Next Time
Guide me towards
Vethood – this time
I was wrong and lazy
And worked for nothing
But myself – next
Time I’d like to
Read the crooked
Leg of a barking
Bitch – guide me
Less stern, less well,
Tell me what I now know
Too late and too much.
This poem is taken from my forthcoming book The Wooden Tongue Speaks– Romanians: Contradictions & Realities which will be published by Subculture Books.
data viitoare
împinge-mă spre
medicină – data asta
am greşit, am fost leneş
lucrând pentru nimicul
de mine – data
viitoare a-şi dori să
citesc piceorul strâmb
al unei urlătoare
căţea – ghidează-mă
nu militar, nu perfect,
spune-mi de la început ce-am
învăţat târziu şi prea mult.
I have been doing something new, visualising prints that might be described as experiments with colour and form in meaningful relation to poetry. The idea of APHORISMS can consist of two kinds. One explores introspection, that is to say a more personalised worldview, and the other is more extroverted, in the sense of proverbs applying to humanity as a whole. These can work in book form or blown up to A0 for galleries. Contact me for further information and prints. |
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The poems shown in this section are work in progress and represent the different strands of my poetry. I have poems on Nichita Stănescu, poems with a Romanian influence as well as other personal poems. There are also a couple of examples of the colour-poetry that I have created, exploring a more visual side to poetry. I am looking for related opportunities to bring my work and ideas to a wider audience and I am also available for readings, meetings and conferences. Contact me for more information. |
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laptele de bivol
El spunea
“nu poţi sa pui paie într-o
maşină şi să iasă
lapte de bivol! Asta
n-o poţi face!”
Incredibil, are dreptate.
Pe de altă parte noi putem
şterge universul.
Arătaţi supraponderat, nepregătit pentru fotografie.
Pari dezordonat
pozând pentru o revistă.
Arătaţi ca un beţiv
deschis la sentimentalism acum
arăţi mândru că porţi
o coaptă jachetă de piele
lăsată în urmă de tatăl tău
pentru a-i replânge amintirea.
Ochii tăi gri acum
sunt bucăţile albăstrui de vodkă
îngheţată.
Pierdut îndepărtare înmărmurit de cimentul mortalităţii…
Şi cine te face sânge? Cine
a reinventat matematica?
Ratând Nobelul său
pictându-şi lengeria roşu,
prins în sepia
arătând a bărbat nu a copil
ca un lup, ca un leu,
ca şi cum ai fi nesigur
ce substanţă să ciopleşti
şi când va fi mai bine
că acum obraji tăi, uzi, balonaţi,
au plâns diavolii
dealungul pereţilor negri.
Nichita
You look overweight unprepared for a photograph.
You look dishevelled
Posing for a magazine.
You look like a drunkard
Alive to sentimentality now
You look proud wearing
A cracked leather jacket
Your father forgot behind
For you to recry memories.
Your grey eyes now
They stare like ice blue
Vodka.
Staring away to a cement reminder of mortality…
And who bled you? Who
Reinvented mathematics?
Failing his Nobel,
Painting his underwear red,
Shot you in sepia
Looking like a man not a child,
Like a wolf like a lion,
Like you’re unsure the
Dimension to carve up
And when but now
Your cheeks, wet, ballooned,
Wept demons and spread
Wings over black walls.
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This poem is taken from my forthcoming book The Wooden Tongue Speaks– Romanians: Contradictions & Realities which will be published by Subculture Books.
Buffalo Milk
He said
“You can’t stuff straw into
A machine and produce
Buffalo milk! That
You can’t do!”
Your grandfather is ridiculously right.
We can, on the other hand,
Wipe out the universe.
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This poem is taken from my forthcoming book The Wooden Tongue Speaks– Romanians: Contradictions & Realities which will be published by Subculture Books.
