Mortua Est by Mihai Eminescu

October 8, 2014 Death Awareness

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Mortua est!
 by Mihai Eminescu
(1850-1889)

-Romanian Version-

“Făclie de veghe pe umezi morminte,
Un sunet de clopot în orele sfinte,
Un vis ce îşi moaie aripa-n amar,
Astfel ai trecut de al lumii hotar.

Trecut-ai când ceru-i câmpie senină,
Cu râuri de lapte şi flori de lumină,
Când norii cei negri par sombre palate,
De luna regină pe rând vizitate.

Te văd ca o umbră de-argint strălucită,
Cu-aripi ridicate la ceruri pornită,
Suind, palid suflet, a norilor schele,
Prin ploaie de raze, ninsoare de stele.

O rază te-nalţă, un cântec te duce,
Cu braţele albe pe piept puse cruce,
Când torsul s-aude l-al vrăjilor caier
Argint e pe ape şi aur în aer.

Văd sufletu-ţi candid prin spaţiu cum trece;
Privesc apoi lutul rămas… alb şi rece,
Cu haina lui lungă culcat în sicriu,
Privesc la surâsu-ţi rămas încă viu -

Şi-ntreb al meu suflet rănit de-ndoială,
De ce-ai murit, înger cu faţa cea pală?
Au nu ai fost jună, n-ai fost tu frumoasă?
Te-ai dus spre a stinge o stea radioasă?

Dar poate acolo să fie castele
Cu arcuri de aur zidite din stele,
Cu râuri de foc şi cu poduri de-argint,
Cu ţărmuri de smirnă, cu flori care cânt;

Să treci tu prin ele, o sfântă regină,
Cu păr lung de raze, cu ochi de lumină,
În haină albastră stropită cu aur,
Pe fruntea ta pală cunună de laur.

O, moartea e-un chaos, o mare de stele,
Când viaţa-i o baltă de vise rebele;
O, moartea-i un secol cu sori înflorit,
Când viaţa-i un basmu pustiu şi urât. -

Dar poate… o! capu-mi pustiu cu furtune,
Gândirile-mi rele sugrum’ cele bune…
Când sorii se sting şi când stelele pică,
Îmi vine a crede că toate-s nimică.

Se poate ca bolta de sus să se spargă,
Să cadă nimicul cu noaptea lui largă,
Să văd cerul negru că lumile-şi cerne
Ca prăzi trecătoare a morţii eterne…

Ş-atunci de-a fi astfel… atunci în vecie
Suflarea ta caldă ea n-o să învie,
Atunci graiu-ţi dulce în veci este mut…
Atunci acest înger n-a fost decât lut.

Şi totuşi, ţărână frumoasă şi moartă,
De racla ta razim eu harfa mea spartă
Şi moartea ta n-o plâng, ci mai fericesc
O rază fugită din chaos lumesc.

Ş-apoi… cine ştie de este mai bine
A fi sau a nu fi… dar ştie oricine
Că ceea ce nu e, nu simte dureri,
Şi multe dureri-s, puţine plăceri.

A fi? Nebunie şi tristă şi goală;
Urechea te minte şi ochiul te-nşală;
Ce-un secol ne zice ceilalţi o deszic.
Decât un vis sarbăd, mai bine nimic.

Văd vise-ntrupate gonind după vise,
Pân’ dau în morminte ce-aşteaptă deschise,
Şi nu ştiu gândirea-mi în ce o să stâng:
Să râd ca nebunii? Să-i blestem? Să-i plâng?

La ce?… Oare totul nu e nebunie?
Au moartea ta, înger, de ce fu să fie?
Au e sens în lume? Tu chip zâmbitor,
Trăit-ai anume ca astfel să mori?

De e sens într-asta, e-ntors şi ateu,
Pe palida-ţi frunte nu-i scris Dumnezeu.”

-English Version-

“Two candles, tall sentry, beside an earth mound,
A dream with wings broken that trail to the ground,
Loud flung from the belfry calamitous chime…
‘Tis thus that you passed o’er the boundaries of time.

Gone by are the hours when the heavens entire
Flowed rivers of milk and grew flowers of fire,
When the thunderous clouds were but castles erect
Which the moon like a queen each in turn did inspect.

I see you a shadow bright silver transcending,
With wings high uplifted to heaven ascending,
I see you slow climbing through the sky’s scaffold bars
Midst a tempest of light and a snowstorm of stars;

While the witches the sound of their spinning prolong,
Exalted in sunshine, swept up by a song,
O’er your breast like a saint you white arms crossed in prayer,
And gold on the water, and silver in the air.

I see your soul’s parting, its flight I behold;
Then glaze at the clay that remains … mute and cold,
At the winding-sheet clung to the coffin’s rude sill,
At your smile sweet and candid, that seems alive still.

And I ask times unending my soul torn with doubt,
O why, pallid angel, your light has gone out,
For were you not blameless and wonderfully fair?
Have you gone to rekindle a star in despair?

I fancy on high there are wings without name,
Broad rivers of fire spanned by bridges of flame,
Strange castles that spires till the zenith up fling,
With stairways of incense and flowers that sing.

And you wonder among them, a worshipful queen,
With hair of bright starlight and eyes vespertine,
In a tunic of turquoise bespattered with gold,
While a wreath of green laurels does your forehead enfold.

O, death is a chaos, an ocean of stars gleaming,
While life is a quagmire of doubts and of dreaming,
Oh, death is an aeon of sun-blazoned spheres,
While life but a legend of wailing and tears.

Trough my head beats a whirlwind, a clamorous wrangle
Of thoughts and of dreams that despair does entangle;
For when suns are extinguished and meteors fail
The whole universe seems to mean nothing at all.

Maybe that one day the arched heavens will sunder,
And down through their break all the emptiness thunder,
Void’s night o’er the earth its vast nothing extending,
The loot of an instant of death without ending.

If so, then forever your flame did succumb,
And forever your voice from today will be dumb.
If so, then hereafter can bring no rebirth.
If so, then this angel was nothing but earth.

And thus, lovely soil that breath has departed,
I stand by your coffin alone broken-hearted;
And yet I don’t weep, rather praise for its fleeing
Your ray softly crept from this chaos of being.

For who shall declare which is ill and which well,
Is he, or he isn’t? Can anyone tell?
For he who is not, even grief can’t destroy,
And oft is the grieving, and seldom the joy.

To exist! O, what nonsense, what foolish conceit;
Our eyes but deceive us, our ears but cheat,
What this age discovers, the next will deny,
For better just nothing than naught a lie.

I see dreams in men’s clothing that after dreams chase,
But that tumble in tombs ere the end of the race,
And I search in may soul how this horror to fly,
To laugh like a madman? To curse? Or to cry?

O, what is the meaning? What sense does agree?
The end of such beauty, had that what to be?
Sweet seraph of clay where still lingers life’s smile,
Just in order to die did you live for a while?

O, tell me the meaning. This angel or clod?
I find on her forehead no witness of God.”

Disclaimer: Use of the information and data is to bring awareness of death and dying.
Spirare does not own the information or profit from its use.
Source: Mihai Eminescu Translated by: Corneliu M. Popescu Photo: 123(RF)

Words of Inspiration

"The true task of spiritual life is not found in faraway places or unusual states of consciousness; it is here in the present. It asks of us a welcoming spirit to greet all that life presents to us with a wise, respectful and kindly heart."
Jack Kornfield
“They say that a part of you dies when a special Loved One passes away...I disagree...I say a part of you lives with your Loved One on the other side.”
Daniel Yanez

Death Awareness

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“The fear of death comes from limited awareness.”   Deepak Chopra

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