Mircea Cartarescu
SA NE IUBIM, CHERA MU
sa ne iubim, chera mu, sa ne iubim tujur
ca mâine vom fi prada inundatiilor, surparilor de teren, betiilor crâncene,
ca mâine un ieri cu labe de paianjen de fân îti va umbla în cârliontii de flori ai coiffurii
zapacindu-te, ambetandu-te . . .
sa fim tandri, bâigui poligonul catelu lipindu-si irisii
de soldurile voluptoase ale autobazei filaret
sa fim tandri, singuratatea mea, ciripi indicatorul de sens giratoriu
sa fim tandri, mai zise o musca.
primavara ne lingea ca un pechinez pe fata, pe mâini
ne facea sa ne întrebam ce gust om avea pe limba infinita a noptii plina de autocare si stele,
primavara ne mângâia depasind uneori limitele maternitatii sau prieteniei nevinovate
aratându-si provocatori sânii reci sub jacka ei de turcoaz jerpelit
oh, mai ramâi, sopti lustra catre o scama de pe covor,
nu vrei sa te urci la mine? bem ceva, ascultam muzica, îti arat biblioteca . . .
nu vrei sa ramâi în noaptea asta la mine?
sa ne tinem de mâna, îi spuse un medic primar de la spitalul emilia irza
iepurelui de tabla din vitrina cu jucarii.
sa ne iubim, sa ne amam, sa crestem si sa ne înmultim
cântau tergarulile si velurul, drilul si chembrica pe gabroveni
le raspundeau pâna la raguseala plutonierii si norisorii
sa facem chestia aia, gâfâiau frizeriile.
ca niste becuri electrice legate în serie
nervii plezneau pe antebrat, venele se umflau pe torace,
în nari analizatorii mirosului îsi încuiau paltoanele în dulapuri
si indicele de refractie îsi halea sandviciul cu carne de pui
în holbarea perversa a ochiului.
ce de ocheade, câte accidente din neatentie,
conturi încheiate, polite platite,
îngerasule, stranuta plamânul când se privi în oglinda
si vazând în urma lui o uzina.
primavara ne întindea pe pâine felia groasa de televizor
mintea noastra era îmbâcsita de proiecte de agrasiune, deja vedeam microcosmosul împânzit de transee,
deja visam la putere, la krakatit, la mirosul de blana de vulpe al omului invizibil
la ochii catifelati ai omului care trece prin zid...
creierul nostru îsi amintea de când statea ghemuit
de când pulsa, de când palpita, fojgaia, colcaia, misuna, serpuia
antebratul îsi defula în aerul slabanog sentimentul de a avea pene,
urechea - sentimentul de a fi auzit boncaluitul triceratopsului
si bulele de hidrogen pleznind malaria peste fata.
ai încredere în mine, gânguri flora întestinala
întinzându-se voluptos în bratele groazei
care purta în acea seara un costum simplu, cambrat, tineresc,
da-mi un pupic, se ruga anabolismul de catabolism,
crudelo, nu ma chinui, rânjea maxilarul spre maxilar.
venea seara, orasul se anima,
venea noaptea, strazile sfârâiau ca sifonul,
sa fim tandri, loz necâstigator, sa fim tandri, batator de covoare,
sa ne iubim, robinete, sa facem excursii, mapa de plicuri!
în rochii de moloz si nuiele verzi, de mezeluri si de brânzeturi,
spoite cu vodca si motorina emotiile iesisera la agatat.
prin ganguri si pasaje acoperite cu geam colorat
câte un pisoi zgâria în ladita vreunui dafin
si în berarii ospatarele se lasau desurubate de vii contra cost.
sa ne iubim, unamuno, nebuno, sa ne iubim, chera mu,
si apoi sa ne-nselam cu chibritele, cu patentul, cu pasta de dinti,
sa ignoram influenta exercitata în psihicul nostru
de complexul lui grozavesti.
