meu micut si minunat
De incantare? Propriul meu maruntai este o copie sarmana
A artei creatorului de maruntaie. Pieptul meu se poticneste
Sub povara-i, sangele-mi clocoteste in cursul sau,
Genele-mi soptesc mostenirile de boli tanguitoare.

7.Imbatranind

Dinamica imbatranirii: un val de vant
Pe-a lacului liniste. Ce creaturi
Salasluiesc in adancimi? Poate ca in strafunduri
Animalculae oarbe se aduna sub o stanca
Printre pestii sclipitori cu fete stranii
Ce colectioneaza diverse stari de soc.

8.Mijloc

Cel mai suplu. Locul in care te despici
In doua este acela unde-mi place cel mai mult
Sa te strang. Acolo-i locul unde simt durerea
Fatarniciei tale, inainte sa te lungesti
Deasupra si dedesubt in incantarea-ti vesela,
retinuta, care-mi face carnea sa se stranga si sa se-ntinda

9.Burta

Cupola lumii. Ridicatura ei ciudata
Denota o curbur-atat de senzuala
Cu ea insasi, mirosind usor
A pamant si parfum. E cel din urma timp
Al vremurilor bune, provizia
Acelora bine hranite-odata cu vanitati.

10.Mana

O alta creatura-independenta aproape
Ca ti s-a lipit de mana. O tin cat creste
Flori si cat se-nchide orice ar duce.
I-am colindat aleele-ndelung
De unde restul urmareste acel deget
Care arata si palma cantareste.

Translated by Corina Chelmus