Let's pretend, Tindersticks. ~ La multi ani!

 

another day

       "I asked you why you
         were here; your answer was your beauty"
         (Frank Bidart)

all illusions are down

and cannot be reversed 

once you know what you really want
here I am
wearing my fluffy rabbit pajama
there are twenty-two of them
eleven struggling bunnies 

on each leg
I counted them again
a few minutes ago
thinking of you
a song in my head: you do not own
a tambourine
you are a perfect man
I'm moving in circles
preoccupied with some minor poetry
that is:  writing messages
to myself
only to read them aloud later
for I am one of those
"great forgetters"
so loved by Appolinaire.
at the third hour of the night
my wounds
welcoming another day

it makes the moon appear larger

look at all those peaches

 

tablouri

pereții nu sunt decât ferestrele celor care-au plecat 

tablouri imaginare pentru visele de dinaintea ultimei bătăi ale inimii

ce-am lăsat în urmă și pe tine cui?

dumnezeu s-a convertit nu mai crede în noi 

întors înspre El însuși 

de-acum se respiră pe datorie 

păsările - mânjite în sângele apusului 

una singură a scăpat și nu va avea unde să se așeze 

când o vor durea cumplit 

aripile

Audio It may hurt

https://archive.org/details/it-may-hurt 

Transatlantic- Sylvia Plath, Oglinda

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/12/transatlantic-sylvia-plath-oglinda/ 

It may hurt

It may hurt

I whispered sightless in my mother's womb  

feeding on someone's air. breathing wavessounds 

blurry eyes shining in the dark

and it did. it did hurt so badly.

freedom – a terminal illness 

a guardian to put us in chains 

a word – spring – to replace the others for the remaining years

stitched together 

absences. no one to learn the multiplication table 

of your soul

death wait for me. you'll be there – lonely and vast – 

in my last dream 

you've told me there is no symmetry 

and you are right 

for a heart can only be equal to itself 

blood – thicker then silence 

all I ever wanted

your arms – winter trees waiting for their leaves to come back 

from the unknown deserts

birds with no names. melodies on the go

I will wait here for a ship to come in 

my eyes making day out of night 

you me and others like us – blind people 

hoping for their past lives to start

love don't come here 

here is everything you did not expect 

whispered poetry. so little courage 

oh dear words bring me some joy this morning – meant to remain 

a forever morning of dandelions 

and herbs

shhh do not tell him I love him so much 

do not tell him I cried all night

the mighty wind 

caught by surprise

Te trezesti

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/12/te-trezesti/ 

Transatlantic - Linda Pastan

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/12/transatlantic-linda-pastan-consolari/ 

La Punkt- Imagineaza-ti

 https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/12/imagineaza-ti/

peisaje interioare

smulge-te dintre minutele acestea

vezi bine ce greu se așteaptă

vezi bine că nu pentru tine au fost făcute

se va însera. jefuiește-te de lumină

oricum noaptea va înghiți în burta ei 

tremurândă 

izvoare pasări și peșteri. oamenii cu gurile 

mute

paharul ăsta își toarnă reflexia înapoi în sticlă

masca îmi dezvăluie adevăratul chip 

o umbră de demult tatuată pe frunte

pe-afară some ladies are singing songs 

about winter 

și-apoi nimic nou. se trăiește ca întotdeauna - 

de mâine pe azi

se licitează puternic. ridic mâna

urc prețul micuței speranțe până dă în ridicol

dar eu știu 

și-i pot spune:

pietrifică-te inimă înainte de vreme

cât soarele-i sus încă

LaPunkt- Transatlantic- Richard Jackson, Lamentatie

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/12/transatlantic-richard-jackson-lamentatie/

Mereu

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/12/mereu/ 

Amintiri din copilarie- cum am aflat cine e Mos Craciun, ancheta coordonata de Cristian Patrasconiu

http://www.revistaorizont.ro/arhiva/decembrie2020.pdf

La Punkt- Transatlantic: Anne Sexton

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/12/transatlantic-anne-sexton-bun-venit-dimineata/

