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Poezii de Mariana Zavati-Gardner (2)

Curricullum Vitae si publicatii

CASA MAMEI

In inima-mi sunt  afundate  rani batrine
Ca-naintea unei imbratisari, ciresi si-un dor fierbinte
O casa tihnita in drum spre gara orasului,
Apoi, in drum catre lume...
Cu o livada binecuvintata de ciresi pirguiti
Mingiind Cerurile inaintea de hartuire, apoi selectare
Strigate ragusite, in zori, in strada tacuta
Indarat de usi tainice, multiple coridoare,
Stringeri de mina cu-nteles, falsificare si iscoade
Lacome porunci...DARIMATI...NARUITI...
Acoperisul cu hornuri,caramizile mindre
Cu tencuiala in ton de lumini, cu forme distincte
Usi si ferestre din lemn vechi de stejar...DISTRUSE...
In vreme de pace, in arsita verii, cu o singura lovitura de tanc...
Pe acea vreme fu o ploaie fermecata de-nlacrimate cirese
Inainte ca nevolnicia betonului sa domine...inainte de incheiere...
Casa mamei...intens isi afla zidire in al meu suflet
Atita desertaciune inainte de prabusire...apoi, noi buncare...

In inima-mi sunt afundate rani batrine

MY MOTHER’S HOME

Old wounds are deep rooted in my heart
Cherries and desire before an embrace
A quiet house apart, leading direct
To the town station, then the World
With an orchard blessed with ripe cherry trees
Touching the sky before the turmoil and the cull…
Choir of shouts in the undisturbed street at dawn
Behind closed doors more corridors, more subtle
Handshakes, more spies and more corruption,
More avid orders to conspire to demolish and ruin
The roof with the chimneys, the proud bricks with
The Mediterranean colour plaster in various shapes
The windows and the doors made of oak…STRUCK with
One blow by a tank in peace-time, in full summer…
Then, there was a magical shower of weeping cherries…
The last time before the reign of the concrete
Still my mother’s house lies deep in my soul
All emptiness before the fall, then those new bunkers…

Old wounds are deep rooted in my  heart

PLOPUL TREMURATOR SADIT DE TATA

In tarina-mpietrita, o sfirleaza
Lazi de gunoi, multe pisici azi fara vlaga
Fara de casa, ciini costelivi far-de stapin
Multe buncare ...beton incins
Cei mici sa afle jocuri plini de praf
Pe timp de vara sau alte anotimpuri
Daca se-nalta copacii...sa-i hacuiti stiintific
Inalti...raniti... gata sa se prabuseasca
Duhuri de animale hoinarind...strazile...incandescenta
Adierile-s moarte, ploaia-i secatuita
Imperturbabil, racoros si distinct este plopul tremurator !
Un rival i-a sculptat un inel tradator pe la mijloc
Inelul unirii cu vecii-l sugruma...il seaca cu-ncetul
Nu-i adiere noaptea...in arsita verii
Verdele crud face-n magie nuante de soare
Freamat aspru...talazuri de frunze palite
Vifor al lemnului secat...ramuri care tinjesc
Scoarta se duce...tulpina legata
Pe veci...ierburi calcinate, fara melci
Fara nimfe care sa atinga exuberante trairi
Se ofileste tot...plopul tremurator si racoros ?
Plopul tremurator, demult sadit de tata, nu mai este

MY FATHER’S POPLAR TREE

A spinning top on hardened soil
Some dustbins and lots of limping cats
Most with no homes…thin dogs without masters
More and more bunkers and burning concrete
For the children to play in the dusty air
All summer or any other season, where,
If trees grow tall, they must be ‘ wisely ‘ cut
Too vulnerable, too tall, then ready to fall
Animal ghosts roaming the streets in burning heat
There breezes don’t blow, rain is so rare…
The large, distinct and cool poplar tree!
A competitor has deeply cut round the trunk
A choking ring to drain the flow of life
No breath at night…in summer’s heat…
Leaves turning the colour of the sun,
Harsh murmur…waves of fading leaves…
Storm of dried wood…branches withering…
Bark beginning to fall…the trunk wedded
In death…no snails in the burnt grasses,
No nymphs blotting out exuberant life…
All fading away…the cool poplar tree ?
My father planted long ago is here no more

 

ODIHNA DE DUPA PRINZ

O lume prinsa-n lat de halucinante  „ sites”
De sisteme alese  unde armonii zornaitoare
Sunt de-a pururi neafiliate; vesti in format
De joc propus de specialisti de bastina
Pe „ site”-uri mondiale  arhive de muzica
Nici calda nici rece...” cool”...
De esti ascultator sau explorator ...ai putea pretinde
Sa fi inteles adevarul despre mestesugul artistic
Sfere accesibile, pareri la nimereala, glasuri stinghere,
Cu o singura voce, nestingherite relatii, rezerva automata
Neamuri virtuale plutesc cu mijloace sau egoiste intentii
Cirmuie ceea ce va fi intr-un nou viitor...apoi intrerupe
Tacerea este-nvatatura de nadejde, adesea
Ignorata, a anilor ce trec masura ;
Cu aniversari adesea uitate sau intilniri mondene
Prea plictisitoare sa fie slobozite cind le vine vremea
Sa se aleaga...dupa prelungi infruntari, fara spor
Rinduite pe divan, la odihna de dupa prinz
 

