Poezii
Romanian Voice
Nicolae Sirius
Death of Europe

Hissing snakes withdrew into underground forests:
Europe was a game
A cross
We carried in our scales.

Some speculate
That Europe is not dead
It still trades
And has recently raised
The price of uranium.
Its warships increase
In sophistication, and an angel
>From across the seas
Watches over her
As over an innocent, still unspoilt child.

Long ago
Someone said that Europe was a bloodbath
And even the stars,
Gazing at her tremulously,
Burn off
And grind into metal-gray dust.

Cannon-eyed metal wreaths rose
In her place.
As dargsmen, what would you know?
You have learned
To kiss and fondle the silicon.

I was told
Europe was a princess
And she became enamoured
Of a golden calf
She had met at a ball
(Just as a wave clings
To an oar)
And she wore her bridal gown
Hemmed about the restiveness of planets.

And everyone came to woo her
Offering her giant mother-of-pearls
Which later opened up
Like coffins.

She was sad, as if permeated
By the sorrow of autumn.

She was angry with Hitler, who wanted
To kidnap and conceal her under a rock
Of aversion.

She was Othello's disconsolate
Spouse; but one stormy night
She met a man who was to tell
All her misfortunes:
"Look, your gown is undone,
I think you're courting great danger;
Listen, don't try to make out
You're still a virginal bride;
Stop overacting - after all,
You're not a harlot
But a woman of prodigious elegance;
For you kings went barmy;
For you they die every day.
Stop deflecting
Or you may lose the moon
From the chignon of your hair."

There was a time
When Brahms saw her too. And Brancusi;
He loved her speechlessly
Offering her a Table of Silence
And sculpting her body
Into the raptures of the Endless Column.


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