This is a VERY loose translation of a Romanian Poem, "Song of Shame". The original writer, Ion Barbu, is one of Romania's greatest poets, but unknown out of his native country. Since so much of his poetry relies on Aural Shock, it's impossible to translate the poetry literally and keep any sense of the original. I chose to translate the sense, despite this meaning translating the poem with plenty of anachronisms. The poem is even more vicious and mocking in the original, I assure you all. Hopefully, I will get some more translated Romanian poetry onto E2, as this seems to be a relatively uncharted water, here or anywhere else on the internet.
If you're Romanian and you think the original is much, much better, I agree with you. BTW, the translation is significantly different from the original. The work is long out of copyright, may the author rest in peace.
A Turkish Gypsy on The Bridge
Is Cursing People on the Ridge
He howls and screams and bangs his head
(So many demons want him dead)
He sings and limps, is hoarse and lame
And sings his song, (he says) of shame
HEE... Miul Biul Gee!
Miul biure doldu
Hanananama Mu!
Today the mayor has some luck
The government just killed a shmuck
Short and Fat and Mean and Shrewish
A Little Greek a Little Jewish
Officially she had three cats
but secretly was raising rats
pressed bitter herbs into little pills
she said would cure old people's ills
The wrinkled ugly sticking sots
would down elixir from her pots
Till things in her potions, twisted and weird
Would get caught up in an old man's beard
She came here from the Turkish lands
to rip me off of the work of my hands
She fed me leaves from haunted trees
to cure me of my old disease!
Hee! Miul Biul Gee!
Miul Biure Doldu!
Hanananama Mu!
At Zornur, in Ikdar Enghe,
There you lived, you Pezevenghe!
Lord did you put on an air!
ribbons in your rotting hair
You really overdid yourself
Laying down with sprite and elf
With three other twisted witches
Mumbling sweet words, you bitches,
Sweetening up the judge himself!
Did you teach everyone to screw?
And laugh and whore and drink and brew
your failed cures and painted face
And curse the town, and curse this place?
Huu..miul biul guu!
Miul Biure Doldu!
Hanananama Mu!
At Zornur in Ikdar Enghe
The old throat of that Pezevenghe
sits and dries upon a stick
A thick old stick just like a brick
The fake old witch's throat's been cut
And that's what you deserve, you slut!
It's stagnant water and it stings
It burns my lesions and it sings
As if the water's been possessed.
Possessed it is, it isn't blessed!
Dumb fools, whoever hears these tones
will feel its shrieking rot their bones
Sounding like a long, wet horn
that makes you wish you weren't born
Whoever listens to shrieks like these
is doomed to die of a bad disease.
And now my dreams don't let me sleep
I dream of spots of blood that weep
and of a pale wretched smile
That beats your soul with sticks a while...
As of tonight the witch is dead!
So why am I still filled with dread?
And her three calves with coffee hair
look at them, they're grazing there
Three wicked sisters with no soul
Skin like coffee and a heart of coal
Did she curse me first? What do I do
With a dead whore's curse, oh, pshii-mu?
I hope her grave is buried deep
So her cursed old soul will let me sleep!
Huu! ...miul biul giu!
Miul Biure Doldu!
Hanananama Mu!