SIESTA

A wired world, of sites described as dreams,
Of selected systems where ringing tones
Are for ever independent ; messages are in the format
Of games coming from unpredictable specialists
On world wide sites, archives of cool music
For the listener or the explorer who might claim
To have found the truth about art decorations
Available zones, voices at random, voices alone,
Voices in a choir, free connections, automatic chill out
Virtual people navigate with instruments or personal designs
Guide the future into a new future…then press stop
Silence is one key to useful instruction, usually
Not to listen to, indicator for birthdays,
For anniversaries often forgotten or social engagements
Too boring to let go when the moment chooses
To select itself…after slow and long discussions
Sitting on the settee, during the afternoon siesta

 

VINDEAU  BATRINELE  BORS

Miresme de bors acru
Misterioasa zeama adauga bunica
Ciorbei...bors nebulos...il cumparam
De la Surorile Manole, doua fete foarte batrine
Aflate la hotar de vremi; sorocite vesnic
Sa para de demult...aveau gradina desavirsita
In casa, o vitrina etala amintiri pretuite
Rugam...apoi, ingaduinta sa privesc
Clipa se consuma, coboram pe nesfirsita
Cararuie, murmurind un cintec, gradina lor
Marginea piriul Negel care alerga povirnisul
Soarele se zvircolea deasupra lumii, eu atacam
Drumeagul fara graba...sorbeam cu intreruperi
Din potiunea vrajita; zeama nebuloasa de bors;
Pe sfirsite-mi era cautarea, in prag, bunica,
Pe treptele-nalte-ale casei, privea cu rabdare si
Igaduinta eterna la sticla pe jumatate golita
Simt  inca mireasma si gustul acru de bors
 

SPINSTERS AND BORSCHT

Traces of the sour smell of ‘ borscht’,
The foggy liquid my grandma used to add
To the soup…I would buy it from
The Manole sisters, two spinsters sitting
On the boundary of time: they always
Looked old to me…their garden had substance
Indoors, a cabinet with treasures displayed,
If  I asked, they would allow my to have a look ;
The moment gone, I would go down the long
Path their humming garden with the orchard
Paving the stream, which was flowing down the slope…
The thrashing Sun was above the Universe, I would go
On the easy go road…I would take a sip, now and then,
>From the magical mixture; the foggy liquid called ‘borscht’;
My quest was at an end, my grandma would stand
In the porch, on the very high steps of the house and look
At the half-empty bottle ; eternal patience would follow…
I can still trace the sour taste and smell of th

LA CURTEA DE- ALTADATA

Cavalerii la curtea de-altadata
Castelul care se destrama si unde
Vinatorii de closti tainuie foisoare de griu
Sau alte seminte de inceputuri si glasuri
Ingaduie o frunza accidental ramasa
In maslin, in jur duhori variate
Descompunere delicata, hrana dreapta de anotimp
Masti ale principesei tainice
Asteapta la portile de stejar, nu se zareste
In turnul de paza, unde ceremonii uitate
S-au intimplat pe cind cavalerii
Erau aprozi la curte, in armuri, iar maslinul
Pocnea de flori linga fintina cu minuni;
Peste ani se sfadesc viforul cu vijelia
In curtea cu ecouri...tufisuri seaca vestejite
Uniti prin arcuri, stersi aproape pe ziduri
Cavalerii declama povestea aniversarii
Delicatei principese ...dor profund
Semn pe turla in ruine la castel
 

THE OLD COURTYARD

The knights in the old courtyard
Of the crumbling castle where
Hen hunters plant turrets of  wheat
And other seeds and voices
Have welcomed the only leaf  left
In the olive tree, enclave of smells
Of fine rot, the season’s fantastic supper,
Masks of the only principessa
Hang at the oak gates…no sight of her
In the watch tower, where rituals
Had happened years ago, when the knights
Were pages in armour and the olive tree
Was in full blossom by the singing well;
Now the storms quarrel in the sounding
Courtyard and faded, dried bushes are
Knitted in loops blurred against the walls
The knights are rehearsing the birthday
Of the delicate missing principessa
A sign on the steeple of the crumbling castle

 
SPALATOREASA

Foarte demult, Maria spala rufe la bunica,
Mai incoace, la mama, pe vreme torida sau rece,
Pomii aveau turturi aninati sau abundeau in floare...
Spalatoreasa era gazduita cu chirie pe aceeasi
Strada anonima, intr-o baraca din lemn, vara si iarna
Pe cind neaua se-ntrecea cu ulucii si turturii
Se prabuseau de la stresini de case...
Nazdravanele-i pisici ii tineau de caldura
Ruga sa i se dea lapte...oriunde muncea
O vad marunta, de straie, invelisuri multiple,
Ca o ceapa, chiar in arsita verii
Vesnic batrina, cu dintii stricati
Zbircita precum tarna pe vreme de seceta
Avea straie si incaltari din care se dau la saraci
Lucruri saracacioase si netrebuitoare;
Cu vocea miloasa, pentru a fi mereu cerindu-si iertare
Se imbaia o data pe saptamina la baia orasului;
La plata, bea ca sa uite de tot si de toate
Nu stapinea nimic, numai buna credinta
Sufletul pur deschis tuturor...sa fie oare inca in viata
Sau poate s-a petrecut fara stire, precum a trait
Printe ingaduitoare pisici, singura, marunta si
Stearsa ca o ceapa in invelisuri multiple de straie

