more poetry
Teofil Stanciu
I’M SINGING
It’s Friday night and I’m singing
In front of this empty hall
I’m singing
I know it sounds out of tune
But I’m singing
I’m singing about those who died
For objective reasons
Like— let’s say — the earth didn’t want them anymore
I’m singing about this
Unhappy and shameless night
I’m going to sing
All Saturday without stopping
Like a bell board in the wind
I’m singing the falling birds
And the stars running to the warmer-heart countries
I’m singing without scales and scores I’m improvising
Like an traditional self-proclaimed folk virtuoso
I’m singing earth’s fever
And the lack of light from the bottoms of the oceans
And unnecessary frost on the mountain’s peaks
I’m singing in a wolves’ choir
In a homeless and happy dogs’ choir
In the chorus of lions in captivity
I’m singing about my sprained hill
And how the evil entered the world because of it
I’m singing so maybe the roosters will hear me
Finally on a Sunday morning
Very early
When the sun shyly smiles upon us
Because it has accomplished its entire weekly
Perfection
Translated by Teofil Stanciu
