IOANA IERONIM

Just Traveling


I cannot help inventing you
when the wind makes these waves in the green field
I cannot help seeing you bigger than life
through the lens of silence
I cannot help feeling you wrap me with this very air
thus
being
en-wrap-tured
in the wheat field at twilight
it’s late May
whose very shadows and shades are green
and alive

I cannot help gazing at this mystery
[ what we gaze upon is ours, it is ourselves ]
the first sun of dawn touching the petals of poppies
shining through their translucent capillaries
lighting their passionate, delicate, ephemeral invitation
that had been there unseen through the night

I cannot help seeing you in this boy of ten
in the other one of twenty
as you must have been walking your
dreamy imponderable elated gait
up that street
once

there is somebody something
in the wheat field and the poppies
season after season

there is somebody out there
who cannot help
inventing
us

*

these are not words that I say
they maybe have been said by you
they may have stirred in your closed mouth
and reached these shores
in waves of light

they may have been uttered by somebody else
/who puts the call of the wild on our tongues
someone who speaks for us through our tongues
or perhaps
we speak the words of those
unknown gods of ours
who have needed us
to mirror them

I may wander and search how and why
and enjoy flights beyond imagination
and tear syllable by syllable
to touch the flesh and heart
of it all

and still they are not mine these words,
my Lord,
not always
not ever

it is
always
you

Alina Olimpia Gaci Miron

Ioana Ieronim
 

O simpla calatorie

Nu pot sa nu te inventez
cand vantul face aceste valuri pe campul verde
nu pot sa nu te vad mai vivace decat viata
prin lentilele tacerii
nu pot sa nu te simt invaluindu-ma chiar cu acest aer
astfel
fiind
fermecata
in campul de grau la amurg
-este sfarsit de mai
ale carui umbre si nuante sunt verzui
si vii

nu pot sa-mi iau ochii de la acest mister
[pe ce staruie ochii nostri e al nostrum, suntem noi insine]
primul soare al rasaritului atingand petalele macilor
stralucing prin capilarele lor stravezii
luminind invitatia lor pasionanta, delicata si efemera
care fusese de nevazut acolo, in noapte

nu pot sa nu te vad in acest baiat de zece ani
in celalalt de douazeci
dupa cum sigur erai pe acea strada
cu mersul tau ca-n vise, imponderabil si exaltat

e cineva sau ceva
in campul de grau si maci
anotimp dupa anotimp

e cineva acolo
care nu poate sa nu
ne inventeze

*

acestea nu sunt cuvinte pe care le spun
poate c-au fost rostite de tine
poate ca s-au miscat in gura-ti inchisa
si au atins aceste tarmuri
in valuri de lumina

poate c-au fost rostite de altcineva
care da limbilor noastre chemarea salbaticiei
cineva care vorbeste in numele nostrum prin limbile noastre

sau poate
rostim cuvintele
acelor zei necunoscuti ai nostril
care-au avut nevoie de noi
sa-I oglindim

poate c-am sa ratacesc sis a cercetez cum si de ce
si sa ma bucur de zboruri dincolo de imaginative
sa rup silaba dupa silaba
sa ating carnea si inima
a tot si a toate

si totusi aceste cuvinte nu-mi apartin,
Dumnezeul meu,
nu intotdeauna
nu niciodata

intotdeauna
esti
tu