 
THE WASHERWOMAN

Maria did the washing for my grandmother,
Then for my mother…hot or cold weather,
Trees with hanging icicles or in full bloom…
The washerwoman used to lodge in the same
Faded street, in a wooden shed, summer or winter
When snow is higher than fences and icicles
Fall from the eaves of the houses…
She would have no heating but her beautiful cats
She would ask for milk wherever she worked…
I can see her small, always dressed in several
Layers of clothes, even when scorching hot
With bad teeth and always old, with the face
Wrinkled like the soil in the drought in full summer
She would wear clothes and shoes given by people
Spares, those items not needed; her voice was soft,
Always apologetic for being, she would
Bath once a week at the town public bath;
If she had any money, she would drink to forget
She had nothing of her own, but her heart,
Her soul open to all…I have no idea …
She might still be around…she might discretely
Passed away as she lived with her tolerant cats
All on her own, small and faded in layers of clothes…

 

POMANA MIELULUI

Un prinz de vara...faceam coada la brutarie
Multime, indeosebi femei, citiva barbati
Mireasma proaspata de piine nevazuta
O simteam in nari; sticla se mistuia
Soarele era catre culme...zarii un om
Cu privirea-nfometata care cerea de pomana
Se milogea pentru o jimbla marunta; era rindul meu
Piinea primita... mina intinsa...buzele-i pirjolite ...
Atunci a rostit vorbele sfinte de-a celor trecuti
Vesnica amintire BOGDAPROSTII ...s-au scurs ceasurile...
Zaresc printre ani miinile nelinistite sa primeasca
Umilul dar al piinii...pavajul care arde
Si se lichefiaza sub dogoarea verii
Multime, indeosebi femei, citiva barbati
Nepregatiti sa imparta bucuria piinii
 

THE HUMBLE GIFT

I was queuing at the Baker’s one midday in summer
Lots of people, mainly women, just a few men
Attracted by the fresh smell of bread one could not
See immediately at that moment, but feel with all
One’s senses; the windows were burning from
The Sun nearly reaching its peak…I saw a man
Hunger in his eyes, begging someone to buy him
A loaf rather small as it happened to be; my turn came
I got him the bread…he took it, kissed my hand
And said the sacred words expressed when one remembers
The dead BOGDAPROSTII…time has passed…after so many
Years I can still see the hands about to receive
The humble gift of bread…the burning tarmac,
Melting under the intensity of the summer…
Lots of people, mainly women, just a few men
Who were not ready to share the fresh smell of bread

 

CUSATOREASA  

Batrina cusatoreasa cu glas de copil
Cu maicuta cusind, pe patul asternut cu covoare
Cu smochinul aparat de uluci in gradina
Adesea umblam pe acolo, bunica si cu mine
Cosea articole oricit de marunte, totdeauna,
Bodoganind supusa, mai ales cind o rugam
Sa-mi dea cirpe pentru papusi...cu greu mi le dadea
Batrina cusatoreasa cu glas de copil
Cu smochinul aparat de uluci in gradina
Cu maicuta cusind, pe patul asternut cu covoare
Casa si smochinul aparat de uluci
Din acea gradina s-au trecut demult...
Atitea intimplari...eu nu mai sunt la fel

THE SEAMSTRESS

The old seamstress with the voice like a child
With her mother sewing on the carpeted bed
The fig tree in her garden, near the sheltered fence
Often going there, my grandmother and I
Small jobs, the seamstress would always do
Dutiful but moaning when I would ask her for
Cloth for my dolls…she would offer at last;
The old seamstress with a voice like a child
And the fig tree in her garden, by the fence,
With the mother sewing on the carpeted bed;
Her house and the fence with the sheltered
Fig tree, in the same garden, are there no more…
As other happenings there, since growing up

 
LIVADA CU STUPI

Dincolo de gard era livada...pomii
Cu fructe pirguite atingeau tarina
Zi de zi, gainile si rata-i cercetau topografia
Mai ales in zori si la apus,cind razele
Imbie tandru ...mindra livada cu stupi si albine
Blinde daca de nimeni nu erau provocate
Spre sfirsit de amiaza, pe la prietene bunica vizita
Apoi alerga pe la cumparaturi pentru ceaiul de seara
Orez, faina si zahar la pungi, ulei la sicla de-acasa
Biscuiti la gramaj, la fel si la unt, greu de gasit
Poposeam indelung pe acoperisul surii duble
Sub marul cel batrin, cu ramuri contorsionate
Citeam sau priveam cum crestea via ;
Urzeam fantezii extravagante pe care domnisoarele
Le nascocesc fara legatura directa cu ce urma
Sa se intimple...pamintul va fi despuiat...sterp va deveni...
Pomii care mingiiau pamintul cu fructele coapte...
s-au dus...intimplari nevazute de nimeni pe atunci...
cind livada cea mindra avea stupi si albine
 
