THE CRITICS

 

***

The false, maniacal, ferocious, tight-fisted

scholars merchants explaining texts

they transform a body into a corpse

let’s re-find the innocence let’s be destroyers

as were Attila and Genghis Khan let’s blast

these useless insolent critics that dirty

the works of art, the Poetry. We must burn

them with the fire of the idea. These cruel

exegetes dig the national grave of the catastrophes.

They are some Negroes full of old scab they lick

the shit from Satan’s factory, animated by the fever

and the cancer humble, they seem to be asking

to be boiled in hot tar. The smartest thing is

that the artist leave this stage.      

THE HIDEOUS BALKAN MAN

 

***

The hideous Balkan man

listening to a Bach’s chorale ‒

in shame and disgust

he hid in the bed and pulled

the blanket over his head

he shitted on himself in bed

so he no longer see the light ‒

at once he morphed from an Orthodox

to an anarchist.

THE FATHERLAND OF THE JEW

The fatherland of the Jew --
The Torah held on a shoulder strap
and the gold buried in the banks.

Patria evreului --
Tora la purtător
și aurul îngropat în bănci.

A MOON OF PAPER

 

***

A moon of paper

floodlighting the immense earth

black as a slave, putrid as an imperial

communist, soft as a Moldovan

the earth rotted away for millions

of years bearing fruit going rotten,

repudiating the man ‒ he doesn’t

give a countenance to the one who

doesn’t possess it, you are ashamed

that you have one so blind, so deaf

as long as he exists, as long as he rots

away covered by the moon of paper

with all that God gave you

under the numberless phenomena. 

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THE TOLERATED AND UGLY WOMEN

 

***

The tolerated and ugly women

they all claim the viper and the dog

have the same spine and the same

smell; and the viper’s skin arouses

the dog and this is a serious thing

full of substance ‒ nonetheless

these women don’t know where

to seek help in no breath, no dream,

no enigma ‒ they follow the road

of the dog and will come across the viper ‒

however they are laid in joy.   

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GENGHIS KHAN (THE SON OF GOD)

 

***

Genghis Khan (in Mongolian the name

means the son of God) in his old age was

contemplating the mountain of wealth

that he gathered from the half of the globe

and he went into peals of laughter

he put earrings with diamonds and pearls

on the ears of the camels, he put necklaces

with diamonds and gold bells around the neck

of the horses they were marching before his

very eyes nonetheless he glimpsed no drop

of pride in the eyes of these animals adorned

with gold. Why would people be gathering

them chiefly the Muslims in their Jihad?

What’s in the mind of the man when he

tires himself to gather them? What’s a man?

Who cares about the humans? What’s the use

of a man? What should you do with him?

He brings no profit. Only the dead are good.

And he spared no one. The death caught him

on the road to South China. And he told it

to the urhans of the horde, “Don’t spare anyone.  

Make a pasture of all the earth.”  

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THE TRUTH IS THAT I FAILED

 

***

The truth is that I failed

along with the childhood

along with the youth

the moans and the sobs

surprise me by nightfall

with the errors I can come

back through secret pipelines ‒

I can wake up to the sound

of your voice, Love to your

cruel insect's sound, the sleep

carries the moon deeper.

And what’s the matter with this

failure? There’s still light

beyond the death. The laughter

resounds under the water.

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THX