LaPunkt- Inele din chihlimbar

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/12/inele-din-chihlimbar/

the falling girl

and what about that house
or that house or us?
I had to tell him those words
which could change the light
in any room
the past the future the song of the birds
bringing nothing but pain
after that I went into the kitchen
- that place where life keeps on boiling -
I made cream of wheat for the kids
ate some without thinking
all of a sudden I felt very dizzy
two woodpeckers of the same size
with their furry noses
hammering away
on my brain and my chest.
I had to find a place
for myself I came up to my room
and went on reading
the falling girl by dino buzzati
I have watched marta
not dying
but melting like wax
into this welcoming long-lasting earth

Transatlantic- Sharon Olds

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/11/transatlantic-sharon-olds-totul/ 

Nu e nimeni

 https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/11/nu-e-nimeni/

daca e sambata, Transatlantic

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/11/transatlantic-carolyn-forche-colonelul/ 

La Punkt strikes again :)

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/11/incerca-sa-ii-vorbeasca/

La Punkt -Transatlantic - Philip Schultz

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/11/transatlantic-philip-schultz-sotia-mea/ 

Audio - Undeva chiar acum apune soarele

https://archive.org/details/undeva-chiar-acum-apune-soarele 

usi

https://archive.org/details/usi.-ar

4 years without Mom. Miss you more than ever

 https://archive.org/details/how-about-words

Transatlantic first: James Tate, Zeul Iepurilor

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/10/transatlantic-james-tate-zeul-iepurilor/ 

Transatlantic LaPunkt - David Berman

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/11/transatlantic-david-berman-zapada/ 

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/11/transatlantic-david-berman-zapada/

Dan Giosu, o selectie

https://archive.org/details/dan-giosu.-voice-037

Those beautiful changes

 https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/11/those-beautiful-changes/

Kafka style

since no one knows much about happiness let's try it here 

let's take it all in. lost in thoughts Kafka style: twice engaged twice disengaged 

happiness is not the opposite of unhappiness 

love cannot be buried inside oneself for it would become 

just a random feeling. then nothing. 

and after that, nothing at all

during its first 600 million years this planet was molten

how did carbon molecules reached the Earth?

any form of life involves heat

"it doesn't mean so much to like somebody"  

(who said that. and why?)

talk to me without any pauses for ten thousand hours

talk to me like tomorrow 

will never end

talk to me so we can stay awake 

at this dying table 

which we, so childishly, name "time"

I am not asking you to break the sun 

nor to build me a castle of dreams with large luminous windows 

I'm not even asking you to take me out for a dancing night

(oh how I love to dance. 

in my mind)

the asteroid Bennu, this humungous bolder, totally lacks gravity 

there is a risk of falling apart 

once it reaches a planet

any planet.

robins and nightingales are my favorite little creatures 

of the naked sky

just saying 

just saying

La Punkt

învăț - LaPunkt https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/10/invat/ 

shadowless

"The door that did not exist 

stood open" 

(Frank Bidart) 

all that talking had suddenly stopped

eyes closed. darkness welcoming 

the rest of the colors 

which one will borrow from the other? 

poetry on a side. same with the rain 

I feel like sending it to the backyard. 

what should one do with this autumn? 

working 9 to 5 from my own house 

then working some more 

twisted words 

regretting that they even exist 

someone is clapping obsessively from inside the refrigerator 

literary world vanished forever 

as far as I am concerned it can go straight to hell 

the grass still standing up shadowless is 

underneath the leaves 

equipped to last more than the roses 

catching my entire attention 

as you do these days

caught in reveries

two sticks of reality rubbed against each other 

(as philip roth had said) 

one for me one for you 

suddenly someone starts skinning a fox 

at a certain page 

the new elected president is a poet 

the oreo cookies are banned throughout 

the universe. 

I learned to drive 

in a cemetery in the north side of chicago 

the same cemetery where many years later 

my younger brother and I 

went to buy a plot for mom. 

open wide the windows in your room 

the pleasant breeze will remind you 

that you are alive 

and something wonderful is happening to you 

now close your eyes. listen 

what should one expect from a song? 

we shouldn't tap our fingers in silence 

needless to say we cannot add new 

musical notes to a song which just ended 

how about words?