BEEHIVES  IN  THE  ORCHARD

The land behind the fence had trees touching
The ground with ripe fruit…the hens and the duck,
Each day, would check its topography, with predilection
Dawn and dusk, while the Sun was more tender and inviting
This proud orchard had beehives…bees everywhere…
Rather docile, if nobody happened to be in their way…
In the late afternoon, my grandma would visit her friends
Then she would go to the shops to buy items for tea
Rice, flour and sugar in bags, oil in one’s own bottle
Biscuits by the gram, the same with the butter
Rarer than anything else; I would lie on the roof of
The double shed, under the old apple tree, the one
With twisted branches…I would read or look at
The vine grow and dream : extravagant fantasies that
Young girls would weave in their minds and have nothing
To do with what might happen to the land – bare now –
Trees touching the ground with ripe fruit is a thing
Of the past…I couldn’t have known it at the time,
When the proud orchard had beehives and bees everywhere

CULOAREA VIESPILOR

Bunicul se trezii la prima zare...printre albine
Bolta era de culoarea viespilor
Batrinul isi puse masca apicola
Trebalui la albine, cit fu ziua de lunga
Bolta era de culoarea viespilor
Era tare mindru de albinele lui
Era spre anotimpul rece...
Albinele atit de timide, atit de gingase...
Bolta era de culoarea viespilor
Era spre seara...catre ora ceaiului
Masca apicola la o parte...il urmau mii de albine
Bolta era de culoarea viespilor
O lua la pas...mii de albine zburau imprejur
O minie...o vuitura...un tunet...il haituiau
Bolta era de culoarea viespelor
Trepte grandioase inainte...fara cumpana...sovai nesigur...
Aluneca...teasta cheala-ntepenita-n bordura
Bolta era de culoarea viespilor
Casa cu fatada grandioasa italiana
Usile daltuite-n lemne vechi de stejar
Bolta era de culoarea viespilor
 

THE COLOUR OF WASPS

My grandpa woke up at dawn
Busy, at first light, amongst the bees
The sky was the colour of wasps
The old man put on the mask
All day he worked with the bees
The sky was the colour of wasps
He was so proud of his bees
It was in the cool season…
The bees so settled, so fragile…
The sky was the colour of wasps
In the afternoon…teatime getting closer
He took his mask off…followed by masses of bees
The sky was the colour of wasps
He speeded up…the masses of bees
Were chasing…they were a ball like thunder
The sky was the colour of wasps
The grand steps ahead…he lost his balance…he slept…
His bold head tight to the edge
The sky was the colour of wasps
The front of the house with the Italian Façade
The large front doors sculptured in oak
The sky was the colour of wasps
 

CIRESUL  CEL  FANTASTIC

Ciresul cel fantastic din gradina
La mijolc o casa cu muscate,
La ferestrele-nalte, in ghivece –ncondeiate
Lumina nu mai avea putere
Ale bunicii madulare masinale in miscare
Erau suspendate de imboldul Duhului
Un drum de patruzeci de zile catre Ceruri
Bunica sedea cu visul ei din cuget
La izvoare de inceputuri sa revina
Sa treaca prin adevarul din inceputuri
La Judecata cea din urma ...Sfintul Duh
Isi facu drum prin ciresul cel fantastic
In gradina cu muscate la ferestre
Motanul cel batrin coplesit de tacere
Madularele masinale inghetate-n aer
Prin Sfintul Duh  se-ndreptau
Spre spatiul de dor nerevazut de bunica
Din nou, inainte ca lumea ei sa se tainuiasca pe veci..
Se intimpla o plaoie de cirese coapte in ofranda  
Ochii cerurilor se desfaceau sa-i primeasca duhul
Pe cind lumina nu mai avea putere
 

THE FANTASTIC CHERRY TREE

The fantastic ripe cherry tree in the garden
With the house in the middle with geraniums
At the high windows in painted flower pots
The light cannot hurt anyone anymore
The motion of my grandma’s mechanical limbs
Has stopped with the impulse of the Spirit
To climb through the air into Heavens with
A forty day limit…my grandma lied in her dream of
One day returning to her youthful roots
To experience the truth where she was born
The ultimate justice  occurred and the Spirit
Made Its way through the fantastic ripe cherry tree
In the garden with the geraniums at the windows
The tom cat overwhelmed by the silence
The mechanical limbs embedded in the air
Through the Spirit were making way
To the place my grandma so badly wanted to see
Once again before her Universe closed up for good…
There was a shower of ripe cherries sacrificed in earnest
The eyes of Heavens were opening to her Spirit
When light cannot hurt anyone anymore

 

