Peter Mamara Poems

By M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

They ask me to sing... I'm supposed to polish
My deep sadness in rhyme and in cadence —
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by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

You reprimand us, priests, when we don't have your saints
— Even though we all are of the same kind as you…
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by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Yes. The old cyclone comes out of arched cliffs and fine gates of mountains.
He spurs his horses on broad shoulders of clouds with lightning flashes,
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by M. Eminescu(1850-1889)

Similar to how Constantinople's merchants everyday
At the market, put various merchandise on display,
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by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

I climbed down and I clinked glasses with the gods
— In Nordic Seas, throughout long and grey passages.
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by M.Eminescu(1850-1889)

Ideal you — lost in the night of a world that no longer is,
A world that had thought in tales, and spoke in verses—
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by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

My life's craft, heavy of thoughts,
Next to death's rock, broke into bits.
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by M.Eminescu(1850-1889)

While there was no death, nothing eternal or set,
The essence of light —the life source — wasn't there yet.
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by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

When at night with a sleepy eye I blow the candle,
The length of time's flow: only the clock can handle.
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by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

A sultan, one who reigns supreme over a certain tongue,
That with its grazing herds, moves its homeland under the sun…
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