Mihai Eminescu - Mushatin

Mushatin

by Mihai Eminescu

the wood is white its leaf is black

its thousand little twigs

by snow are heavy

only the wind passes through themselves

the cold wind and some magpie

shedding let them off

white is the night the one with moon

from the distance wood resounds

the wolves in troops mass together

blows the wind blows incessantly

grove and heaven make to me pair

mad grief comes over one

as long and stretched grief

as the county all under snow

the wood shiver like an aspen leaf

as large as one's horizon

the wolves over peaks race

wandering through snows

troops the crows fly

in the ground of dense woods

there is no path to get out

there's no way there's no boundary

neither hunter trace

making blizzard on snow drifts

they filled up the glades

let down on dry boughs

over shed leaves

over water over all things

in the impenetrable forest

a little house is hidden

there's no village nor near by road

quite alone one doesn't know how

only from its chimney the smoke juts out

who would stay in the house

that doesn't care for the snow

which falls and will fall

eve heap on heap

surpassing the fence in the yard

up to eaves it will reach

if left is long winter

young little widow

stays there quite alone

how many days are left

she doesn't go to village any more

how long the time of a winter

how the snow is all falling

she ever winds and weaves

white threads exquisite linens

while the fire burns in the hearth

the wolves howl the dogs bark

and she spins from tow

swinging on a leg

the trough with a little child

asleep and graceful

and as she sings as she sights

the voice of wood imitates her

in the ground of the wood

there's no path there's no way

that if ever a path existed

it turned into a valley

that if a way ever existed

it is with leaves buried

it is filled with thorns and thistle

that one doesn't find its traces

if there is path somewhere

nobody knows it anymore

that they lost its traces

shepherd boys with the flocks

and they lost their signs

woodmen with the logs

and they forgotten the folds

hunters with the bows

nobody in the world knows any more

that around only desert

which its borders are

where are its springs

the grass grows behold again

beaten by the summer wind

where the forest is rare

but in the beautiful grass

never a scythe entered

where the forest is dense

by its thick of wood

path isn't way isn't

but a glade of fir trees

and a cheerful eye of pond

and a garden with style

and a little house with trouble

and at the door of house grows

the old tile tree which shadows it

like a living covering

its flower falls without wind

shaken over the land

and on the porch who is seen

who near cradle is staying

young little widow woman

who knew about herself only she

and as the wood bestirs itself

she sings for her she charms her away

swinging with a leg

she says gently

lullaby lullaby little child

I'd tell you a tale

lullaby lullaby between us

Ill tell you a tale

and in models I'll dress it

and beautifully I'll untie it

you to understand it only I pause

towards others I say nothing

the tears a valley fall from me

my father was a shepherd

as many seconds are in year

as many shepherds he was having

with thousand flocks beside

flocks in thousands of little she lambs

little shepherds after them

haughty flocks also of sheep

the little shepherds backwards

with flutes and bagpipes

he had also if you understand me

herds of untamed horses

which like hurricanes

were filling his plains

were grazing his estates

and in the length of rivers

they settled themselves on deserts

and in the waves of grass

were grazing the hinds and the stags

and through mountains lost in clods

he had big herds of bison's

cold rivers cold springs

in the shadow were flowing eternally

and he had mountains and he had forests

and fortresses with fortifications

and had village thousands and thousands

strewn on the plains

and had villages big and small ones

and full with brave men

what an uproar what a struggling

when cheerfully sounding from horn

was calling the country to boundaries

that were running with little and grown up

that they were flowing like rivers

and blackened the deserts

bitter me into a sigh

the tears are valley coming to me

with the kerchief if I wipe them

they still stronger go on

and how beautiful I was

how no one was kin by kin

of gold were my plaits

and by girls they were plaited

rosy like a peony

I was dear to everybody

they came behold the came

emperors from the east

to ask me in marriage

but they went as they arrived

kings came and messengers came

learned in many schools

with reasonable words

they asked me with justice

good time old shepherd

our emperor master

did send us to ask

if you marry your daughter or not

he answers the honestly

dear brave men welcome to you

dear is to me to feast you

with you to get delighted

but any much you you did ask me

daughter I haven't to marry

but the emperor from the west

did come and didn't go

two words only he told me

my heart he did subdue

he was stately and armed

an enarmoured soldier

he was stately and hale

having care of nothing

he was tall and I was tall