LISTA  CU  DANSURI

Insiruiti sunt pretendentii zapaciti pe lista cu dansuri
Cifre buclucase pentru duduca debutanta
Ea tinjea dupa –o aparenta libertate
Intr-o casa izolata, inconjurata de livada cu ciresi
Exuberanti, in floare, o casa cu fatada italiana
Pe lumina si un apartament facut dupa politica vremurilor
Pentru noptile racoroase, cu –n balcon deschis
Catre cintul cocosului magic, in zori, difuzindu-si chemarea
Comedian buclucas din a vecinilor gradina
Pretendentii zapaciti, avalansa de
Incurcaturi progresive si energii sporite,
Insiruiti sunt la consiliu extins de familie si neamuri
Dezbateri pe teme de profesii si indeletniciri viitoare
Rude intetind vederi totdeauna contrare
Dileme adevarate privind nepasarea
Fata de orice marturie sau  avertizare
Lista cu dansuri a duducai debutante
Trierea-i corvoada mereu nerezolvata
 

AN OPEN ENDED LIST

The troubled pretenders line out in the dance list
Moving numbers for the debutante principessa
She was longing for improvised freedom
In a remote bungalow with cherry trees
In full blossom, a home with an Italian Façade
During the day and a flat during the cool night
With a balcony meeting the song of that
Magic cockerel, at dawn, broadcasting its call
Irreverent comedian from the neighbour’s garden
The troubled pretenders, avalanche of
Continuous headaches and intensified energies
Lined up in numbers and issue of family conference,
Discussions into the effects of future professions
Relatives fuelling open-ended debilitating views
Credible dilemmas into the insensitivity
Of any evidence or even warning regarding
The debutante principessa’s dance list

Selection is such an open-ended task

 
AUZI IROSIREA

Duhuri calaresc ...ele asculta irosirea gradinii
Spatiu fortat liber, cu sila, reteta de ruina
Duel intre frumusetea gradinii si...
Mentalitatea de „cazarma” rasfata saracia;
Un loc...un masacru...duhuri calaresc...
Ambiguitete intre dezordine si ticalosie...
Intentii ilegale revendica irosirea
Acelei stralucitoare gradini cu ciresul care plinge
Cu fatada italiana grandioasa de la casa
Basme...intentii ...presupuneri...
Ideologie cirpacita...de mintuiala...
Silita integrare in ordinea cea noua
A „ noilor  jupini”...
Duhuri calaresc...ele dau glas irosirii gradinii
 
HEAR THE WASTE

Mounted shadows hear the waste of that  garden
Forceful vacated space, formulae for decline…
The duel between the beauty of the garden
And the ‘ bunk ‘ mentality indulges failure;
The site of the massacre is mounted shadows;
Ambiguity of dirt and confusion…
Unlawful intentions claim the waste of
That splendid garden with the weeping
Cherry tree and the house with the
Grand Italian Façade…tell tales…
Stories…purpose and assumption…
Lots of muddled ideology…unlawful
Forced integration into the ‘bosses’ new order…
Mounted shadows sound the waste of that garden

IMBATRINITA CIOARA

Se tinguie imbatrinita cioara
Bocet tulburat in zori chinuite
Cocotata pe singurul plop tremurator
Reverie uitata...inselata nazuinta iluzorie
Simtire tulburata, lupta dusa de acei indivizi
Care urasc animale si pasari
Ei  trimit consilierii sa intimideze
Cei virstnici, cei lipsiti de putere,
Care inteleg ca exista foloase anume;
Asculta...bocetul loveste zorii
Geamatul unicului plop tremurator
Conflict fara capat ...indivizi
Care protejeaza ura ...neputinciosi
Sa vada, sa asculte sau sa priceapa
Exista constiinta...exista emotii...
Alternind rangurile la intruniri
Pe teme de selectare, de obliterare
Animale si pasari, ziua in amiaza mare
Cioara-mbatrinita, cioara slabita reinvie
Intimplarile Sfintului Francisco d’ Assisi..
Sunt rari binevoitorii ....ei asculta adevarul
Despre soarta copacilor...
Despre soarta pasarilor ...
Despre soarta animalelor...
 

THE OLD CROW

The old crow is wailing pain
Interrupted song in hurt daylight
Perched on the only poplar tree
Forgotten dream, displaced fake reality
Troubled sensitivity, war led by those
Who hate animals and birds of any kind;
Those who send advisers to intimidate
The weak and the old, aware of particular interests;
Hear the song that hurts in daylight
The moan of the only poplar tree alive,
The long war led by those who hate
The war which makes those who hate
Unable to see, to listen to or understand
One’s responsibility or awareness of feelings,
Changing hats when meeting each other
Corporate sponsorship over the cull
Of all animals and birds in broad daylight
The wasting crow is telling the story of
Saint Francis of Assisi…
So few are willing to listen to the essential

LA  UMBRA  DE  IENUPAR

Odihna ...linga copaci, albinele pozau
Racoarea ...Soarele spre seara, tainic
In draperia petalelor  care cadeau
Dar din Ceruri, o ploaie plapinda
Se ascundea prin falduri
Neamuri in pozitii inalte subtil
Terorizau orasul...
Copacii gata-gata sa treaca-n amintire
Potoliti si nepasatori...
Tabara dusmana statea in umbra si punea la cale
Privesc cu grija inapoi...oameni si obiceiuri
Omisi pentru idei incorecte...oameni cu aspiratii
De evadare...bunicul uda vesnic gradina, dar din Ceruri
Duhu-i se impreuna cu petalele de flori si cu pamintul
Este tufa de ienupar , umbreste piatra de mormint
A bunicii, in cimitirul de tara, dincolo de calea ferata
Tufa de ienupar creste linga crucea sa de lemn
 

