The Books Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Shakespeare you, my spirit's kind acquaintance,
At times I think of you with sadness.
The full source of your sonnets jumps into my mind.
And I repeat them all the time.
You are so cruel and yet so calm.
Today is a storm, and your voice it's mild.
Like God, with thousand faces you come to light.
And you teach, what a century cannot teach.

If I had lived when you were in this world, long ago,
Could I have loved you, how much I love you now?
Since all I feel, be it good or bad,
—It is enough that I feel— Again to you I thank, oh bard.
You opened my eyes to see the light.
You thought me how I could tell people apart.
Making a blunder with you, I love my blunder.
Creating with you is a total pleasure.

With you, yes… since I have three sources
From where, I draw all my inspirations:
With your sweet, gentle and clear smiles,
The world's dreams: I bundle them like flowers.
I have one more, wise guy…
I discuss with him again the problem of people's lot in life.
And then, I have exclusively for myself
Another maestro that keeps me alive…

But about him, oh, no much can be said.
He is meek, and as well he is quite distinguished.
Even if he's silent, if he sleeps, or if he tells me crazy things,
To me, he seems still wise.
And I don't divulge him to anyone.
He too doesn't want anyone to know him.
He only wants to fall asleep in my arms.
And he teaches me more than you do.
(1876)
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