nice looking we were together

fitted in excess

I beautiful he beautiful

bitter me in a sigh

the tears valley come to me

with kerchief if I wipe them

they still stronger go on

they heard and if they heard

match makers from the east

that I was going to marry

and when I just got married

many people aroused

our house only to spoil

and to separate us

thousand of tongues were flowing as rivers

risen from the deserts

and they cam mobs

risen from the forests

some on horseback some on walk

ever came in thick cloud

they came swarms came flock

and left the desert back to them

they came flocks came valley

and crumbled forts in their way

vainly my man faced them

they pushed him back only

they defeated his armies

they ravished his glories

they deserted the countries

they brought his fortunes

they blackened his sun

they enslaved his people

I in the deserted wood

wandering lately

I heard from foreign tongues

that my man isn't coming any more

I learned from the west

that my man went away

by all humans followed

I learned from the east

that my man ha died

that has died and has mourned

world entire was wailing him

did wail all hermitages

all orients

and wests all

and peoples tongues and crowds

midnight midday

they couldn't awake him any more

wild behold those kings

the emperors of whole world

and a storm started

which earth drowned

midnight and westward

thousand kins put to way

big flocks and predatory

of alien peoples

which were flowing behold flowing

and they didn't have any more

just for putting inheritance

over poor mankind

when I think to such sorrows

it seems to me they were yesterday

when I think of my shepherds

it seems to me they were thousands years

but when I learned

that my man has died

this linden tree I planted

grows the tile and flourishes

and shadows my life

and as in its shadow I live

I don't get old any more

dear mother's little child

many in world I'd tell you

but I am afraid you'd leave me

but I am afraid you'll understand me

and you'll grow and will start

how the wood doesn't comprise you

and you'll go into the wild world

but you sleep more behold a bit

that you're tender of years and little

sleep at shadow sleep on peace

that your mother will make you

under that tile tree beaten by wind

the bedding at land

when the sun will set

then the wind will draw off

and you'll get asleep

the teeny branches will beat

and if stars will penetrate

and the moon will penetrate

our solitude

and when the wind will blow

the tile tree will rock

its flowers it will shed

and again will awake you

in the ground of the great night

and at rustling of oak trees

under the circling of clouds

in the falling of flowers

under the shining of stars

and at dance of wicked fairies

under the leaf of oak trees

and the voice of springs

where is it the cross from ways

you don't cry more me

they grow like brothers two spruce firs

do laugh chick-a-biddy laugh

where there are birds in the trees

be quiet chick be quiet

they gather girls and lads

do sleep chick high

stags gather the soft ones

awake chick do awake

and as she sings and sighs

the voice of wood imitates her

poor country of the high

all your fame has gone

now five hundreds years ago

only wood you were to me

around were growing deserts

empires were crumbling

the peoples were getting old

kingdoms were fading

an forts were scattering

only your woods were growing

green is the impenetrable  shadow

were a world is hidden

and in the shadow for ever

cold rivers were flowing

tenderly clear turning

having voices of springs

Bistritsa in rocks struggles

through dark forests

and ever goes deeper

where the water slightly twinkles

and at once it sees that

its water hitches

and by rocks it is dammed up

it gathers and ever grows

it dam up in wondrous lake

of which waters are quiet

and trees make shadow to it

dense leaf over

in depth the water watches

and the oak trees from bank to bank

over it fall down

peaks prop up together

and make to me a great vault

by the peaks they are knitted

and in shadow they rule

and in eternal freshness

the waves are sparkling

from one bank to another

it fell a tall trunk

it fell crosswise

that its foliage is hanging

long bridge of a tree

over silence of lake

long bridge big bridge

that one can pass it on horse back

and Mushatin youngish

passes the bridge quiet alone

with the vest of steel

with black busby of lamb

with white thick cloth on him

how he was coming to hunt

he was carrying the bow on back

quiver of arrows he has

with long plaits up to on back

but a forehead cut off

little child in in tight cloths

lightly is feeling himself

if he aims at a deer

the falcon flys over by him

if he holds his hand upward

the falcon put in his palm

and he ever comes shouting

and from leaf always bursting

and when starts to sing

the woods resound

hear you dear do your mother

how Mushatin is calling you

nobody was around him

only the blackbird was whistling

and he was getting down

where the water was trembling

and the blackbird says

what are you searching for boy by here

grow you wood and do you cluster

only for a path leave me room

