In Romania his poems are published in magazines Convorbiri Literare and Poesia Rosa, which is also punlished in Spany He organized several. Departele Epimenides, poeme, Ed. Paralela 45, ; Opium, poeme, Ed. Paralela 45, I creep into her dreams at night, when she curls up and my desperations unlock her legs. Of course I imagine we shall be alone in our dream, and only the snake of red apples will be between us.
That is why I imagine myself unlocking your legs, waking up in the morning, your breasts in my hands, and the apples — still untouched — fallen from above… My sweetheart is sleeping. I creep into her dreams, my desperations unlock her legs.
My sweetheart is sleeping. Iubita mea doarme. I come from the thick darkness, from the cold silence. Here, in the attic filled with books, between your terrors and silences. I know the embrance will raise your gaze from the floor. Already, the things you touch have begun to dram, the day already has guise. Your childhood runs between the tall sunflower stalks. Soon I will not know which one of them you are, my love with blue nails!
Uite strugurii! Uite verdele ierburilor! Your childhood takes my hand. Look at the grapes! Archipelago Teacher of Mathematics. Author of several collections of Mathematics exercises, problems, and tests. Writes poems, prose and essays.
Seasons passing At the roots of the trees the season had fallen asleep, Only the snow still kept the memory of the last flights, The lights of the new century were getting closer through the stars. Like butterflies of fire scared by the dark Waiting for them spring opened in carpets Woven from silences and prayers of dew Uttered in the cadence of archaic times.
Above History, the twinkle of constellations Was watching for the message of the season that leaves for the abyss, Daylight was growing in suspended nests Revealing the secret of an eternal lost paradise Beyond the consequences of ancient ununderstood vibrations And I decipher an ideal space In the bosom of a great eclipse. Cathedral I breathe in the colours of flowers that open in the morning In transparent wonder The hot coolness of plants Sinks me into a landscape full of thoughts Lights come one by one Similar to the flow of shadows Throughout a season Overwhelmed by sensations slipped from one part of the day to another And far away I can hear a light going off, Its ashes fall on the white pages Of the past day What a high holiday!
A cathedral has found its way near me. Printre ruinele zilei bat clopote vesperale. At an unseen signal fires get lit, Burning all the plants that want to come closer To the hands of the clock Like two horizons That can hardly be seen from ports Crucified in the moonrises.
And what a beautiful hour I could hear coming With transparent rumbles, I can sense it drawing near like a whisper Stirred in the steeple of a forgotten cathedral. The leaves archive What ports could this green night have escaped from? Among the remains of the day vesperal bells toll. Heads of horses broken loose from their harness show up from the deep stables of night.
Oh, night turned green in my restlessness! I understand the history of the night does not belong to me I may find another one among the Leaves. Tender bells toll over the remains of every day.
Traducere de Petru Iamandi. Green rivers flow over the trees. A woman, her red body covered by hieroglyphs, approaches from apocryphal history. A few centuries away a strange dance exchanges her dream for hers. Now I can better see the meaning of several moon symbols their superb imperfection delights and worries me At the end of night ceremonies Antonin has a degree in Bulgarian philology from the University of Veliko Turnovo. He has worked as a journalist with Radio Shumen. Unde e Azorel?
After the news and the hateful ads, waiting for a star to fall with two sparks, One here, the other one across the street, the cigrarettes blinked at each other in the dark. Big stars fall, Your paper ships sail to a yet undreamt-of shore. Since my childhood till my grave I have been an eternal mariner. Ai plecat. In thousands of havens have I heard the sirens of love, but I am still on a quest with the captains in the infinite at the end of the world, because everything by the sea is the sea: it comes, only to go away, it goes, only to come back again.
You have gone away. But LP) flag flutters again in the tempestuous sea. A new flotilla sets again its sails of mirages in the dark and I wait for my paper ship, to come back with you.
Traducere de Marina Vraciu. Poet, eseist, jurnalist. Some of his poems were published in anthologies and magazines in English, French, Serbian, Albanian, Hungarian etc. Dagmar Dusil, German writer and translator, born in Sibiu, Romania. Following her immigration to Germany, she became a lecturer of English and Spanish and a translator. She has published poems, articles and essays in literary journals of Germany and Romania; essays on Tibet etc.
Tauben setzen sich auf meine Schultern. Picken aus mir die Kindheit heraus. Born in in Bistritsa, Romania. Immigrated to Israel in Married, father of two and grandfather of one.
Lives in Mevaseret Zion, Jerusalem, Israel. Also published articles in literature journals and online. Zweifel weicht die Erde auf. Mandelstam, L. Dobacin, I. Bahterev, Gh. Ayghi, I. Volume of the author published in France, Russia, Bulgaria, Tatarstan. Tu mereu Poor beautiful body always rented always slight or rather exhausted by nearly unnatural twists of a dry voluptuousness. Her dance positions aim at blackmailing the randy dodderers who leer at her through monocles from their poly-official boxes depending on whatever party is in power.
