Peter Mamara


Oh, Sublime Truth… - Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Oh, sublime truth — oh, tin and straws…
Oh, poem swollen with pride — oh, foolish mumbling…
Twisted story — rubbish and lies,
Heavenly and sweet love — immature even for toddlers.

Oh man, mirror of the world, with a crazy and empty head,
With fog-like brain, and ram-like ribs;
Master over your own thought,
Like you are master over your instinct.
One can see it, when a woman bares her bosoms.

Master, when she lifts her skirt so you see her legs,
You do not smile greedily with your dirty look.
You are not like a bull. And you are not like a dog,
Which humbly wags well its tail to its bitch.

You are not jealous — God forbid…
Only roosters and wild boars have the habit to fight.
You don't have expensive pleasures.
A woman's tears, doesn't move your heart, or cloud your mind.

You are good with your peers, not like other creatures.
You love them that much, that you smother them…
You make them admire outstanding abilities: the sound of a pot
And your heated speech: which is full of coarse language.

The world's history, with its kings of poetry
And with the warrior kings it's like an epic to you.
Even so, I pray to God to keep the sublime truth
Away from my unworthy self, because I don't want it;

Thinkers of the world! You fuss with your lofty labelling.
Put it in a filing cabinet.
The world is a coffer with old troubles.
The sky full of stars and of plots is a storeroom for you.

Priests with the cross in your minds, treasurers of mysteries,
You are the salt of the earth. You mould the spirit of this world.
It is awkward that at daytime you just drink and dine.
At dusk, you tell lies, and at night, you chase women.

Oh, sculptors and musicians you,
Reverberate your harmonies on feelings,
Touch my shivering body with your hands.
And you, drama artists make faces to the moon.
Painters you, the eternity awaits for you with a crown.

Time you! You cannot smash this crown.
Since they've hidden it so well in sacks of worms.
Oh kings! You are empowered by God on your thrones,
So you can pay ballerinas and keep mistresses.

Oh you politicians with your polished and wry expressions
You drag by the nose, the people whom you use.
Dirty beings you! I like your implicit saying:
The nations are there so they could be misled.
(1873)

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Topic(s) of this poem: poem

Form: Blues Poem


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, September 8, 2016



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