One Appropriated Tear

from A poet, like a soldier 

By Nichita Stănescu 

A poet, like a soldier
has no life of his own.
His own life is wrecks
and ruins.

With the forceps of his cerebrum he lifts
the emotions of ants
brings them closer and closer to his eye
until they and his eye become one.
....

 
During waves of heat
he fans himself with flocks of birds
he startles into flight.

None of you should believe a poet when he cries.

His tear is never his own.
He has wiped tears from things
and cries things’ tears.


~ Translated by Sean Cotter | Book