Romania, (1922-2002)
The Silver-fanged Boar
- A prince of the East, with good hunting in love,
- through dark heart of forest was threading his way.
- Although through the thickets ’twas painful to move
- he played on his bone flute and his men he’d pray:
- “Come over, to hunt, in the forests untrodden,
- the wild boar with silvery fangs, deadly fierce,
- its hoof, fur and vitreous eyes, apt to pierce.”
- “Dear Lord,” said his servants and buglemen tame,
- “that wild boar does never to this place repair.
- Let’s rather bring this way the rich-antlered game,
- or reddish-furred fox, or some little field hare…”
- His highness, however, passed on with a smile
- and looked through the trees with an eye for the hues,
- while sparing the sleep of the doe without guile
- and lynxes whose eyes always sparkle with ruse.
- ‘mong hornbeams he trod evil weeds to the ground:
- “Behold! Signs are made in our close neighbourhood!
- The silver boar’s calling, while prowling around.
- Come over, let’s hit him with arrows of wood!”
- “But Lord, it’s just water at play under trees.”
- a beater protested, his shrewd glance a bore.
- Yet turning, his highness replied just “Hush please!…”
- And water kept sparkling like fangs of a boar.
- ‘mong elms he would urge on his scattering train;
- “Just look how the silver-fanged boar, lonley scion,
- is snorting and routing the grass in the plain!
- Come over let’s hit him with arrows of iron!”
- “But Lord, it’s just grass which is rustling ‘mong trees,”
- the servant put in with a smile — bold and raw.
- The prince would insist, though, and answer “Hush please!”
- The grass was now sparkling like fangs of a boar,
- ‘mong fir-trees he urged them to climb to the crest:
- “Just look at the fairy-tale boar and admire
- the silver-fanged being’s abode, haunt and nest!”
- “But Lord, it’s the moon that is beaming through trees,”
- the underling laughed and despised him e’en more.
- Yet, turning, his highness replied just “Hush please!”
- The moon was now sparkling like fangs of a boar.
- But woe! As pale luminaries of the vault
- watched over the prince, on him pounced at a thrust
- a huge boar whose fangs, in a savage assault,
- soon dragged the prince down through the reddish-brown dust.
- “What could be the strange beast that stains me with gore,
- thus stopping the chase for my silver-fanged boar?
- What bird in the moon can be weeping so sore?
- What sere leaf keeps flapping at me ever more?”
- “Oh Lord! It’s the silvery boar’s fangs which glisten!
- It’s he that has caught you and grunts under trees.
- You’ll hear now the hounds have at him, if you listen!”
- Yet turning, his highness replied just “Hush please!
- But pick up your horn and with never a stop,
- Sound up to the clear sky until I’ve died, blow!”
- ’twas then that the moon set behind a hill top.
- Indeed the horn blew, but soon ceased sounding, though.
© estate of Stefan Augustin Doinas.
Translation by Andrei Bantas.
Translation by Andrei Bantas.
About the Poet
Stefan Augustin Doinas (1922-2002). Romanian poet, wrote in the neoclassical style. Doinas produced 23 books of poetry as well as children’s books, essay collections and a novel during a career that spanned decades. His first poetry collection, The Book of Tides, was published in 1964. He also translated works by Goethe, Shakespeare and many others. [DES-6/09]