THE DESTINY

The destiny is in the cross 

in the wine and blood is Christ 

the new day is made of amethyst. 

HOW IS IT POSSIBLE ?

 

***

Intense schizophrenia like the furious

metastasis of a severed cancer takes

control of acid Karavlahia the body

morphs into flint in the sun. How is

it possible that you be a Rumanian

and that God not strike you?  

WICKED DESIRES

 

***

The wicked desires

the taste for luxury, the envy

the sinister emulation make

the society work like a sect

render the existence,

the interesting life possible  

produce residue, ferment

the yeast of the thinking.

The prayer is the result

of the despair, of the inability.

The foodstuffs that we get

from these acid passions

are nothing but mould.

Everywhere there’s general

hunger. We leave mountains

of waste behind. From certain

siestas of the stuffed gluttons

you emerge as from a tragedy.

Thou Almighty God!    

THE MAN DOESN'T HAVE LYRICISM

 

***

The man doesn’t have lyricism ‒ there’s a hum

in his head, a lie. Everywhere middlemen,

commentators, exegetes, sodomitical ties,

a spirit of family of homosexuals and transgenders,

and one doesn’t know who’s the father, the mother,

the son, the animals, the angels, the saints, the priests

no trace of intellectuality everything leans on atavistic

remnants of sex organs. Maybe a concept would at least

move them they are all running to the monkey

but no one shows himself desirous of understanding her.

Everywhere rewards, accounting and heebie-jeebies.

What the man will do to himself, nor does the young one

of viper desire for himself.   

YOU'RE SLEEPING

 

***

You’re sleeping, in the mouth

a blade of grass is moving

the dreaming forest is tempting you

with smell of pain with an ant

that is trickling down you.

THE ETERNAL ANARCHIST

 

Maybe my fall was the redemption

I don’t know that the same illusion

is world and conscience and in the mystery

of her own waves every earthly voice

is shipwrecked. I’m not reactionary

I admit all the regimes, all the reforms

and all the revolutions that you desire.

Nonetheless allow me to play my part.

Don’t request of me to believe

that the history makes sense

(a belch and nothing more...)

and that the man has a future.

The man full of abysses will pass

from difficulty to difficulty

and thus the things will take place

until he perishes because of this.

Only the syncopation in his reflections

assures him the freedom. This vacuum

doesn’t let him be an automaton.

As an anarchist, I’m enshrouded

in huge waters of indifference

under another order of stars.

The great truths are told on the threshold

of death’s door.  

A FIGURE IN THE SHADOW

 

***

A figure in the shadow

a random look targeting

the arrow, the beggar’s hands

are shaking in vain, become

extinct in the sordid noise of the cars.  

WHO NEEDS THE PROGRESS OF THE MAN ?

 

***

Who needs the progress of the man?

Who needs man’s hustle and bustle?

Who needs his music, his literature

if the dogs these sly animals can’t use them?

Man has inherited a piece of lava of volcano

that hasn’t yet gone out entirely ‒ everything

is fury, panting, farting, wicked hysteria ‒

the cows swell with laughter when they see

them and give them milk for pity’s sake.    

THE MAN AND THE LIFE

 

***

The Man and the Life have become a piece of trash

the blood colours the palaces of the Power and the WCs.

The individual a beetle that is looking for food.

The billionaires sacks filled with shit, hidden

in the bunkers. Lord, Thou hast given them

the H-bomb and other devastating bombs.

Soon the earth will breathe a sigh of relief

without this mad animal the man whom the devil

made in his worst mood as if he had been

on the point of committing suicide. Christ

didn’t come to lift their sins but to show them

how the Son of Man is no God wants to lift

the sins of these beasts that created the Myth of the blood.    

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PAOLO AND FRANCESCA

 

God has fire for the sins

and let them disappear

in the inferno He gave

everlasting rapture to Paolo

and to Francesca flying

under rhythms of Chopin

they make love flying

through the spaces of the inferno

as in an eternal empire of love

fuck in flight. Their absence

on earth filled the house

with mourning. Oh, Lord,

make me suffer for them.

Cleanse my inside of all

that remained evil of them,

but take me into the blaze

along with them.

THOU GRASS

 

***

Thou grass everlastingly lying down

thou pullest me into the spirit

of the depths on the sand whereon

the infinity often reposeth thou grass

thou attractest me to the transparent

tempests wherein I ha‘ cast my heart

where there’s neither melancholy

nor sadness.  

THE FATAL WEDDING

 

Purple air, the Thracian spring

the wide yard with rustling trees

the wedding was in full swing ‒

the bridegroom happy the bride

happy between the echoes of joyous

laughter and the sound of dulcimer  

and the squeaking of violins

and the flowery girls of the mountain

the dancing no longer ended the bride

was taken to dance in competition

four bulky guys were spinning her

more often, the hunks had been invited

from the company where she was employee

they unleashed themselves under the quick

Thracian wind across all this wooded place.

The bridegroom’s dance incited jubilant

shouts he kissed the trodden earth

and was spinning on and on happily  

four bulky guys grabbed him and threw

him to the sky and let him fall like the black

lightening he fell and broke his spine.

