ANSWER ME, GOD, IF YOU CAN
A Song Of Trial
What a void is born in me. . .
Could it be the sign and proof of my arrival ?
You have put me through the mill, God,
And a heavy cross You have given me to bear.
My rib You have speared so, so fiercely,
And I would say nothing if I were Your Chosen One. . .
But You have ordained that I shall be a ploughman.
You have not wanted me to drive a cart, instead you have put me to yoke,
And as I have not been good enough to be sentenced to death
You have thrown me among the ordinary convicts.
When I was young, You compelled me to take the road at night completely drunk.
And on the ground that youth makes blood boil
You rolled me through the grass and slag.
Then you gave me a woman and children
And always took me for a perjurer,
My love and distress
You passed through a sieve.
You stopped me from having supper with my dear ones,
You ordered me to sigh for the others,
You gave me boredom instead of pieces of silver,
And also enemies to tear my neck.
You sent me tearful mistresses, fate’s duplicity,
Even when I stretched myself for life.
You made the dead appear in my way.
As I prayed with my hand stretched out, you slapped me.
You did not tell me what was behind my fault,
And You pulled my soul along until it was blunted and warped.
Instead of opening it wide as for the others,
You half-opened the little gate.
And you gave me love with a little spoon
In bed as to the dolts.
Great, Almighty you are, God,
But the void obscuring the end of my path
Entitles me to ask You a humble question:
Why have I made my legs and body bleed
While cutting with a hatchet a poor hillock through a jungle
Full of beasts and twisted green lianas
When close by me you’ve spread
A highway with sixteen lanes?
FOR AGES GOD
I have been singing You in my songs for ages God,
And like a spinning top I always spin
But I do not know if You call me in the night
Or if I call You.
And I do not know either
If I bend my humble knee
If I bend in vain
To look into me.
So lonely am I God
But not enough
To be able to rise
And add a brick to Your Building. . .
I am afraid so much that I could stoop
And be unable to pick up
The fruits of my eyes and my ears.
Some little dots got lost among the stars.
A fameless, good- for- nothing slave,
Unworthy to be a carpet laid before You
To tread on at The Last Supper. . .
Bear me, God, for the love
And hatred I nourish for You.
And may I be your pair of shoes.
Throw me into the depths
To give through me sense to Your deeds.
But Heavenly Father,
On the last night
Take me from the flock so that I may be in the light again.
Wash me, wipe me dry, swaddle me
Let me be a daytime star to burn for ever
And hold You in my arms
As if you were my child.
GIVE ME MY EYES BACK, GOD,
and so mean I am God,
in comparison with me a grain of sand
is a Himalayan mountain,
and a tear is a boundless ocean
and endless rain.
What miraculous teaching,
what humility You have put me through
when You raised Jesus upon the cross
to redeem me.
Why do you let me, Father,
persist in my wickedness
and haughtily judge the sacrifice meant
to wipe evil from the world.
Give me my eyes back, God,
and open my ears.
And break the ugliness separating me
when I stand like a thirsty wolf
on the white snow
to tear the innocent little fawns
of the deer
As long as breath flickers
in my cursed flesh
I push another aside
and I do not know what to do with myself. . .
Hatred and being cursed
will follow me to the grave
and my caress is a late regret
when a handful of land is enough for me. . .
I do not turn on You
only when I am tested
by he who is more cunning that I.
Then I feel Your greatness
and then I believe that You alone
And then, only then am I aware
that Mystery is so close to me,
that Love is in need
of Love alone.
Traduceri de Olimpia Iacob& James Meredith