to pass you across

only I will reach a clearing

and a spring of water

to see the falcon how it drinks

the wood says quietly

I went of leafing me out

for you did want me

and the waves sound

moving they gather

among the linens of leaf

the sun tries to penetrate

burn in the shadow at cooling

the sparkling spots

and on waves beat

the light pours flame

on clear long torrents

the rays fly like strips

under an oak long-haired oak tree

which was letting its branches down

Mushatin was lengthening out

putting the bow beside

you wood wood my dear

it seems I’ve told you that

you sound from leaf ever

for since I didn’t see you

much time has passed

and since I didn’t search you

much worlds I wandered

wood your majesty

let me under your foot

that I’ll spoil nothing

but only a little branch

to hang my arms in it

to hang them at my head

where I’ll make my bed

under that tile beaten by wind

with the flower up to ground

to lay with the face upward

and to sleep should deadly sleep

but to hear ever in my dream

dear wood your voice

from that glade of beech

doina song sounding dearly

how wailing vibrates

that rocks my leaf

and the slowed wind

will see that I’ve got asleep

and through the tile it will rake up

and with flowers would cover me

the wood was bowing down to him

and from branches was shaking

you Mushatin you Mushatin

cheerfully I shake my branches

and gaily I’d speak to you

long live your majesty

come Mushat to understand each other

and so choose you as our emperor

emperor of the springs

and of the deers

seated to some brook

to tear your flute from the waist

you to sing and I to sing

all my leaf to steer

to start booming in wind

on springs

from steepness

where the birds are flying

where the branches are bowing

and the deers are playing

the water says to him o child

hold your hand to me

come on my bright bottom

for you are beautiful child

and Mushat answers to it

vainly you allure me in waves

vainly wood my dear

you sound from leaves ever

that I’ll go away from you

that leaf will weep after me

that from soul it snatches me

longing-dor path longing-dor of going

and even I feel so much grief

for the weep of my little mother

I’d go I’d ever go

longing-dor never to snatch me

and I’d go on long way

longing-dor  to not reach me any more

vainly on wind are calling me

longing-dor for home longing-dor for mother

vainly it sounds in wind

that so destined I am

to make my way on earth

to hold my paths

to wander the countries

the countries and the seas

be it my voice strong

as to pass always

from everywhere I’ll be

over waters over bridges

over woods from mountains

to reach up to home

where my mother stays to weave

and to tell her in many lines

do not die mother of thoughts

don’t go you child

but if you have in world days

present them all to me

know you beloved brother

that I am not wood but fort

but since long I am enchanted

and by sleep darkened

only when the night arrives

the moon in heaven journeys

it runs through all my shadow

with its cold light

on then from horn sound to me

all trees together

with grief sounds the leaf in moon

and my world gathers

and tree after tree

all at once come untied

from oak tree with dense leaf

comes out a wondrous empress

with long hairs up to the heels

and with golden cloths

wonderful is her dress-rochia

and her name is Dochia

from the trees without number

come out children with falcons on shoulder

and girls many come out

with their turned up sleeves

and on naked shoulders

carry wooden pails and pots

it starts then a fret-zbucium

sweetly sounds voice of horn-bucium

on the path without traces

the deers come in flocks

and roar slowly so dearly

with the bells at neck

and wait patiently

beautiful hands of virgin girls

that they milk them in little pails

for know you beloved brother

I am not wood but I am fort

but bewitched I am since long

tile will listen

sounding from hill to hill

the wonderful triumphal horn

on the king Decebalus

then my trunks will undo

and would turn into palaces

you’ll see coming out from them

thousands young girls

and from firs as little be they

you’ll see coming brave men

for at the sound of horn

all get back to life

and the falcon agilely

over him is flying

come Mushatin you Mushatin

cheerfully I shake my wings

on your helmet I will settle

and from mouth I’d say

long live your majesty

remain wood healthy

that the water is calling me downward

and destined in world I am

I make path for me on earth

and Mushatin gets near

by silvery Bistritsa

the boat was playing on the weave

he unites it from the bank

jumps in it and gives it way

like the arrow flies now

and flowing on quick waters

longing-dor for endless horizon

and going going far away

he separates the waters into two

with large furrows of silver

which move shining

and in shadow they embrace him

and through the vaulting valley

only by here and by there

the sun was still penetrating

here is shadow there is sun

on trembling waters

he on flourishing banks

sees stray flocks

in glades he sees the stags

passing the waves of grass

the horses graze near brooks

as the swans it is bending

their neck and their small head

