A Levantine prince quite enamored with hunting,
some dark-hearted forest was travelling through
and making his path with great effort and grunting,
he said, while on bone-flute he merrily blew:
– Let’s hunt through these forests, untrodden and daunting,
the silver-fanged boar who’s ferocious and wild,
who changes his fur every day, as he’s molting,
and changes his hooves, and his glass eye reviled....
– Oh, master, the servants with trumpets would say,
that bloodthirsty boar does not travel through here.
It’s better to chase down the antlers to slay,
or red colored foxes, or hares that are near....
But smiling and certain the prince passed ahead
and carefully gazing at trees and their hues,
he left in his lair the young deer full of dread,
and the sparkly eyed lynx who’ll smile for a ruse.
Through beech woods he’d trample old weeds to the ground:
– Just look how he turns! We have closed in for good
on this silver-fanged boar, not too far, hear his sound:
come over, let’s hit him with arrows of wood!...
– My lord, it’s the stream through the woods, tall and lush,
the smart servant said, as he laughed with a roar.
But the prince turned around and replied only: – Hush...
And the water did shine like the fang of a boar.
Under elm trees he’d hasten his scattered old train:
– You see how he’s puffing alone and unreal,
the silver-fanged boar over meadow and plain:
come over, let’s hit him with arrows of steel!
– My lord, it’s the grass that with boots we would brush,
the bold-looking servant would say like before.
But the prince turned around to reply only: – Hush...
And the glistening grass seemed like fangs of a boar.
Under firs, he would cry pushing them to the peak:
– You see where he’s finding his lair and his shire,
the boar from old tales, of whom old people speak:
– come over, let’s hit him with arrows of fire!…
– My lord, it’s the moonlight which night fears can’t quash,
the servant said laughing, despising and sore.
But turning around the prince only said: – Hush...
And the moonlight shone bright, like the fangs of a boar.
Alas! under rays of the pale stars at dusk,
as he crouched for a drink, his knees slowly sagged,
there charged a huge boar with his piercing sharp tusk
and the prince through the red dust he savagely dragged.
– What strange looking beast so bloodthirsty and vicious,
is stopping the hunt for my silver-fanged boar?
What black bird is crying in moonlight so listless?What
wilted old leaf shakes my soul to its core?...
– My master, that boar with the fangs as of silver,
that same had you pierced, and with blood you’re awash.
The dogs chase it now - can’t you hear? by the river... But
turning, the prince whispered quietly: – Hush.
You take the old horn, and just blow without pause
to sound till I’m dead, to the sky clear and prime…
Right then from the ridges a big moon arose,
and the horn made its sound for a very short time.
(Din volumul Testament - 400 Years of Romanian Poetry - 400 de ani de poezie românească - Daniel Ionitță, asistat de Daniel Reynaud, Adriana Paul și Eva Foster - Editura Minerva 2019)
Translator: Daniel Ionita
see more poems written by: Ştefan Augustin Doinaş
