Corydon

Find below (both in original and personal translation) a Romanian poem originally titled "Corydon"ⁱ by a somewhat obscure Romanian author (one Radu Stanca). I made the English version rather Scottish deliberately and, in my view, quite deservedly.

Sunt cel mai frumos din orasul acesta,
Pe strazile pline cand ies n-am pereche,
Atat de gratios port inelu-n ureche
Si-atat de-nflorite cravata si vesta.
Sunt cel mai frumos din orasul acesta.

Nascut din incestul luminii cu-amurgul,
Privirile mele dezmiarda genunea,
De mine vorbeste-n oras toata lumea,
De mine se teme in taina tot burgul.
Sunt Printul penumbrelor, eu sunt amurgul...

Nu-i chip sa ma scap de priviri patimase,
Prin parul meu vanat, subtiri trec ca ata,
Si toti ma intreaba: sunt moartea, sunt viata ?
De ce-am ciorapi verzi, pentru ce fes de pase ?
Si nu-i chip sa scap nici pe strazi marginase...

Panglici, cordelute, nimicuri m-acopar,
Cand calc, parca trec pe pamant de pe-un soclu.
Un ochi (pe cel roz) il ascund sub monoclu
Si-ntregul picior cand pasesc il descopar,
Dar iute-l acopar, ca iar sa-l descopar...

Celalalt ochi (cel galben) il las sa s-amuze
Privind cum se tin toti ca scaiul de mine.
Ha ! Ha ! Dac-ati sti cat va sade de bine
Sarind, topaind dupa negrele-mi buze.
Cellalt ochi s-amuza si-l las sa s-amuze

C-un tainic creion imi sporesc frumusetea,
Fac baie in cidru de trei ori pe noapte
Si-n loc de scuipat am ceva ca un lapte,
Pantofi cu bareta-mi ajuta zveltetea
Si-un drog scos din sange de scroafa, nobletea.

Toti dintii din gura pudrati mi-s cu aur,
Mijlocul mi-e supt in coreset sub camase,
Fumez numai pipe de opiu uriase,
Pe bratul meu drept tatuat-am un taur
Si fruntea mi-e-ncinsa cu frunze de laur.

Prin lungile, tainice, unghii vopsite,
Umbrela cu cap de pisica ranjeste
Si nu stiu de ce, cand plimbarea-mi prieste,
Cand sunt multumit c-am starnit noi ispite,
Din mine ies limbi si naparci otravite.

Din mine cresc crengi ca pe pomi, matasoase,
Si insasi natura atotstiutoare
Ea insasi nu stie ce sunt: om sau floare ?
Sau numai un turn ratacit printre case,
Un turn de pe care cad pietre pretioase ?

Sunt cel mai frumos din orasul acesta,
Pe strazile pline cand ies n-am pereche,
Atat de gratios port inelu-n ureche
Si-atat de-nflorite cravata si vesta.
Sunt cel mai frumos din orasul acesta.

And now in English :

I am the most beautiful one in this town,
My equal's not seen in the populous street
So graceful, the ring in my nose, and so neat
So flowery sweet and azure, both breches 'an gown
I am the most beautiful one in this town!

Born as I were, of light's light incest at dusk
My gaze carresses carelessly th'abyss
While every soul, dreaming the bliss of my kiss
Behind leaves its body, forgotten old husk
I am the Prince of penumbra, the essence of musk

There's no way to miss the countless eyes inflamed
Through my purple hair they pass, thinner than ice
And as they wonder they look twice, then thrice.
Why the green socks, and why my hat's thusly maimed
On sidest street still I am met with multitudes untamed.

From under a bundle all cockades a' ribbons
My foot falls on earth as if coming off marbleⁱⁱ
One eye (that is pink) hidden by lenses that garble
My step shews the elegant gait of the gibbons
While well aired hips help the spreading of sibbens

T'other eye (that is jaundy) I permit to amuse
It's a sight, to see a whole world, like a thistle
Ensared on my wool. World of dogs chasing a whistle
Jumping an' jaunting an' fighting to figure who's whose
The eye that amuses I permit to amuse.

Mysterious crayons so contour my beauty
Three times every night I stop-bathe it in cider
My spit is akin to the juice of a spider
The shoes I wear are most complicated, and fruity,
While my morgue is well drawn in pale tinctures of duty.

All teeth I still carry are dusted in sable
My viscerae caught in a strangulation most august
I smoke only pipe, full of opium, humongous
Each part of my body is described on a label
Upon high brow lies a neat bunch of net cable

Through lengthy, mysteriously hued thicket of nails
Th'umbrella with grinning cat's head can be spied
And who knows why, when my walk swells my bosom with pride
With the enjoyment of inventing new passions, new scales
Out spurt of me slithering serpent, and railroad rails.

Of me grow tree branches consistent with silk,
And very nature, herself omniscient
Yet can't quite say if deficient's sufficient
Or merely something of towery ilk,
A wound seeping forth amethists, garnets and milk.

I am the most beautiful one in this town,
My equal's not seen in the populous street
So graceful, the ring in my nose, and so neat
So flowery sweet and azure, both breches 'an gown
I am the most beautiful one in this town!

Ta-da!

1. Somewhat ineptly, considering the name's a placeholder for Greek bucolic works, whereas the subject, context and style most definitely urban in such a way as to preclude the relation. [↩]
2. I defy you, find much more poetry rhyming marble, and ribbons. Shit language is shit language, wut. [↩]