BY THE TREE

I was standing by the tree, the bees were posing
In the breeze of the evening Sun, hidden
By the curtain of falling petals
Delicate embracing rain, gift from Heavens
Hiding in the shadows…
People in high places terrorizing the town
Trees about to become memory…
Calm and unconcerned
The enemy camp planning, hiding in shadows
I look over my shoulder, customs and people
Forgotten for false ideas…people with dreams
Of escape…my grandpa watering the garden
For him, it will always be…gift from Heavens
His Spirit mingles with the flower petals and the soil
He is now the juniper bush covering
My grandmother’s grave stone
In the country cemetery past the railway station,
Next to his wooden fading cross
 

MI-AM  INCHIPUIT

M-am inchipuit zboruri transatlantice
Mi-am inchipuit trenuri gonind
Mi-am inchipuit munti scuturind zapada si furtuna
Mi-ai aparut in vis...torent de emotii
Peste gradina ferecata-n tapiserie
Vedeam dincolo de ferestre...era in aer
Un semn care alerga...sa oficieze
Nestingheritul liman al copilariei
Cu sfiala batrinetea de abia atingea
Rastimpul acela se-nsiruia de-abia pentru cei tineri
Mi-am inchipuit talazuri  care apar nechemate
Mi-am inchipuit maree exotice, plante inter-tesute
Delte cu stranii pasari de prada in cuiburi
Mi-am inchipuit trenuri accelerind deasupra puhoaielor
Mi-am inchipuit orice pe acoperisul surii din lemn
Casa cea veche se-ndeparteaza de mine
Mi-am inchipuit ca exista...
 

I DREAMT

I dreamt  of reaching transatlantic flights
I dreamt of trains speeding beyond…
I dreamt of mountains shaking snow and storm
I dreamt of you…an avalanche of feelings…
Over the loom garden displaying the Garden
I could see beyond the windows…it felt
A running trace…to celebrate
The free retreat of childhood
The peaceful old age faintly touching
A time about to begin for the young
I dreamt of intruding waves, of seas of joy
I dreamt of exotic tides, of plant interwoven
Deltas with strange nesting birds of prey
I dreamt of trains speeding over waters
I dreamt lying on the roof of the wooden shed
The old house is running away from me
I dreamt of reaching it again…
 

TOTUL   CORECT  ?
Masti si voci pregatesc
Zaiafetul fapturilor chinuite
Instrainate de incercari trecatoare
Decade trec...case demolate...
Mindre biserici divine nu reinvie...
Sforaie mostenita nimicire
Ale mosiei bogatii tocate;
Bani noi renascocesc o extravaganta
Ordine noua, cu vile uriase hotarnicite
Cu ziduri inalte sa excluda a saraciei culori
Vile si nevoiasi...incurcatura
Pentru situatii „ autobiografice” jenante
Relatiile sunt mai toate capricioase;
Dincolo de putrezire ma stramut
Cabala inegalei puteri
Masti si glasuri  se pregatesc
In tufe, un mediator...
Motanul alb cu negru se dichiseste
Disponibil pentru zaiafetul care anima
Indrumat de motive sa puna totul corect ( ? )
 

EVERITHING RIGHT ?

Masques and voices are preparing
The feast for tormented beings
Divided by fragile experiences
Decades pass…demolished houses
And proud divine churches do not return…
A legacy of destruction is snoring
In the wasted riches of the land;
New money reshapes an extravagant
New order with huge villas bordered
By high walls to exclude the flag of poverty
The poor and the villas…confusing
For those “autobiographical” dilemmas
So arbitrary are most connections…
I want to move beyond the corruption;
The intrigue of the unequal power
Masques and voices are getting ready;
In the bushes, a mediator :
The black and white cat ,grooming himself
Ready for the inspirational feast
Led by impulses to make everything right ( ? )
 

LECTII

Lectii precum sa aflii  iesirea din labirint
Audierea, vorbirea, citirea si scrierea
Se complimenteaza in manifestarile din labirint
Sunete uneori stranii, adesea surprinzatoare
Standardul :  locuinte marunte in blocuri precare
Din beton, blocuri permanent urmarite...
Buna-crestere-i adesea absenta...iuteala
Ca etalon contra celor care nazuiesc
Spre imaginatie si libertatea de expresie
Orice se-ntimpla indarat de usi ferecate
De convorbiri telefonice iti dai seama
Multiple siretlicuri terorizante sa mentina
Nomenclatura completa  si garantata
Pentru acei neterminati...
Pentru acei cu roluri principale
In spectacole de ultima ora de la tribuna
Parazi la zilele mari...
Cu suflet zavorit, fac rugaciuni de dezlegare

 

LESSONS

Lessons into how to find the exit in a maze
Listening, speaking, reading and writing go
Together in this labyrinth made of actions
Sometime strange, often unfamiliar sounds
The standard is to live in concrete high rising
Blocks one is target to watch for ever…
Politeness is often lacking…impulsiveness
Is the norm towards those who might aim for
Imagination and freedom of expression…
It all happens behind closed doors…
Even then one is aware of telephones…
Of various terrorizing devices made to keep
The whole system secure for those incomplete…
Those who have leading parts in the
Latest shows at the rostrum or special day marches…
I have to lock myself in myself
I am praying for absolution
 