Multumesc! https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/10/adela-este/

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/10/adela-este/

all that is perfect

I'm speaking with you about horses
and we both know
it's not about horses or a body of any matter
If I will make you a cup of coffee, it will turn into love
I am not afraid anymore
to put the right words into their places
give me a sentence
I'll find the pain
and send it away in a fancy carriage
to an abandoned house
now there is only the air between us
heavy as a ship full of gold
the sky is watching helplessly
as me and you are getting away
up above - all that is perfect
down here - a few open gates
the drops of blood
forgetfulness and its many blessings
fingernails

departures

all the excitement there can be 

is in me 

my brain on fire I cannot add or subtract anymore

loosing the faculty of staying close to yourself.

there is a huge nail in my tire and it drives me crazy 

not knowing how it happened 

or where. 

what is so special about today? 

I'm tracing back each thought

in all of them, you and God 

together

perfectly sealed like a can of tuna in water

who am I to separate the two of you?

my cat, up and down the stairs

following me everywhere

she knows the way: 

the closer you stay, the sooner the escape

a second chance

the wind moves all the branches in this tall tree not just a single one

I write down my own thoughts

mixed with everything that I've kept from the others before me

only my dreams are entirely mine

(the ones I forget)

I just woke up

and all i want to do

is

to eat a slice of apple pie for breakfast

and to be left alone in front of my samsung notes

so I can continue my dream of last night

I'll add a bit of yellow

for comfort

God hardly hears

a new solar cycle began
I wish I could go home
there is nothing I would keep
except the memory of your face
fresh water in my hands cupped together
I drink endlessly
the thirst won't go away
all handles are missing from the doors
there was no warning
against the heaviness of this silence
which we consciously made
how can you defend yourself
against of what you already are
a basket of warm bread on the table
to go with a sad song
closer and closer
(like words)
the chair squicked against the floor
my heart completely stopped
a single pair of tears
to testify for my troubled soul
and no one to really care
no one at all

the vast lands of darkness

my hand in your hand

feed me dreams, my love

speak to me about happiness

then send me away to "put my house in order"

(as dying Pushkin said)

who am I ?

when do I laugh? did I forgive myself ?

my eyes borrowing the color of infinite desire

to be with you at the end of every day

tell me what do you see when I'm hurt

when I'm inhabited by everything but faith 

look again. can we escape?

we came to life to bargain endlessly

 
to never win 

this sky hosts only echoes 

and death 

- an insult to each promised love

LaPunkt, o bijuterie hermeneutica

https://www.lapunkt.ro/2020/09/tonalitatile-unui-poem/

this cannot be a poem although it may very well be one

from the heights of my happiness 

(where I now reside)

I'm digging my own grave

 
thought

 
by thought 

now that's dedication! 

bones so clean 

so forgotten 

and the sun

up there 

on the other side 

of the highway

 
like a humongous sign reading "waffle house"

Colorado

a gallery of darkness

when your voice gets deeper, you stop talking
when you stop talking, your voice grows stronger on the inside
(a gallery of darkness)
chord closure is all that you need for a better sound
when you hide your failures
you're caught in your own little dream
fighting to escape is like wanting to replace your own skin
raindrops gently touches your feet.
black and white, the ultimate God game
no. you are not God
you do not make the rules
you are the avatar, the damaged one
trying to run to the nearby village
to find shelter
and love
a rock misses you as you run
and then there is darkness
perhaps that is all

from the beginning

I want to feel your heart
so I go as far as the great darkness
conflagration of planets, time passing, revolutions
terror, postcards
unspoken wishes
strange faces
searching for that unreal color
pain
breaking my own shadow

I am not afraid to live anymore
it is the season of questions
of beautiful lips
(hidden under temporary casts)
of cold-water eyes
and bubbling clouds

memory
creates itself from one musical note
word by word
all mirrors vanished
allow me to start from the very beginning
right here

you live here

you live here. say "hello" to life
Cleopatra is falling from the ceiling
(again)
Flipper's nose needs fixing
kitty is begging and begging
her wet eyes glued to the treat bag

how about the countless tomorrows?
somebody must be envious that we may reach that invisible line

I found myself descending the stairs
in the middle of the night
interrupting my most up-to-date dream
only to go
nowhere
as i usually do

nobody is asking me to certify
that this very moment exists
it can be found in my soft voice
(if i dare to utter a word)
or better yet
in your voice - a dot bursting out of page
changing everything. even the past.

