Illusion
(ILUZIE)
Hey, animal name:
we become animals together-
the lawn we are
with running waters
crossing our parched bodies:
our boundless illusions
hey, my shadow
we become reality
that can prove nothing:
in the other shadow the impenetrable
has shown up: the presumed beginning
of the time when we keep wandering
it’s even more than the howl of the witching hour
heard when in blossom
the laburnum is
The Blessed Hell
(INFERNUL FERICE)
For many good yesterdays one writes the poem carried along on the stretcher
for many good yesterdays placards I’ve stuck on my heart
in the gray-white coloured dream the Revolution resounds
and with lighted candles in my hand I pass by
left-right-left to earn my daily bread:
the History of Insanity I teach
Mrs. Insulin practises plastic surgery
to the seasons inside an Individual
and looks into my heart (my very own heart)
as if into the Place Pigalle where she sees how the word women
keeps showing something to the word men and tries a call:
open me and the shape of a god will take your seed
the first fool or Fool I claims that
he’s been stuffed with moonlight to follow
the host of the imaginary blind filmed from the imaginary tower
on a nameless day by the person
at page 50
Fool II stolen within myself the one belonging to another life
writes in another language with the words’ non-existence
The Treaty on the Sanity in Hand
for many good todays I write the poem carried along on the stretcher
for many good todays I paint death on my heart
my name is Fire & how lovely the poem rests in flames
like an icon praying in the midnight
Remnants Of The Old Present Mythology
(FÃRÎME DIN MITOLOGIA VECHIULUI PREZENT)
Over my generation the same clouds full of utopias
snow down looking-glasses
the day breaks in our souls,
the queue where one sells the winter’s milk
makes the landscape longer just like the nails of a dead man:
good death, man!
on the snow outside the Consulate
my golden piss writes:
TZAR….RUSSIAN……SWINE…
and out of each word a policeman emerges:
in midwinter the baits with their tortures,
yesterday the memory commited suicide: good death, I said
J’aime beaucoup cette eglise-
said Martine with excitement
whenever we undressed the saints to make love to each other on their
garments,
the days kept walking before us
like some holy relics,
we gave them names and scored them on calendars:
black cross and red cross, guilty happiness
oh, God’s prelate being away
the ecclesiastical heads pulled down the church- I say in reply
to Martine the genuflections during the past twenty years
holy tiredness and holy burden
now stone upon stone I’m building: the silence I’m building,
will I be finishing the mount, my cell?
hidden now in the people’s sigh
I go on meditating upon the fir trees swifting along the street
The Sin’s Ashes
(CENUSA PÃCATULUI)
From this quiet the word love hanged itself
on monday on tuesday on wednesday on thursday on friday on saturday
but for all that on sunday, in the quiet’s noose
there was an angel found ….
dig deep in the sin ashes and stay there:
paint the shame on the vessel out of which
the Great Man drinks the drop
of life-giving water
‘the record means onanie’
psalmodizes
the Divine Conductor seized with orgasm
and orgasm is thinking
says the chandler for the tenth time
blinded by the dazzle of that divine hip
all shaking he was caressing that murderous hip
Saints And Bells Raining Down
(PLOAIE CU SFINTI SI CLOPOTE)
Cheer up, you, schizophrenia of my time-
big steaming bread you are
I keep walking through your steams
as if in a huge waiting-room
with lips of poverty I kiss you
and day by day I listen to my own barking
of dreadful apparition
Cheer up, wretched life when you wake me up-
the devil’s children have increased in number and they want to see
how the poems sell their bowels in the street
and then you’ll hear from them:
that churches in the air keep drifting
while raining down saints and bells
(Traduceri de Olimpia IACOB)