NAPASTA

Ostenit mi-e sufletul de napasta
Ma uit in jur si inteleg
Batrinul cel sarac care cerseste
Piine, batrina in zdrente
Fara-adapost, cerind de pomana,
In fata noilor magazine,cu ochii mihniti...
Ce le pasa unora ?
Pretutindeni durere....
O mina de fosti tovarasi cu initiativa
Cu vile, „ nouveaux riches”
Peste noapte, ignora si progreseaza
Omenia le este straina
Nori de vijelie se aduna
Tarusi...suferinta are tentacole
Inhata ... strins...ermetic...
Chinuie sufletul nepastuit
Piine si un pat  pentru saraci
Pentru batrini, pentru cei uitati de soarta
Nori de furtuna se aduna plini de puroi
Ma uit in jur si inteleg

 

THE HURT

My soul is troubled by the hurt
I look around and I can see
The destitute old man is begging
For some bread, the old ragged woman
With no home to go to, sitting outside
The new shops, eyes gone in grief
Who cares for them and others ?
The grief is everywhere…
A handful of enterprising fellows
With villas, nouveaux riches
Over night, ignore and walk away…
Care is alien to them few
The storm clouds are gathering
In pales, the grief has tentacles
Which grab and hold so tight
It hurts the troubled heart
Some bread, a simple bed for the poor,
For the old, for those destitute by fate
Storm clouds are swelling full of pus
I look around and I can see
 

MASTI

Provocarea aceasta e soptita
Neinsemnat profit ? noi glasuri ?
Totul absolut in detaliu,
Clevetire in momente conventionale,
Etalat de ochi vigilenti
Fara grija diversi indivizi,
Printre vecini ascunsi  sa insemne stiintific
Sfirsitul istoric al unei ere ( ? )
O deghizare oficiala cu interese inalte
Daunatoare practica noua, in dezvoltare deplina
Pentru contemporani, deghizari in forme distincte

DISGUISES

This challenge is whispered
Small gain ?  new voices ?
Everything updated in detail
Gossip about conventional moments
Displayed by those watchful  eyes
Various uncaring people, in the close
Neighbourhood to mark scientifically
The historical end of an era ( ? )
Or an official disguise with higher stakes
New bad practise and all still in the making
Disguises in various shapes for those present

 

Mariana Zavati Gardner


BY THE AUTHOR : VOLUMES OF VERSE/
DE AUTOARE : PLACHETE DE VERSURI

WHISPERS ISBN 0-9532973-0-6 UK 1998
THE JOURNEY ISBN 0-9532973-1-4 UK 1999
WATERMARKS ISBN 0-9532973-2-2 UK 2000
TRAVELLERS / CALATORI 60 bilingual poems ISBN 1-887304-40-1
CRITERION PUBLISHING USA &ROMANIA 2001
THE SPINNING TOP : SNAPSHOT POEMS ISBN 0-9532973-3-0 UK 2001
PILGRIMS / PELERINI 20 bilingual poems ISBN 973-647-050-4 EDITURA NAPOCA STAR : CLUJ-NAPOCA ROMANIA 2002
THE REMAINS OF THE DREAM CATCHER ISBN 0-9532973-4-9 UK 2002


POEMS INCLUDED IN THE FOLLOWING ANTHOLOGIES/
POEME INCLUSE IN URMATOARELE ANTOLOGII

BETWEEN A LAUGH AND A TEAR ISBN 1-57553-179-8 UK
LIGHT OF THE WORLD ISBN 1-57553-413-4 UK
THE SOUNDS OF SILENCE ISBN 1-57553-426-6 USA
THE SECRET OF TWILIGHT ISBN 1-57553-416-9 UK
A BLOSSOM OF DREAMS ISBN 1-57553-417-7 UK
THE LYRE’S SONG ISBN 1-57553-418-5 UK
HONOURED POETS OF 1998 ISBN 1-58235-020-5 UK
LAST GOOD-BYES ISBN 1-57553-899-7 USA
THE DEFINITIVE VERSION ISBN 1-86248-083-4 UK
A CELEBRATION OF POETS ISBN 1-888680-54-7 UK & USA
SUNRISE AND SOFT MIST ISBN 1-58235-121-X USA
SPRINGBOARD ISSN 0966-5935 UK
MEMORIES OF THE MILLENNIUM ISBN 1-58235-262-3 UK
NATURE’S ORCHARD ISBN 1-86226-690-5 UK
LIFELINES ISBN 1-86226-680-8 UK
ANTOLOGIA PADURII volume V ISBN 973-020-08-2 ROMANIA
INTERNATIONAL NOTEBOOK OF POETRY ISSN 1528-1957 USA & ROMANIA 2000
JOURNAL OF THE AMERICAN ROMANIAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES NO. 23-24 ISSN 0896-1018 USA
EASTERN VOICES 2001 ISBN 1862266719 UK
INTERNATIONAL NOTEBOOK OF POETRY ISSN 1528-1957 USA & ROMANIA 2001
FAMILY TIES ISBN 1862266727 UK
SUNKISSED ISBN 1 86226 648 4 UK
REFLECTIONS OF TIME ISBN 1862266794 UK
INTERNATIONAL NOTEBOOK OF POETRY ISSN 1528-1957 USA & ROMANIA 2002
SCIENCE FRICTION ISBN 1 899 620 079 UK
THE BEST POETS AND POEMS OF 2002 ISBN 0-7951-5175-6 USA
SEARCHING FOR PARADISE ISBN 1844310108 UK
CENTRE STAGE ISBN 184077083X UK