and the moon so mysterious
so distant and pale
she's allowed to withdraw
at the end of the hour

the hours

fancy teeth. fancy smile
let me describe them

the best of me in the dark
the best of you. the best of the best of everything
in this particular order

enthusiasm
your body stores the past years
the hours of the sun
of many nights
the hours of children. of mirrors
nothing for God

you'll return here one day
the good music gone with its echo

shrieking sirens digging deep tunnels
in your downsized body

you would most certainly want to forget.
you would want to dance
then dance!
you resemble a cut lily with so little water
in a hand made vase.
a person loses control while dancing.
a string less dragon kite
up in the sky.
a drone gone missing behind the clouds

that silky yellow dress
bearly touching your knees
a folding fan

granite weaving

"if it rains tonight, will a raindrop be my cell?" (tom sleigh)

no one can do this
fire and ice coming out of her mouth.
in her pursuit to justify her own voice
she separates the sounds from the lyrics

the second half of her life would be so much different
easily mesmerized
bending her own rules
living while still alive

eyes so sharp
webbed with desire and lust

strange lips
craving to take the shape of the last meal
closed tight at night
shining granite weaving
following a kiss or a monstrous fight

Granite Weaving, 1988, by Jesus Morales

sonic poetry

selectie audio Era liniste si era bine

https://archive.org/details/voice-015_202005

I let go

this void playing its trumpets
my skin burnt
my eyes blinded by someone else's words
you've let me here like a ring of fire
to walk towards myself
no shortcuts
my own voice lecturing me:
you are you
plus your deliberate sadness you no longer can control
I'm holding my chin in my palms
then I let go. I'm drawing a circle
a paper plate
a perfect apple
(it won't go bad anymore)

another day draws to a close
the untouchable vista marching away
in this rusted silver nothingness

don't come empty handed

what should I do with this version of myself
where to take it from here
the sky so flimsy
the earth
so hard in the middle

my body resembles this city
no possessions no walls to defend

my memory talks back to me
no results found except a few magical
places

this game we call "game"

life we call living. talking. destroying
I suddenly shiver

what matters is to identify who's under that mask
love                      can you fill in the space
enough for a thunder
for one great song
don't come empty handed
it's almost late afternoon

when love looks at you, you never look back

break my soul at once do not delay it
shards of glass boneless fingers beating the tempo of death
my closed eyelids in the shape of your beautiful face
we've never been to Ravena
how come I remember
its victorian houses at dusk surrounded by gardens of roses
the hypnotizing lilac
a song never written
the endless wooden cross

God's no trespassing signs

don't forget to take your vita
mins
they taste of grass mixed with blood
now put your mouth to the gutters
drink

spare yourself
do not expect any miracles
love is a dead sparrow falling from the sky

I don't believe in stories with happy end
ings
I don't believe in stories of any kind

the wind feels great
I'm dreaming about dreaming
pale like I was
on that day of june '74
my parents looked at each other thinking that I was born
just to teach them
the best way of dying on your very own birthday
I heard God saying that he did not want
any legal custody over me
so I was sent back

today I'm putting blocks in between.
when I was asked for the first time
I said to my kids that death is no
thing else but a squized lemon
at the bottom of the garbage bag

I couldn't find a better definition
I never tried

steps in the snow

look at me. I've ripped pages of my own diary
heavy with life
all those possessions
thoughts about death and its many sounds
on behalf of those
countless nights
you know where to go from here
unharmed
wanting to change what cannot be undone
gasping for a breath of fresh air.
your heart a ringleader of a circus
a convivial joke-teller
an absent servant.
perhaps today is your lucky day
in the right corner of your house
very soon the cherry tree will want to talk to us
I will invoke the same allergies to dust
it's middle of April
snow all around
one more line
one line for a good ending
a long, unwanted pause

goodbye to the lights

It's raining. I never thought something like this would be possible
today
I am having a taste of it
I' m having a taste of your brilliant mind.
is it worth waiting for the sun to appear?
to take off my coat
for if the sun would send its rays to a place like ours
the storms will dissapear
the rain drops will fall somewhere else
like a pot of tea boiling marbles.
today I will not make any stories about my armless body,
its glowing sadness
this hairy creature at the bottom of the sea
a sexy shrimp shacking its rear end
a hot engine going in circles
and sideways
a muscle car needing lots of repairs.
behind this reality we drink big glasses of pink lemonade
where is your dear friend?
where is mine?
let's hold hands and never look at our elbows since we are
over 40 years old.
this time of year the water is cold
the market empty
this time of year the church keys are hidden
we can't detect the smell coming from any bakery
in the other room there is somebody else waiting, somebody crying
you've already said goodbye to the lights
and to all the things that will never happen to you

