When The Icy North Wind With The Winter... Poem by Peter Mamara

By M.Eminescu (1850-1889)

When the icy north wind comes with blizzards behind it,
And it sweeps wide stretching plains with its wing,
When whole fields of shining silver falls on the countryside,
Winds stir with their wings, clouds drizzle snow.

At that time, I like to sit on a chair facing the fireplace,
So I could hear the dogs yelp and bark beneath the fences.
And I tone down the red-hot coal, breaking it up with fire tongs.
And I concoct fine tales, poetic tales…

Maidens shall sit on the floor, on a widely spread mat.
They shall comb the wool by hand, and tell jokes.
And rapt in thought, I shall stop to think about people.
And I shall take note with my mind, and drift on the road of tales.

I shall hear the clock, which chimes like a sleepy cricket.
And warm fire shall pass through my relaxed veins.
I shall often hear burning kisses, and how yellow roses hiss.
Inside, the short and split twigs, which placed on the fire,
These shall fall apart like the words of an old woman.

Then the fire brings to light the finest account.
From it I hear how I want.
And I shall mingle more with it's bursting sound.
This great blend shall gauge my thought.
And shall again run it through, how my thought wanted it.

So, my thought has put a thousand pearls on a thread
In a straight and shiny line that has no end.
And I fall asleep while I have those thoughts.
And this soft, amazing hum chases after me in my sleep.

I hear a clock through their sounding cord.
It rings sadly, like an old and hoarse cricket.
Then my mother's plea stops all this.
She puts an end to my glitzy thoughts.

I emerge at her place. The night stretches its darkness.
I harvest kind dreams from her dear head.
My love for her, gently relaxes its tired wings.
I look in her eye for true motherly kisses.

She shuts her eye with a smile. Her long and moist eyelashes,
And her voice with gentle vibration is a song.
She places my head on her white, smooth and round bosoms.
I fall asleep. She smiles. And she stands guard at my head.

II

But all those fair tales follow me in my sleep.
They join, tie together, fight, and melt away.
With black hair plaits, with sweet and cherished faces,
The young lasses from a tale have their eyes with sweet rays.
And many a Prince Charming with ponytail hair and stunning attires,
With brown eyes tall and proud, like beech trees,
They meet in my dream to get married.
They have weddings that last a full four days and four nights.

Then I imagine that wonderful Ileana Cosanzeana
With blue eyes, like the stars, and blonde hair, like the corn ear,
She grows fond of me, and weightless as the air
She sits on my lap and she grabs my neck. She caresses my hair.
I straighten with my hand her arched eyebrows.
She slowly shuts her eye. And in her dream she smiles.
Her eye is full of tears that she isn't aware of.
With her lips barely open, she tells me amusing jokes.

I image that it's summer; and the night is mild and brown;
And that waters sob in silence' and crop fields move up and down;
And that the clouds split, because of tonight's moon,
And that the heavenly stars, shake off, and they fall as snow.
And that we walk hand in hand through crop-fields with flowers,
And that I pick nice wild flowers for my girlfriend,
— And that she smiles at my sweet gift.
Again, my heart swelled and my soul giggled.

And the Moon, she is an angel coming through a cloud.
She gently keeps an eye on the humankind.
Sleep brings to people its hard stuff.
And water-waves veil the rivers with rays.
The trees are shaking on a rocky summit.
The light spreads on a shining sheet.
Next to a tree trunk, I dream of her while I'm awake.
In large orchards, apple trees are full of flowers.

She comes. How sweet she drops at my chest.
And she twists her tiny hand in my long hair.
And she gently puffs on my head and on my eye and ear
— Her pure, fresh and moist lungful of air.
And then she presses on my chest her stunned face.
And tears of love moisten her eyes.
And drunk with love, I touch her and I kiss her on her arm
— On her mouth, on her eyes and on her white neck.

And a thousand kisses awake in her a thousand dreams.
And her worried head, bends like a lily.
In her clear eyes, beneath her shut eyelids,
It is a world of dreams, a world of clear sky.
She speaks non-stop. And her sweet smiles
Blend with tears, and her mouth sighs.
She dreams while she is awake. And when she wakes up from sleep,
She seeks me with her lips. And she has a glimmer in her eyes.

In my dream, the sky is ablaze and the sun burns.
On the lake, the boat is pushed by the moving waves.
And the taken aback waves are colourless and abnormal,
And reflect in them the shores, grow dim, and then vanish.
I sit in the boat and listen to my heartbeats,
Since like a swallow, I run back to her, where she sits.
The strange, gently smiles on the world at rest.
On the shores, even the leaves on the trees do not move.

(1872)

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