primavara priveste galbena prin stratosfera, gâdilata de ozon si de ioni,
sa ne cunoastem mai bine, melcule, zice,
sa ne îmbratisam, depoule, hârtiuto, tomberonule …
iar noi la tâsnitoarea din capatul aleii alexandru ne stropeam unul pe altul cu apa
chiar lânga policlinica, si pâna si copacii
miroseau a dentist. |
Mircea Cartarescu
LET'S MAKE LOVE, KERA MU*
let’s make love, kera mu, let’s make love tujour**
come tomorrow we’ll be prey to floods, landslides, wasted drunkenness,
come tomorrow a yesterday with the legs of a hay spider will crawl through the flowery curls of your coiffure
messing you up, making you drunk….
let’s be tender, mumbled the catelu field***, his irises peeled
on the voluptuous hips of the filaret bus terminal
let’s be tender, my loneliness, chirped the traffic circle sign,
let’s be tender, said also a fly.
the spring was licking our faces, like a pekingese, and our hands,
made us wonder what sort of taste we leave on the infinite tongue of the night full of coach buses and stars,
the spring was caressing us going sometimes beyond the boundaries of motherliness or innocent friendship
showing her provoking cold breasts under her scruffy turquoise jacket
oh, stay, whispered the lampshade to a loose thread on the carpet,
don’t you want to come upstairs? we’ll have a drink, we’ll listen to music,
i’ll show you the bookcase…
don’t you want to spend the night at my place?
let’s hold hands, said to an internist at the emiliza irza hospital
the little tin rabbit in the toy window.
let’s make love, let’s make amour, let’s grow and multiply,
were singing the velours, the moleskins, the tweeds and toiles on gabroveni street
the street sergeants and the little clouds would answer till they got hoarse
let’s do that thing, the barber shops were panting.
like electric bulbs serially linked,
the nerves were snapping on the forearm, the veins were swelling on the thorax,
inside nostrils, the smell sensors were locking their winter coats in wardrobes
and the refraction index was gulping its chicken sandwich
in the perverted stare of the eye.
how many glances, how many careless accidents,
closed accounts, paid policies,
my angel, sneezed the lung when he looked at himself in the mirror
and saw a factory behind him.
the spring was spreading us on the thick tv slice
our mind was muddled by aggressive projects
we were already picturing the microcosm canvassed with trenches,
we were already dreaming of power, of krakatit, of the smell of fox fur of the invisible man,
of the velvety eyes of the man who passes through walls…
our brain remembered when it was coiled,
when it pulsed, when it throbbed, when it crawled, writhed, squirmed, wiggled, snaked,
the forearm exuded in the skinny air the feeling of being feathered,
the ear—the feeling of having heard the call of the triceratops,
and the hydrogen bubbles slapping malaria in its face.
trust me, cooed the intestinal flora
stretching voluptuously into the arms of horror
which was wearing that night a simple, stretch suit, quite youthful,
give me a little kiss, the anabolism begged the catabolism,
cruelita, don’t torment me, grinned the mandible to the mandible.
the evening was coming, the city came to life,
the night was coming, the streets were sizzling like syphons,
let’s be tender, non-winning lottery ticket, you, let’s be tender, you, rug beater,
let’s make love, water taps, let’s take a trip, envelope box!
in dresses of rubble and green wickers, of cold cuts and cheeses,
dabbed in vodka and diesel, the emotions went out to pick someone up,
through blind alleys and passages covered in colored glass
some kitten would scratch the wooden trestle of a bay tree
and in the pubs the waitresses would let themselves unscrewed alive for pay
let’s make love, unamuno, you lunatic, let’s make love, chera mu,
and then let’s cheat on each other with the match box, with the pliers, with the toothpaste,
let’s ignore the influence the grozavesti dorms**** had on our psyche
the yellow spring stares, through the stratosphere, tickled by ozones and ions,
let’s get to know each other, it says to the snail,
let’s hug, you depot, you piece of paper, you dumpster…
and we, at the sprinkler at the end of alexander alley would squirt water on each other
right next to the clinic, and even the trees
smelled like the dentist’s.
* Archaic term of endearment in Romanian (derived from Greek)--approx., "my beloved."
** purposeful distortion of the French "toujours" (always), in the Romanian original
*** poligonul catelu = driving test range in Bucharest
**** complexul Grozavesti = well known student dorms in Bucharest (notorious for its unsanitary conditions) |
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