Worlds Apart

silent in America

death has more stories than life. it will
multiply us as we are.
dont't feel too bad about your last round
of delicate lies.
we have lived like amateurs. we gambled.
we loved

what have you done to us, death?
do not antagonize me
not now. the streets are all yours
let's open this locked down book store
let's talk
I am an agent of myself. I can speak freely
and you know that I know
where is a bed, there is a night

hope, my essential travel kit from one room to another

for hope is gone missing. then hope is the shape of my heart.
my house.
its lights pulsing

I'm waiting for the night to fall
so I can start living.
I wanted to ask you if the ocean is freezing this time of year
if blood is changing its color
when sirens are passing swallowing the air

I found myself driving on the wrong side of the road
there were no signs to direct traffic
there was no traffic
there was no one.
no one at all
I made myself sure I was dreaming

we have enough toys left to teach them to dance
with each other
we have enough food in the pantry
to last us for an entire month.
we have strong vocal cords to soften our affection
enough time to teach our children
that art is the way of living.

oh silly me
to think that life before yesterday was slow in giving.

when death is singing, all glass shatter
this marvelous
unsettled blue light
bleeding

shifting sides

me, myself, I
who would start in such an unusual way?
all the things I don't really know
my unborn wishes
my last words

why don't you come back in a few years time
look for me in the same place
I heard you were a necessity not a luxury, dream

your business with yourself changes day to day
bring yourself a rootbeer, a mirror, a folded leaf, a rock,
an extraordinary thought.
make acquaintance to yourself
wait for yourself at the door for a tip
after all, you deserve a little consideration

promise yourself to make promises to yourself
to tell yourself stories. upgrade them to an ambient melody
a space themed song

empty yourself, make yourself rich
lock yourself with the others, accuse yourself, find yourself guilty
untie yourself, find a way out

do the trick you tought yourself
talk. well done. now talk again

hey, don't leave! come back, I tell you,
come back, you son of a bitch, don't leave me here
all by myself

among the action figures and dreams

how many of my dreams I told you so far?
you are the only one I can trust to enter this building
surrounded by high, invisible walls

a yellow tulip was sent to me
there was no card
no love message, no goodbye
and as it goes in life, it was the end of that

I swapped my old dream for a new one
I ran and ran on the same road
like a mouse in a trap
someone had caught me and shot me with a real gun
I could still taste the blood in my mouth

the war will find you if you close your eyes
don't close your eyes
please don't close your eyes

dreams have no catchy phrases
no heros, no saviours, no behind the scene lights

you meet strangers
highly intelligent parrots on their shoulders making the introductions
we smile
we talk so fast
filling the empty pots

go-to-link

https://antoneseiliviu.wordpress.com/2020/03/17/cercul-poetilor-aparuti-5-adela-rachi-magenta/

uncollected hours

guilty of today. of green eyes.
of uncollected hours
I have tried all of these. I was only successful
in holding my breath. hiding
the lack of dreams only means that dreaming has started
elsewhere

the only memory I have is filled
with the nightfall of my all-day words -
my own voice
expanding the walls of my chest
landscapes of hope
a mountain of water and blood
crispy and hot
a crescent moon. a tower of grass
the salt from an apple
a trap

this cold air

I wrote to you all night

darkness is getting ready

to separate itself from the light

strawberries. tongue on fire.

a foreign language: myself, I.

 

the sky is turning. I can hear the clouds.

I can hear Nothingness

in its shape of life.

its traces all over the windowpane

 

what did you leave for us, God?

the dust.

our parents' bones. their faces in oval frames

the letter openers.

false hopes

the narrow streets of Constantinople

this sudden desire to dance.

 

oh, what curse some words bear

 

what power

to replace love

 

our hearts

sponges soaked in blood.

 

a wound in the corners of my mouth, your absence

I will not apply ointment

nor cry.

 

this cold air caresses my hands like a holy shroud

Acolada no. 2 -February, 2020

Skara Brae

a house for the living
a house for the dead

in skara brae village
they found lovers' bones
unseparated for five thousand years
under their bed

imitating life
mocking death.