Always sweet turns of staged inconstancy why haven't you left for Florida where — I hear — ordinary immigrants thrive and especially great artists? In all the markets of life in all the theaters their stages and wings veiled in gossamer as you are you appear part of the hetero-ethnic minority of ghosts and even somehow related to the narcissistic constriction of an enervated poem that withdraws into its own verbs and secludes itself seemingly in a white aesthetic libido; a poem born in harmony with the pleasure and sorrow of singular destinies.
Then for much longer than two millennia, willy-nilly the left hand has envied the right that can do intricate calligraphy and that meets the fellow right hands of A Translation - Various - Din Lirica Universală Despre România (Antologie Poetică) (Vinyl a profusion of people respectfully shaking their counterparts for all the world for all to see in order to show that no one on either side happens to be hiding a stone, God forbid!
Probably it' s because of these family discords that hands cannot became wings again A banal explanation. But let it go. Now what are we supposed to do with Buddha who has hands? Apparently with Buddha everything is absolutely different - while the' Hindu creates with 50 hands right handswith the same number of left hands that clutch just as many The poor lady is revealing her lawyer.
The man seems to be seized with compassion until the moment when around the room starts flying a dizzy moth. My God! It might damage my carpets! Karenina sets out for the railway How curious: has the lawyer caught or not the murderous moth? I should reread Tolstoi Translated by Victor Olaru.
Metin Cengiz: poet and writer b. During his years at the university, he worked as a civil officer at the Turkish Statistical Institute for a short time Meanwhile, he completed his studies at Marmara University, Department of French. Bythe city of Mersin in Turkey's most prestigious award received the Prize for Literature. Inhe is received the Literature Prize of the city of Mersin, one of Turkey's most prestigious award. In Romania his poems are published in magazines Convorbiri Literare and Poesia Rosa, which is also punlished in Spany He attended numerous International festivals and symposiums.
His poetry benefits from tradition by challenging it, reflects the realities of the modern world and tries to elaborate them in dept with the realities of life as reflected from his internal world. Being known with his articles on poetry in his early period, the poet has become one of the pioneers of the period afterwith his theoretical articles and A Translation - Various - Din Lirica Universală Despre România (Antologie Poetică) (Vinyl on poetry.
Spells I have seen stops desire Spell that turns life into a car without brakes I've listened to stories whose wind leans against bells I can never forget, it seems a contagious illness And troublesome like the wars that are easily told.
But I've not seen something like love in these lands It throws people onto roads barefoot It cripples. Grasses were torrid and trees Were melting within their shadows. The wind was drinking blow in its arrack. Only her eyes drag on the steppe. The horizon was crimsoning And the sun was playing with her brightness.
Yet this summer I met her. Yet this summer I saw that I have a heart. But she was composing another song Another song which life sets to music for herself. GAZA Yesterday I saw death, it was wingless It was on the air, raining Here, you are in Gaza where death encamped Air seems to be torn by a knife The sun is a blind scream Its glasses are silent Trees are like corpses Minarets are leaning not on the sky but on nothingness.
The children, children, children, Gaza s children Streets, markets, houses full of children Gaza with its images of children is a giant which fights with enemy Children singing on the lap of death Children are as silent as saints, as religious as Muslims They are waiting for the ceasefire They are going to fill all the arenas and embrace their deaths without keeping in mind the hunger Old women covered in togas Houses, streets, shoulder by shoulder are guarding life Their faces are drawn with patience Helpless, angry, sad, revengeful Like a scream going up sky Like promises They are standing as a piece of sky.
What can the Arabian poets do Songs smell burnt in Galilee Gaza is like a yellow lemon in the middle of desert On the one hand, it is shaken by invisible hands By a steel press On the other hand, enemies stand Like a death cloud The eyes of Gaza dried because of crying So from Gaza now the corpse of God goes out Translated into English by Muesser Yeniay.
Here, you are in Gaza Death in Gaza is like games of children It is like eating olives and bread at breakfast It is like love-making of the young Death in Gaza is like a statue made of bronze That all windows look at Death is working like Gaza s mind Here, you are in Gaza In fire Where death swallowed its tongue Gaza is like a balloon blown Being of a somewhat reclusive nature, he has not joined literary schools and circles, thus having been only sporadicaly published in periodicals and when possible, volumes.
Born in in Bistritsa, Romania. Immigrated to Israel in Marriedfather of two and grandfather of one. Lives in Mevaseret Zion, Jerusalem, Israel. Also published articles in literature journals and online. Leave the player on And I shall think you are here In the next room. My dearest boy Leave the socks be — And never you mind If they are scattered about On the floor, on the sofa Some also unwashed — So that I might feel As though you had just now Returned from somewhere And would be staying at least 'Till dinner.
