BALADA MOTANULUI
de Nichita Stãnescu
Motan m-as fi dorit sã fiu
cu coada-n sus, cu blana-n dungi,
cu gheare si mustete lungi,
c-un ochi verzui si-un ochi capriu.
La ora când tiris-grapis
zapada noptii se aduna
eu, cocotat pe-acoperis,
sã urlu a pustiu la luna.
Si-atuncea, sapte gospodine
sã dea cu bolovani în mine
si sã mã-njure surd, de Domnul,
ca le-am stricat, urlind, tot somnul.
De sus, din virful saptaminii,
sã le rinjesc urlat, scirbos:
iubesc doar locul nu stapinii,
precum fac ciinii pentr-un os.
Si iarasi sapte gospodine
sã dea cu bolovani în mine,
iar eu sã urlu, urlu-ntruna
atât cât n-o apune luna.
Motan m-as fi dorit sã fiu
cu coada-n sus, cu blana-n dungi,
cu gheare si mustete lungi
c-un ochi verzui si-un ochi caprui.
Când zorii ziua o deznoada
sã mã tot duc, sã mã tot duc
si tinicheaua prinsa-n coada
s-o zdranganesc pe strazi, nauc.
Jegos si obosit, apoi,
cu matele în liturghie,
sã mã adun, sã mã-ncovoi
prin albiturile-n fringhie.
Ca-n fata unui sobolan
spinarea sã mi-o fac colan
sã scuip, sã scuip si-n urma iar
hai-hui sã plec pe strazi, hoinar.
Pisicile de prin vecini
sã le gonesc pe la pricini,
sã-mi fete fiecare-un pui
c-un ochi verzui si-un ochi caprui.
Iar când o fi uitat sã mor
la circiuma din mahala
sorbita-n calea pumnilor
posirca acra viu sã stea.
"Hei… viata, viata… iesi din cort
hai, pune-mi-te iar pe dant…
te uita… zace colo-n sant
motanul mort, motanul mort…"
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THE TOMCAT’S BALLAD
by Nichita Stãnescu
Sometimes I wish I were a cat
My tail stuck up, my fur all sheen
Claws at the ready for combat
One eye is hazel, and one green.
When in the middle of the night
The crawling snow is gently strewn,
Perched on the roof, I think I might
Howl loudly at the quiet moon.
And then would seven housewives throw
Stones aiming at their slumber’s foe,
And they would curse, and they would weep–
The howling had disturbed their sleep.
Atop my fiefdom, I would groan,
And grin obscenely to their face:
A mongrel begging for a bone,
I’m not; instead, I need my space.
Again would seven housewives throw
Stones aiming at their slumber’s foe,
And I would howl and bay as long
The moon is up, where it belong.
Sometimes I wish I were a cat
My tail stuck up, my fur all sheen
Claws at the ready for combat
One eye is hazel, and one green.
When dawn unfurls the day so pale
I’d leave, and travel in a daze,
A tin can fastened to my tail
I’d rattle down the old streets’ ways.
And filthy as I am, and beat,
With my gut growling for a meal
Among the clotheslines and their sheets,
I would coil up without a squeal.
As if I saw a gnarly rat
My back would arch and I would spit
And spit behind, for I’m a cat,
And I would roam the streets half-lit.
The cats who’re in my neighborhood
I’d chase with gusto, so my gene
Would travel quickly to their brood:
With one eye hazel, and one green.
And when it’s time I died, forgotten,
Down in a slum bar full of waste,
Their sour hooch that tasted rotten
Would suddenly acquire taste.
“Hey, life, oh life, come out,” they’d stutter,
“Come out and dance, get out of bed,
“Look over there, down in the gutter,
“The tomcat’s dead…the tomcat’s dead…” |