I won't give myself away
I will bury layers upon layers of my skin
all around -  a fertile air

a territory

please wait for me. tomorrow we'll celebrate
we'll claim that the wind brought us to life
only to hunt us down

a sacrifice for the only god that survived
the invisible one
the revengeful one.

I could see him smiling
picking us up from the crowds
like books from the shelves
judged by their covers
by the experienced hands of a blind man

this page that page

pairs of silenced lips screaming
we fight we kick

we'll never get used to the cage
we'll never escape.

hope shrinks
sadness drips
the end never ends

link de la L. Antonesei

https://antoneseiliviu.wordpress.com/2020/03/09/cercul-poetilor-aparuti-1-adela-rachi-era-liniste-si-era-bine/

The very eye of night lapis lazuli

https://gloveofbones.com/2020/03/08/the-very-eye-of-night-lapis-lazuli/

poster paul klee and me

two poems by Hilda Hilst, brazilian poet ( 1930-2004)

from “TEN OVERTURES TO THE BELOVED”

 

"If you find me nocturnal and flawed

Look again.  Because tonight

I looked at me as though you were looking.

And it was like water

Wanting

 

To slip its home from the river

Without even touching the bank.

 

I looked at you. I’ve known for so long

That I’m land.  For so long

I’ve prayed

Your body of water most fraternal

Would stretch out over mine.  Shepherd and sailor

 

Look again. Less loftiness.

More care."

(tr. Beatrice Bastos)

_____________________

Desire

"Because there is desire within me, everything glimmers.
Before, daily life was thinking of heights
Seeking Another decanted
Deaf to my human bark.
Sap and sweat, they never came to be.
Today, flesh and bones, laborious, lascivious
You take my body. And what rest you give me
After the readings. I dreamt of cliffs
When there was a garden by my side.
I thought of climbs where there were no signs.
Ecstatic, I fuck you
Instead of yapping at Nothingness."

(tr. Lavinia Saad)

piensa en mi

Hilda Hilst

Send me word, if you can,
"The moon is full, the house is clear."
Send me word, and paradise
Shall be nearer, and your uncertain face
Shall seem more recent.
Send for me if your day
Is as long as your night. If it's true
Without me you see nothing but monotony.
If you remember the gleam of tides
Some pale red fish
In certain seas
And my wet feet, send me word:
"It's a moonless night"
And dressed in light, I come to see you again.


---


I smile when I wonder
Where in your room
You keep my verse.
Away from your
Political books?
In the first drawer
Close to the window?
Do you smile when you read
Or are you tired of seeing
Such abandon
Amorous spark
On my ripened face?
Do I seem beautiful
Or am I to you, perhaps
Too much of a poet,
And not serious enough?
What does the man think
Of the poet? That there's no truth
In my drunkenness
And that you prefer
A friend more peaceful
And less adventurous?
That you simply cannot
Keep in your room
Worldly traces
Of my passionate words?
Do you see me as mad?
Do you see me as pure?
Do you see me as young?

Or is it true
That you never knew me?


(translated from the Portuguese by Beatriz Bastos)

Milk and honey

Landscape

"What is life but soft desires"*
but so is death.

The smell of earth
makes us love what is good to be loved

A burning log tells yet another story
someone was lying that there's no other
left to be told
where is the end
if no one was there?

We take over something
and make it better or worst
using watercolors
and words
the background
invisible
like the most secret thought

Poetry is my craddle
you write and I humm. I write and you sing
bending over when the powerfull sky passes

What is good to love?
the toenails of my kids
the May breeze
a kiss
a kiss
Li Po and Clarice
the stairs of my house
the blooming lilies
all living creatures in the nearby forest

the shoulders of the ocean
each goodbye that promise a return

the subtitles in my native language
clouds in a warm season

the last act of a drama
the dreamlike improvisations the twenty-eight Angels
and the mosaics of Venice
as painted by Klee

you
loving me

_______________________________________________
* the quoted verse - Alphra Behn (1640-1689)

still life with dove

în toate lucrările lui klee
lacrima e departe de ochi. izvorăște din altă parte
ochiul meu atât de aproape de ochiul tău.
un singur gând efemer le ține captive pe celelalte. au adunat
destul pentru un big party.
magenta un violet palid
sunt jumătate din umbra mea
undeva între furie și blândețe
mă înec în pieptul tău.
lichenii din inima mea îmi decorează trupul cu radiații.
dorința este forma poetică a celui mai ascuns gând
îi aduc ceai din plante și un scăunel confortabil.
adoarme

Nicola Porpora - Le limpid' onde

La multi ani, Oana!