Leave some shirts lying around, And I should think that here Once more you would be coming up Before us, asking Which one works better For a night out. No, Do not switch off the player, And the items in the room Do not put away. Allow me to embrace the illusion That you are still here At home. And meanwhile, over there, Beyond the roads, You build your own abode; And when you come to visit, Bring with you my grandchildren.
They are allowed to replace Those whispered tunes With the good computerised player. My boy, my boy, Leave on the computer desk, Your sweetheart's mirror The comb So that I might relax in the wait, On the heels of your having just left the room Arms round each other; To the nearest picture or just Any other random outing; For then, LP), I would be allowed to wait up for you Past midnight To watch you return hand-in-hand.
Behind the bedroom door There hang A Translation - Various - Din Lirica Universală Despre România (Antologie Poetică) (Vinyl ties And one with stripes of azure and turquoise Diamonds and diagonals.
It was yours once. Once you tied it around your neck The day you led me to my wedding. A year and a half later I led you The day you left behind the memories of the camps About which you didn't tell much.
That ring was golden Like the days I had with you The letters of your name intertwined On black background. I adjust it to my finger, and it slips Don't lose it, don't lose it.
Today, imbued between the keys Amongst an open handed Hamsa, against a bad eye and a clenched fist for luck My lucky charms. Useless ring Adding it's weight to the chain bundle Being with me in every doorway. Trei prunci, Care n-au nici trei ani, zicea ea, She is dressed in a shirt made from patches Under it there is another dress, Cheep silver jewels And a crying tone of voice Made the job. The Jewish woman, who was sitting on the house chart At the purlieu Selecting the shells out of the beans and peas, Extended her hand and gave the gipsy women What she wanted.
She added even a bottle of milk. To buy beans and peas For the end of the week's cooking For her single child. She hoped that she won't steal her boy's chess board and pieces A day before his school contest. I saw the messiah on his way From Latrun to Jerusalem wearing a long white man-dress With a beard parted in the wind and covering the neck With a turban on his head And extinguished eyes. I saw the messiah on his way carrying his legs, not giving up to the ennui helped by a sculpted stick, made of wood His head looks like a lion His ears waiting for a sign.
I saw him near Jerusalem His face aimed to the city gates in determined mind, his mouth is shut. Until the answer comes His eyes open a bit. I saw the messiah Spinning his head looking up and to the sides viewing the people Making an unwanted hand move Looking back Allowing his eyes to turn off again Going back to his cave-like home Hidden from mortal people. Maybe there is not enough gray hair in his beard yet.
Plymouth Press University, Translation - into English 20 Romanian Writers trs. E ziua eclipsei. The moon quivers in my glass, yellow and full.
I dip my finger in my glass. Then I dip my arm up to the elbow in my glass. Then I dip my arm up to the shoulder in my glass. The vodka is as cold as ice. At the bottom of the glass there is a large stone slab. There are also dead leaves and black roots. There is also a ruptured rubber boot. At the bottom of the glass there is also a rusty stove. I dip my head in the glass. I open my eyes inside the glass. Inside the glass I can see even without my spectacles. The stone slab is white veined with red.
Now I see the monster. Now I hear it purring softly, like a cat. I see its blue legs. I see its terrible tail poking from beneath the stone slab. By the stone slab flows a limpid stream. It purls crystalline over the pebbles. Around it the grass is eternally green. In the grass grow delicate flowers. In the stream swim children as small as dolls, A Translation - Various - Din Lirica Universală Despre România (Antologie Poetică) (Vinyl.
They swim with amazingly swift movements. They swim clothed in gaily-coloured dresses and shirts and short trousers. They are the little angels of the glass. The little angels of the glass do not bite and do no harm to anybody. I feel like puking for pity, I feel like puking for sadness. I feel like puking when I think how I might swallow a little angel of the glass.
I feel like weeping at the thought that he would, all of a sudden, be very lonely. Non Lieualbumul Lizica Codreanu. Fage si revista Atelier du Roman — numar dedicat literaturii romane Ed. In Germania au aparut albumele Marieta Chirulescu Ed. Klartext si Albumul 7 artisti romani contemporani — vol.
II Ed. BarbesAlbum de desen de Adrian Chivu Ed. Barbesprin programul TPS. In Norvegia a aparut volumul Orbitor. Aripa dreapta de Mircea Cartarescu Ed. Fraktura si Naufragiul — vol. Studentska zalozbaprin programul TPS. Falsa novela de rumores y misterios Raiul gainilor. Autorii romani au ajuns in acest an si in Vietnam prin intermediul Compendiului de literatura romana editat de Universitatea Nationala din Ha Noi cu sprijinul programului TPS, se arata in comunicatul remis Hotnews.
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