Maria Banuş

                                  
                      

A VENIT UN CLOWN

A intrat un bătrîn în arenă.
Circul - gol.
S-a uitat la trapeze,
la băncile goale,
la alămurile orchestrei.
A lăsat capul în jos.
S-a uitat la nisip.
A-ngenucheat.
L-a strecurat printre degete.
A privit cum grăunţele curg.
Aici era locul lui,
în arena cu miros de bălegar şi de cîini,
de pomadă, de sălbăticiune.
Aici cînta pentru el privighetoarea.
Cortul era o noapte de vară-nstelată.
Aici copiii rîdeau şi mîncau covrigi.
Rîdeau cînd el deschidea ochii mari
pe un chip văruit,
cînd era trist că nu-nţelege
de ce turnul de scaune, frumos înălţat,
se prăbuşeşte, de ce mingea sare-napoi
şi-l loveşte în cap,
de ce el e el şi tu eşti tu,
de ce ştie tot şi nu-nţelege nimic,
şi copiii se amuzau grozav.
Dar asta fusese de mult.

Acum e bătrîn.
Şi viaţa s-a scurs, pe neobservate,
în timp ce el făcea figuraţie dincolo,
în Teatrul Cel Mare.



A CLOWN HAS COME

An old man got inside the arena.
The circus - empty.
He looked at the trapezes,
at the empty banks,
at the brasses of the orchestra.
Dropped his head.
Looked at the sand.
Knelt down.
Slipped it through his fingers.
Watched the grains flowing.
Here was his place,
in the arena smelling of dung and dogs,
of pomace, of beasts.
Here the nightingale sang for him.
The tent was a starry night of summer.
Here the children were laughing and eating pretzels.
They laughed when he opened large eyes
on a whitewashed face,
when he was sad because he didn't understand
why the tower of chairs, well rised,
crumbles, the ball jumps back
and strikes him in head,
why he is him and you are you,
why he knows everything but understands nothing,
and the kids terribly were amusing.
But that was long ago.

Now he is old.
And life has passed, unnoticed,
while he made figuration there,
in the Great Thearte.