by Geo Bogza
from the Romanian by Julian Semilian
crime in the Bustenari parish.
authorities are conducting an investigation.
Miss Mimy C.
Anton Bosilca, twenty one only
derrick-mechanic ambitions, grease-boy just now
thick lips, muscles forged in steel
a few sisters, one somewhat pretty, another somewhat
each with a soul rotten like apples fallen from the tree
another one cross-eyed,
Anton Bosilca, Sunday, 9th of June, current year,
the village hora ended
is it he took off for the woods by himself
never came back again
night full of scares
didn't find him till three days later, in an oil-derrick
head vanished into the black, his legs shooting out like
the sisters had to make him out from the shoes, yellow,
with sharp -
shrieks were knives stabbing the air
I saw them tumble down from the top of the hill like big
dear miss, they came a-tumbling down
gave them a hand
were squirming like worms on the ground
the people were saying the sisters with their
him so he never found out about them doing it
when he returned from working down at the derrick
to get the food ready and feed the chickens too
with the sisters busy with the guests and all
they slept with all at once by the bunch in their single
the broken down home at the edge of the forest
anton bosilca he made some virgin with child
spoke about the murdered boy's transgression
who knows the father of the big-belly virgin
for him with a gun in the woods
they never found out who did what
even when towards the end of the week
authorities show up kind of drunk
many hills to bustenari, so many taverns)
they dragged him out, spreading his black and rotted
it open with knives, his skull with a saw
doctor the brains quivered in his palms like glass beads)
found fourteen holes and where they nestled
to the liver
they sowed him back together
gave him to the sisters and said put him in the coffin.
the girls cried we got no coffin, we got no money to
make him one.
night, Veta, the prettiest
knows will stalk some drill-man
a wife far up in some mountain village
dragging him into the shadow of the crude reservoir
herself soft against his thighs
whisper to him
love is equal to the price of a coffin
one of my nights I made love with a servant girl
was unexpected - and almost against my will
was somewhere in a dirty provincial town
I was staying at my childhood friend's.
evening I was strolling the streets - and when I got back
servant girl was making the bed in my room
was a young servant girl and darkish
said everyone had left, gone to town for a stroll
walked in front of me innumerable times
coming apart that evening and had no taste for making
the servant girl was young
think she was older than sixteen
since she sat herself near the bed, like she was waiting
stepped up, smiled, and asked her what her name was.
told me some name, Maria I seem to recall
told her it's a beautiful name, and she mimicked shame,
think it was just before midnight
the open windows a jumbled murmur broke in from
there, were ballets, movie-theaters, splendid
it was just me and this servant girl
didn't say a thing, just closed her eyes.
was a short servant girl, dumpy almost
she reeked of sweat real bad
servant girl whom I made love to in a dirty provincial town
I was coming apart and your masters were gone
girl whom I've never seen since
girl, on your thighs two red stripes from the garters
girl with your belly stinking of onions and parsley
girl with your sex like an eggplant dish
writing this poem about you
the bourgeois girls will go hysterical
to scorn their upright parents
even though I slept with them innumerable times
don't wish to sing them
I piss on their powder cases
all the other accessories which constitute their beauty.
BOGZA, born in 1908 in Ploesti, petroleum center of Romania. Active
member of the Romanian avantgarde in the twenties and thirties.
Arrested for his "Poem Invective" book, on charges of usurping morality.
Travels to Spain in 1937 as war correspondent. After the war becomes
correspondent and then academician and state poet. It is the younger
Bogza we love.