The bulky guys were laughing. The busy bride

said, “You’ve escaped me: I wasn’t sure, either

that he’s my man.” He returned from the hospital

in a wheelchair. She was changing her love partners.

BOLSHEVIK VERSIFIER PARTRIDGE EATER

 

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OR THIS NOTHING EXISTS

 

***

Nothing exists any longer

or this nothing exists

calm enthusiasm. Joy

of the annihilation, abolition

absolute form of joy

the vision of the burial

of illusions. Sacrifices

on the sepulchre of the last

wound breeze of mercy

from barren areas ‒ lives

are interrupted.   

RATS

 

The cannibals throw the Roman purple mantle

over these long-tailed, scaly, mutant rats

that morphed into big, disgusting evil-doers,

they squeak haunted by sadness when they lose

it all, when it hurts them when their fangs fall down

they gather together silently under the altars

and they smile indifferently. They don’t like

this country without a god. This world is going

to be forsaken, devastated, gnawed on

and transformed into shit, in it they see only pride,

greed, wickedness, defiance, disdain, cannibalistic

crime, audacity of thieves. Soldiers are waiting

for them to catch them by the tail and to stick

them into the saucepan to cook the soup.

Night by night they counsel one another

under the altar. The priests quake and shout scared,

“Vade retro, Satana!” (Begone, Satan!)  and the fire

of the prayer goes out. These are the Romanians

with their bare face.  

WE MUST SAY IT TO THE WHOLE WORLD

 

***

We must say it to the whole world

what the cannibals have done to this

country they’ve sat at the table of the poor

and they hit them repeatedly on the naked

ass with the spoon it’s raining and there’s

mud on the bodies of the slaves they all

have an itch in the throat and in the ass

a smarting, but in the stomach a big

bottomless boil and on the tables

has remained only the garlic sauce.   

THE KARAVLAKH, THE CUMAN, THE CANNIBAL

 

***

The Karavlakh, the Cuman, the cannibal

a face of ash, the Turkish banner, a tail

of horse, gnashing flint teeth. He is a cloaca

whereon I have to collapse. The Fate has left

much time behind the days and the seasons

of the incompletely conceived beings.   

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NOMADS, THIEVES, MADMEN

 

***

Nomads, thieves, madmen, Tirtans

gypsies the rejected and the hounded-out

of the peoples come crashing down on this

country as do the locusts in times of drought

they embed themselves like viruses in all

the holes of the man in innumerable humble

forms inside yearning to substitute the victim

and they secrete the strongest poison

that melts all the metals, the alloys

weaving around some kind of probable religion

that eats our language, our soul, our respiration

the fountain of our conscience and demolishes

the architecture of our heart and they swell

so they thrive outside the order and outside the law

hideousness and faults all kinds of madness

inherited from the Huns, from the KhanTatars,

Slavs, Greeks, Turks, Jews, Hungarians

gypsies and more recently from the Arabs

the Moldo-Karavlach people hasn’t existed

they are a herd of these leftovers of apish

hordes that see humans as through the haze

and they have no shadow of thought

about what a human is. What was a human

here formerly melted away in the strongest

poisons and in crimes now over here there is

a herd of cannibals drunk as shit crammed

by the empires into a sheepfold.     

THE WEDDING

 

My saint with supple waist

the Lord as a groom thou seeest  

wasp like a swollen sail

you soar to hear what he speaks to you, female

his beauty incomparable

his mouth harsh divine

uttered words so they grow in you like vine

his stature of cypress tall

with eyes of a thousand colours

eyes twinkling with no more seen flowers

your lips are bleeding all

reddening your wounds

and you adore him for hours

come into the dizzy grove

let the music intertwine us

let her stop no more thus

I, being the first father, you the first mother

there’s levitation in the Orphic ecstasy

tranquillity of seabed.

ȘI CUM LIFTELE VIN

 

***
Și cum liftele vin
și calea ți-o ațin
zboară afuriseniile toate și-i pustiu.

COMPROMISURILE ȘI TRĂDĂRILE SPURCĂ IREMEDIABIL

 ***

Se zice că este a noastră această

mutră pocită în această oglindă

această moacă care ești tu, canibalule

cu mine și fiindul meu, este cert

că ea conține această privire

sașie, piezișă ca o ploaie cu vânt

cu săgeți care trădează compromisurile

și trădările și ele spurcă iremediabil,

ne prind și ne afundă adânc

în porcăria generalizată, primejdioasă

spurcat în veci nu vei fi în stare

să faci un lucru curat la care

să poată privi cereștii. E la fel

ca pentru animale: o iapă ori

o cățea de rasă care s-a spurcat

nicicând nu va mai da un mânz

pursânge ori un câine de rasă

măcar că după se împerechează

cu un animal de un soi mai bun.

Tot așa SIDA ne învață că ne culcăm

nu numai cu persoana cu care avem

raportul sexual, ci cu toți partenerii

clienții acesteia cu care s-a drăgălit.

Dracii ne prind în curenții ticăloșiei

de unde nu mai încape scăpare

”Haț de chică și ești al meu pe veci!”  