at once they rise

and prick up their ears

while they behold the boat

he was flowing flowing ever

the wood sounds softly and heavily

when at once it makes day

the wood into two unties

and on circling waters

sparkles wonderful sun

and before him he sees a mountain

with its hoary crown

it built rock on rock

starting from the deep valley

and carrying with it forests

over the grey clouds

it rises in serenity

crown full of snow

and toward bank it straightens again

the little light boat

and Mushatin gets down

the path of mountain takes

up to peaks to go

till the night reaches him

in that impenetrable wood

but with night on him he starts

mounts ever bravely

only the summit he will climb up

while it will be downing

on the heighten summit

he reaches at once

and making his eyes wheel

he looks at the whole world

he sees the heaven of the saint

and the face of the earth

that far away planes hold

which one can not measure by eyes

where the saint sun

as if goes out from earth

there is the distant horizon

the great Dnister shows to him

from the Tartar countries

and farther flows in the see

at lagoon like a necklace

it strings the Whit Fort Cetatea Alba

and on the face of smooth sea

pass the full ships

pass far from land

the sails filled with wind

and looking to the South

the Danube he saw

in an arch turned to sea

and on seven mouths flowing

from the Dnister up to here

proud country was holding

he sees plains smoking

wonderful hills greening

he sees woods how they get down

hill by hill ladder by ladder

scattering on the plain

where the rivers come out

and on peaks of forests

monasteries with fortifications

he sees towns sees villages

on the field strewn

he sees wondrous strongholds

dominating deserts

he sees the flocks of sheeps

with shepherds after them

with flutes and bagpipe

and the herds of horses

were passing the fields

and spread themselves to the wind

like the shadow of the earth

and in the length of rivers

spread to the deserts

and the youngish falcon

over him is flying

and from mouth was saying

long live your Majesty

so much world so much horizon

from the Dnister to the sea

make once your eyes wheel

that this is the whole Moldavie

Dragosh King the Old

on Moldavie is master

and reigning with all glory

stays on throne at Suceava

at the praised Suceava

with walls surrounded

wall of stone high and thick

that on it five people walk

and have place with surplus

that go three on horses beside

and still have place in parts

wondrous horses to play them

now by there now by here

and from black trunks of rock

over the deep valley

over the stronghold

churches and palaces

stays kingly city

which with its crests mounts

huffed toward clouds

over sounding woods

with its walls with its vaults

and with towers at corners

heavy walls and with crests

how they were and how there aren’t

among the heavy arches

among the black bars

only the sun penetrates

between darken parlors

in walls of empty stone

they thrust torches of pitch

smoking with red flames

light the dark

pillars of stone heavy and grey

where fittings hang

showing their rust

under the torch of resin

shields fitted sleeves

wonderful helmets polished

and breast-plates masks

and bows for hunt

and in the back of straight hall

it rises on seven steps

the throne of Christian King

covered by a baldachin

and in the golden chair

stays Dragosh greish

white hair up to girdle

with black stormy eyes

the crown of red gold

shining beautifully on forehead

over the hoary plaits

on his mantle’s folds

golden flowers are sewn

and with white face

and with scepter in right hand

his proud eyes make straight

and at the feet of throne

are strung on the carpets

wooden chairs shaped on lathe

curved with skill

here six there six

for chosen nobilities

at his throne ladders

stays in two sides boyars

arranged after their ranks

that for orders to wait

the vornic-minister of Low Country

was staying in a bright chair

and old soft man

with his blue staff

which is with gold knitted

with stones covered

and from this higher on

the vornic of Up Country

stays with plaits snow-white

the chief magistrate of Chilia

and with his white eyelashes

chief magistrate of White City Cetatea Alba

after these also come

the chief magistrate of Hotin

that from Neamts and that from Vrancea

leaned stayed on spear

but all were outstripped in glory

by the chief magistrate of Suceava

an so all around

stays in furs of sable

with vests of the same kind

and with sleeves of steel

Dragosh King the Old

on Moldavie is master

in Suceava in the City

he has gathered Justice

Version by George Anca

Nota traducătorului. Versiunea prezentă face parte din contextul profesoratului meu mai vechi la Universitatea Delhi, India, putând fi utilizabilă în diferite universităţi din lume unde se predă Eminescu, eventual trimiţâmd şi la lumea lui Kalidasa ori a lui Tolkien. Constructul publicat de Petru Creţia, afin viziunilor lui Călinescu sau Perpessicius, nu ştim să se mai fi tradus, iar circularea originalului s-ar putea bucura de comentarii eminescologice proaspete, inclusiv pe tema lumii integrale sau Moldova toată. G.A.