" No one truly lives.  
My characters are my loss of sleep.  My homelessness. My fail.
I am a charlatan. I suppress them, I pity them. I leave them incomplete.
They become my everydayness.
My characters have no past, no future, no common sense. 
Their openness makes them shockingly rare.
I am the gaps between their words,
the Christmas lights when one of them is broke,
the lost and found...
It's the opening night.
My characters went looking for the dreamlike words,
and I am still alive."
(from the Literary Manifsto)

I could be happy

Dan Giosu "să mor frumos, să bată vîntul"

https://melidoniumm.wordpress.com/2012/07/08/dan-giosu-sa-mor-frumos-sa-bata-vintul-poezie/#

https://antoneseiliviu.wordpress.com/2020/01/21/cercul-poetilor-aparuti-6-adela-rachi-life-is-a-loaded-gun/

https://antoneseiliviu.wordpress.com/2020/01/21/cercul-poetilor-aparuti-6-adela-rachi-life-is-a-loaded-gun/

neighborhood

la adresa mea locuiește altcineva.
arată ca mine dar ar putea trece
drept oricare altă femeie. un azil. o margine de oraș.
un selfie. o pălărie. o sufragerie.
un vas.
o singură lacrimă te face more friendly with yourself.
nu ai avut vreodată forța
să dai starea asta pe-un urlet.
a renunța acum înseamnă a împărți
săruturi din scaunul electric
privitorilor de după sticlă.
casa vecinilor construită in anii '80 arde
cerul miroase
a nepăsare
și-a scrum.

I'm going in. Lhasa de Sela

Venim din aceeași moarte

Ești pe proprietatea inimii mele, pun candelabre de care se sparge întunericul și se prelinge printre picioarele dulapurilor. Toată noaptea vânez bufnițe mute, care prevestesc răul. încă există. Le las să-mi respire în ceafă.

Mă arunc în nimic să pot să revin. Îți zâmbesc complice.  Venim din aceeași moarte.

Nu avem loc într-un singur ceas de perete, cu mâinile rămase pe dinafară ne ținem de tâmple, ne ținem de cuvânt, ne înghițim faptele, mișcăm acele orelor. Așteptăm.  Miroase a gem de cireșe și-a nori. 

Ești filmul color care rulează de la mijloc, fără început și fără sfârșit. Împart bilete la intrare, nimeni nu cumpără. Mi le îndes în gură, le simt în plămâni. "the evening has landed"

Eminescu si vocea lui Petru Cretia

http://www.radio-arhive.ro/articol/petru-cretia-citeste-un-sonet-de-mihai-eminescu/2534471/5881/2?fbclid=IwAR2gj1wt1qGnu8rTX6_RSWs0MaLRCFXHI8Ye3eWjqGMYH_40stbZ9DGy-pA#.Xh7arlp1QFs.facebook

sleeping inside

Tenebrae, Paul Celan

"We are near, Lord,
near and at hand.

Handled already, Lord,
clawed and clawing as though
the body of each of us were
your body, Lord.

Pray, Lord,
pray to us,
we are near.

Wind-awry we went there,
went there to bend
over hollow and ditch.

To be watered we went there, Lord.

It was blood, it was
what you shed, Lord.

It gleamed.

It cast your image into our eyes, Lord.
Our eyes and our mouths are open and empty, Lord.

We have drunk, Lord.
The blood and the image that was in the blood, Lord.

Pray, Lord.
We are near."                     

Paul Celan, Praise of Distance (from Poppy and Memory)

"In the springs of your eyes

Live the Madsea fishermen’s nets.

In the spring of your eyes

the sea keeps its promise.

Here, as a heart

that abode among humans,

I throw off my clothes and the glare of an oath.

Blacker in black, am I more naked.

Apostate only am I true.

I am you, when I am I.

In the springs of your eyes

I drift on and dream of spoils.

A net snared a net:

embracing we sever.

In the springs of your eyes

a hanged man strangles the rope."