Venus and Madonna [Venere şi Madonă]
An ideal lost in darkness of a world that's gone for ever,
Which in fairy tales was thinking and in poems used to speak,
I can see and hear you, goddess, my sweet news, so young and clever
Living in a starry heaven full of deities antique.
Venus, warm and tender marble, eye of stone, which sparkles lively
Lazy arm, like the slow thinking of a king and poet, too,
Wonderful deification of the woman looking nicely,
Of that woman, which at present, still I think she's fair and true.
Raphael, lost in his visions, in a night when stars were present,
Soul by rays intoxicated and by many lovely springs,
Saw you and he dreamed the heaven with its gardens, smelling pleasant,
Saw you floating among angels and among the holy things.
And created on the canvas the Madonna, divine being,
With her maiden smile and wearing a tiara of stars bright
With pale face and yellow tresses, woman-angel and appealing,
For the woman is the image of the angels pure and white.
So did I, lost in the darkness of a life of rhymes enchanting,
I saw you, O, barren woman without soul, and I was struck
And I took you for an angel, sweet like magic and like chanting,
When the wretched life is lighted by a strong ray of good luck.
And I saw your pale complexion, sign of sick intoxication,
Your lips bruised by the corruption, which is biting nastily,
And I covered you, cruel woman, with white veils of inspiration,
On your pallor, with my poems, throwing rays of chastity.
I gave you the rays encircling with their magic and their power
The white forehead of the angel who will help us carry on,
Turned the fiend into a hermit and the sneer into a flower
And your bold and filthy glances into a majestic dawn.
But today, the veil is falling, ruthless woman! dreams are shattered,
Your chilled lips awaken quickly my sincere and sleepy brow
And I watch you, evil demon, and my love, so cold and scattered,
Teaches me a precious lesson, that I should despise you now!
You are like a young bacchante, who has stolen without caring
The green myrtle of the martyr from the forehead of a maid,
A young virgin, whose soul surely, is as holy as a praying,
While the one of the bacchante raves and wriggles in the shade.
Oh, as Raphael created the Madonna, divine being,
With her maiden smile and wearing a tiara of stars bright,
I made out of a pale woman a true goddess, nice and pleasing,
But devoid of any feelings, with a soul as black as night!
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poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by anonym
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