MEDIOCRITATEA E SĂLBATICĂ

 

***

Ceva de respirat nu-i

mediocritatea e sălbatică

înot în memoria nu știu cui.  

ACEȘTI BARBARI CANIBALI

 

***

Acești barbari canibali

au fost borîți pe plajă

pe o insulă pustie

aceste resturi de hoarde

ale lui DUPĂ

păsările dorinței

le ciugulesc picioarele

pe insula moartă

așteaptă să fie ridicați

la ceruri prin negură

fantasmele sub nisip

fac un zgomot devastator.

CÂINII TÂRTANILOR

 

***

Câinii târtanilor

primesc tain de tarabostes

se ling la pulă și se jidovesc

au scris tone de denunțuri

și poezii din două silabe ‒

ham-ham.

I GET THE FEELING BACK IN MY MEMORY

 

***

I’ve sat at the table of the poor

I lack a sigh and a look I move

my arms like mortal wings

I get the feeling back in my memory

a humming rises up to the ceiling

and in the throat an itch in the hand

of the gentle unknown woman

a letter without response circulated

through the stagnation of the public

offices, the woman got the news

about the punished one, she was

soaking in the lie and in the terrifying

look. The destination am I, I’m just

searching for a place, a door, a shelter, a bell.  

NIRVANA

 

***

Nirvana ‒ self-extinction,

self-annihilation

while you’re destroying

your own bones you also

see people laughing

in the theatres or in orgies

with a stage or a screen

that’s visible no more

and in the cemetery

asymmetric hearts

you see remains of kings

of such impregnable ferocity.  

YOU ENDURE THE SOLITUDE

 

***

The decadence, the nausea

all your kinsfolk forsook you

you endure the solitude ‒ Golgotha.   

BIRDS HAVE CEASED TO PECK AT SHIT

 

***

The birds have ceased

to peck at shit ‒, they fly away

and the leaves are falling alone.  

BOUL DIN BAKO

 

Bacovia din Bacău

lipovanul gâștelor bete

dă cu tulumba pe poezie  

și-aruncă plumb în ploaie

să sperie țăranca ce cară

pe umăr un clavir

și nu se duce la fund în noroi.

NEGHIOBUL BLEAGA

 

***

Neghiobul Bleaga

s-a născut un Olisbos

din lemn de carpen, neted

din disprețul pentru haos

s-a apucat și-a dat cu scrisul

pe toate treptele, stâncile

apele, într-adevăr, chiar dacă

nimic nu se-ntâmpla doar

că ilumina acel crepuscul

cu un munte de deșeuri

ce ne intra în sânge ca o poșircă

cuvintele tonul acele neghiobii

uscate ca oasele pe acoperiș

care acum te fac să întorci capul

indiferent și el sta ca un olisbos

pe o stâncă în ploaie, crăpat

iar târtanii râd ca oile capii.

BEN NOKIA FILOSOF BONT

 

***

Ben Nokia filosof bont

e un bomfaier crâncen

scârțîitor taie cuie ruginite,

taie paie și veninul lipit

de dinți se scutură

peste cel ce-l ating.

Acest zgomot sordid

se retrage în casele de bani

ale samsarilor. Acest samsarlîc

Nokia va fi refăcut în eprubetă

la aceasta se osândesc târtanii.  

CUGETARE

 

Nicio ființă morală nu și-a petrecut zilele, nici nu a călcat pe aceste pământuri zise românești. Toate personajele notate ca deosebite, inclusiv sfinții numele cărora popii le cetără în biserici, sau altele istorice nu au chipuri de om al lui Dumnezeu au mutre de cele mai multe ori bestiale, nici urmă de evlavie, au moace de bestii și năpârci smintite, anarhiste și șmechere. Mutre care mimează chipul omului. Ce i-a făcut pe aștia să fugă atât de departe de Om? Sau Dumnezeu a trimis aici ipochimeni-drac cu o poftă nesățioasă de rău, de crimă și de distrugere? Deficiența de inteligență e uriașă. Chiar și M. Eminovici care zic ei e rumân genial are moacă de prostănac de zilier belit. Dar ”oamenii mari” se înghesuie în drac pe la toate colțurile. Românii au cele mai stupide mutre de pe pământ. Or fi hâtri cum se dau? Ciudat lucru cu patriarhii care ar fi trebuit să aibă pe chip o patină de pioșenie dar au moacă dură de director de pușcărie și glas de muiere șefă de bordel? Cum reușește dracul să-i pocească în asemenea hal? Fudui, umflați, paiață, bazaconie, trufia neroadă. Pe barbă le spânzură toate păcatele lăcomia cumplită și devoratoare. Ce animalitate! Ce lumesc jalnic! Ce existență neagră! Ce fală în țară! Nimic nu urcă. Ce animalic! Peste tot se surpă ruine omenești.

CELEBRATION

 

***

Celebration as rising as

the milk foam that ripened

for the virgins the light

and the garments dance

the total dance on the summits ‒

the evening bird unravels

the shores. The whole eternity

is brought back here. The forest

is a big flower fusing with the sun.

The evening wind suddenly harsher, colder.