THE MASTER TO HIS APPRENTICE
Paint the lunatic's shoulder
thence let the true chiaroscuro
spring forth; the clavicle
like a bridge rising
to meet his twisted face .
Frozen
on his lips the primal flavor
of the word
that could not rise a few inches above
the lips without being jeered at.
A BURNING
for Ion Caraion
Oh,
God
how we are scattered
like pepper berries
rolling from
a broken bag–
black irises
ejected from the white
of the eye
no longer able to bear
the burning tear
or the scorching light
no longer making allowances
no longer!-
Translated from the Romanian
by
Marcel Cornis.Pop
