The Silver-Tusked Boar (S. A. Doinas) Poem by Paul Abucean

A prince from the East with a fondness for hunting
through forests of darkness was trudging his way.
While striving and toiling a pathway to render,
a flute he was playing and this he would say:

'Oh come, let us hunt in mysterious forests
the silver-tusked boar that is stalwart and sly;
in secretive hiding he daily reshuffles
his hoof and his fur and his glistening eye... '

'My Lord', said his servants, his yeomen and huntsmen,
'that boar is not known to have roamed around here.
So what we should chase are those flamy-furred foxes,
or frolicky rabbits, or fidgety deer...'

The prince did not listen, he just went on smiling
and gazing at colors, in constant advance.
He heeded no doedeer, he minded no stagdeer,
he never afforded the lynxes a glance.

He pushed off the weeds as he stood under beechtrees:
'Oh, look how he's whirling, in turbulent mood!
The silver-tusked boar is no doubt very near us!
Come on, let us smite him with arrows of wood! '

'My Lord, 'tis the water, reflecting the light rays',
his cunning retainer was quick to remark.
'Enough! ', he retorted, beholding the water
that gleamed like the tusk of a boar in the dark.

He goaded the men as he stood under elmtrees:
'Oh, look how he burrows, himself to conceal!
The silver-tusked boar, how he's huffing and puffing!
Come on, let us smite him with arrows of steel! '

'My Lord, it is only the rustle of grasses',
replied the retainer, increasingly stark.
'Enough! ', he retorted, beholding the grasses
that gleamed like the tusk of a boar in the dark.

He further emboldened the men under firtrees:
'Oh, look where he seeks to escape and retire,
the silver-tusked boar of the legends and stories!
Come on, let us smite him with arrows of fire! '

'My Lord, it is merely the shimmering moonlight',
the sneering retainer did scornfully bark.
'Enough! ', he retorted, beholding the moonlight
that gleamed like the tusk of a boar in the dark.

But woe! at the spring, as his thirst he was quenching,
as over the water he leaned in the dusk,
a boar most enormous sprang up out of nowhere
and savagely gored him with murderous tusk.

'What beast so ferocious is bleeding my bosom,
aborting the hunt of my coveted boar?
What ominous fowl on the moon is now weeping?
What leaf is upon me, all withered and sore? '

'My Lord', said his servant, 'Your Lordship fell prey to
the silver-tusked boar that Your Lordship pursued.
The hounds are still barking and trying to get him...'
'Enough! ', he retorted, forlorn and subdued.

'I wish that you blew toward heaven your horn now,
till heaven receives me in it on that tune...'
Beyond the horizon, the pale moon was sinking.
The hunting horn sounded, then quieted soon.


Stefan Augustin Doinas (1945) (Translated by Paul Abucean)