3 poems by Adrian Suciu translated from Romanian by Nicoleta Crăete


Doamne, trimite Tu îngerul Tău să ne dea cheia!
Și dacă are multe de lucrat îngerul Tău
și-i e peste poate să ajungă la masa noastră,
trimite Tu unul de-al Tău să ne dea cheia!
Și dacă toți ai Tăi ară și seamănă și treieră
și nu pot veni la masa noastră,
trimite Tu câinele Tău să ne dea cheia!

Ne vom împrieteni cu el și-l vom ospăta și
ne vom bucura că ne-ai trimis cu el cheia
de la ușa spitalului în care se plimbă halate pustii
și nesfârșite medicamente se înghit singure,
fără să ceară voie nimănui.

De la ușa spitalului în care sufletul
se curăță singur, cu pleoapele lui…


Dear God, will You send us Your angel with the key!
And if Your angel has a lot to work
and coming to our table is beyond his reach,
will You send one of Yours give us the key!
And if all of Yours ploweth and soweth and thresheth
and coming to our table is not of their might,
will You send us Your dog give us the key!

We shall befriend him and throw a feast to him and
shall rejoice for the key sent with him
from the hospital door in which deserted gowns wander around
and endless medicines by themselves being swallowed,
without asking permission to no one.

From the hospital door in which the soul
is cleaning by himself, with his very own eyelids…


Nimic nu se naşte în carne,
chiar dacă ochii slabi văd altfel. Cel care
va plînge se va bucura de plînsul lui
şi se va face îmblînzitor de păsări. Iar acela care
rîde nu se va folosi de rîsul lui, căci nimic
nu se naşte din bucurie, chiar dacă cei mici
o fugăresc toată ziua!

Nimic nu se mişcă în carne. Nici viermele orb
nu mişcă în carne, chiar dacă ochii slabi
văd altfel.

Noi nu sîntem în carne. Dacă am fi în carne,
dragostea de Domnul ne-ar mistui ca un foc vesel
de vreascuri şi n-ar rămîne nimic
şi dragostea de Domnul ar rătăci singură pe străzi
ca o sete mistuitoare căutînd pe cineva!

Nici sfîrşitul lumii nu vine în carne, chiar dacă
ochii slabi văd gunoieri cum deşartă
pe străzi tomberoane de narcise mirosind
a ţărînă. Mulţi nu ştiu asta, dar
sfîrşitul lumii a fost deja de cîteva ori.

Eu am mai multe fotografii cu el.


Nothing is born in the flesh,
even if the wonky eyes see differently. The one who
weeps will rejoice at his weeping
and will become a tamer of birds. Whereas the one who
laughs will take no advantage of his laughter, for nothing
is born out of joy, even if the little ones
are chasing it all day!

Nothing moves in the flesh. Neither the blind worm
moves in the flesh, even if the wonky eyes
see differently.
We are not in the flesh. If we were in the flesh,

our love for God would waste us like a merry
brushwood fire and nothing would be left
and our love for God would wander by herself in the streets
like a consuming thirst looking for someone!

Nor the end of the world comes in the flesh, even if
the wonky eyes see garbage men emptying
dumpsters full of daffodils dust-smelling
in the streets. Many are not aware of this, but
the end of the world has already been a few times.

I have several photographs of it.


Am fost invitat adesea la marile ceaiuri. Unde se dezbat
masive probleme și cucoanele mângâie pisici egiptene.
Dar nu mă mai duc. Nu mai am nicio problemă
și pisicile mă îmbătrânesc.

Sunt contemporan cu trezirea orașului, dar nu locuiesc
decât țara necunoscută din sufletul meu. Unde sunt
contemporan desculț cu mine însumi.

Tot ce știu e un lanț cu un câine vesel la un capăt
și alt câine vesel la celălalt capăt. Dar definiția
lanțului nu o cunosc și veselia mi-e străină.
Numai pacea desenează în aburii
așezați pe oglinzi și iar desenează.

Și iar desenează.


I have frequently been invited to the big teas. Where they debate
massive problems and the ladies caress Egyptian cats.
But I won’t go anymore. I have run out of problems
And cats grow me old.

I am contemporary to the city’s awakening, but I only inhabit
the unknown country in my soul. Where I am
barefoot contemporary to myself.

All I know is a chain with a merry dog at one end
and another merry dog at the other. But the definition
of the chain is unfamiliar and merriment is a stranger to me.
Only peace draws within the steams
settled upon the mirrors and keeps drawing.
And drawing.

adrian suciu

Adrian Suciu is a Romanian poet and a journalist. Postponed Mythologies (2011, poetry), A Bullshit Novel (2013, fiction), The Popular Prophet (2015, poetry) are among his published books. He has been the president of the Cultural Association Direcția 9 since 2013, having promoted a large number of gifted young poets.

Nicoleta Crăete

Romanian poet Nicoleta Crăete’s collection, The woman with a body of wax, won the Manuscript Section of The International Poetry Festival of Sighetu Marmației and was published in 2019 by Grinta Publishing House. It was also awarded the Book of the Year Prize at the Ion Cănăvoiu Literature Festival.

About the contributor

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