TRANSLATIONS / TRADUCERI

CERUL MEU DE HARTIE POEMS by AL. FLORIN TENE translated into English as MY PAPER SKY
ISBN 86-82217-50-3 EDITURA “ TIBISCUS “ UZDIN- YUG


BIOGRAPHY

Mariana Zavati Gardner was born in Bacau-Romania on 20th January 1952, the daughter of Artillery Colonel( r ) Constantin Zavati, a chemistry teacher and Iulia Bucur Zavati, a pharmacist.
She studied at VASILE ALECSANDRI Boarding College for Girls and passed the Baccalauréat with distinction.
She specialised in languages at ALEXANDRU IOAN CUZA University of Iasi and graduated as Master of Science in Philology, double first class honours.
She did a Post Graduate Course in Education at the UNIVERSITY OF LEEDS and post graduate courses at GOETHE INSTITUT ROSENHEIM and ECOLE NORMALE SUPERIEURE AUXERRE.
She has been teaching English in Iasi and Bacau – Romania and Latin, French, German, Spanish and Italian in high-schools in the counties of Essex and Norfolk in England.
She has published various poems in anthologies, seven volumes of poetry, articles on literary criticism and book reviews.
She is a member of THE AMERICAN ROMANIAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCE USA , LiterArt XXI THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF ROMANIAN WRITERS AND ARTISTS USA and THE INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY OF POETS USA

BIOGRAFIE

Mariana Zavati Gardner s-a nascut la 20 ianuarie 1952 la Bacau – Romania si este fiica colonelului de artilerie ( r ) Constantin Zavati, profesor de chimie si a farmacistei, Iulia Bucur Zavati.
A facut studiile liceale la Colegiul Internat de fete VASILE ALECSANDRI la Bacau si a studiat engleza -franceza la Universitatea ALEXANDRU IOAN CUZA din Iasi – Romania. A absolvit studiile universitare ca Master of Science in Philology (MSc).
A urmat cursuri la UNIVERSITY OF LEEDS – England, GOETHE INSTITUT ROSENHEIM – Germania, ECOLE
NORMALE SUPERIEURE AUXERRE – France.
Preda engleza la Iasi si Bacau – Romania si latina, franceza, germana, spaniola si italiana la licee din comitatele Essex si
Norfolk – Anglia..
A publicat versuri in antologii, a scris sapte plachete de versuri, articole de critica literara si recenzii de carti.
Este membra la THE AMERICAN ROMANIAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCE USA , LiterArt XXI : THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF ROMANIAN WRITERS AND ARTISTS USA si THE INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY OF POETS USA

AWARDS FOR POETRY / PREMII PENTRU POEZIE

EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARD
Presented by The International Society of Poets 1996 UK
EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARD
Presented by The International Library of Poetry 1997 UK
EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARD
Presented by The National Library of Poetry 1998 UK
THIRD PRIZE & THE BRONZE MEDAL
Presented in The North American Open Poetry Competition 1998 USA
THE AMERICAN ROMANIAN ACADEMY AWARD presented by THE AMERICAN ROMANIAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES 2001 CANADA
THE IONEL JIANU AWARD FOR ARTS presented by THE AMERICAN ROMANIAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES 2001 CANADA

BIOGRAPHY INCLUDED IN THE FOLLOWING PUBLICATIONS /
BIOGRAFIE INCLUSA IN URMATOARELE PUBLICATII :


PUBLICATIILE PERIODICE BACAOANE : 1867-1967 by GHEORGHE PATRAR,
Editura Municipala Bacau-Romania 1967, p.186, IPB 12144

CITITOR IN EXILUL CREATOR by GEORGE BAJENARU,
Editura DANUBIUS Bucuresti-Romania, 2001, pp.35-40,
ISBN 973-98274-6-2

DICTIONARY OF INTERNATIONAL BIOGRAPHIES
1999, p. 129, ISBN 0 948875 48 8 UK EDITION
2000, pp. 125-126 ISBN 0 94887583 6 UK MILLENNIUM EDITION
2003 UK THIRTIETH ANNIVERSARY EDITION

WHO’S WHO IN POETRY AND POETS ENCYCLOPAEDIA
2001/2002, p.190, ISBN 0 948875 59 3 UK EDITION

INTERNATIONAL WHO’S WHO IN POETRY
2003, p.113, ISBN 1 85743 1596 UK EDITION

WHO’S WHO IN THE 21st CENTURY
2003 UK GRAND EDITION
 

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