The Sonnet of the National Poet

Let us ask Eminescu whether he gently sleeps/

       laid to rest on the bed of our hearts” (Nichita Stănescu)

From the sea’s swirl, absorbed by the sun’s ray,

He was born, rapt with wonder, among the stars,

His prying flight in parallel worlds unbars,

Spearheading to Hyperion day by day.


He has a vocation for justiciars,

For the most enlightened ideas at bay,

While woe is a good omen, not a delay,

Like the fair wind against the sails’ calendars.


His temple’s wracked by carousels of queries.

Still and all, he can tame the world’s boundlessness,

Death and rebirth in remote territories,


He treads myriads of paths and sceneries

Meant for mankind’s ever higher forthrightness −

We inherit his work’s noble-mindedness.


The Sonnet of Your Glances

Your longing glances, lilies and daffodils,

The all-breeding light, life-spinning, life-changing,

Enlightening lanes to infinitude’s well-being,

Strings of solemnly promised heavens and thrills,


The inexpugnable fortress walls shielding,

The forbidden joys with flourishes and trills,

Bestowing on me all nature’s fills and spills,

The wonders of the earth for my heart’s throbbing,


They stand as columns of white marble, upright

Pillars of purity to support the vault,

They are flight-thirsty and dream-craving, a knight


Like me treasures the blue myosotis plight,

Although at times, they make a castle assault

With a strange striking tornado − not their fault.


The Sonnet of the Ceahlău Mountain

The Ceahlău Mountain’s our tutelary god,

The Olympus enwrapped in linden fragrance,

The purest wellspring in Hesiod’s guidance

To gain great strength till the centenary’s nod.


The solemn young fir trees add bishops’ balance,

Righteous, courteous, ceremonial, though mod,

They chant a lofty hymn, like seeds in a pod,

One can’t but share their joy with invariance.


Agile does and stags in the rutting season,

Beeches and oaks, birches, maples and elm trees

Are seen from the Prut river, there’s no treason.


Walls of flint, sylvan peaks are the true reason,

Dear fortress, built from yearning and grief, on knees,

You’ve healed our martyrdom and adversity’s fees.

English version by Gabriela PACHIA