Carolina ILICA


Violet Summer

Itís long since it was so violet a summer
The colour Iím so much fond of being in fashion again
With all its shades
from pink into blue

Itís long since it was so exotic a summer
with so many landscapes
and exotic fruits.
the ball of seeds of the mango
a fibrous limp
that cracks between the thighs
of the core yellow
 and too much sweet scented with fragrances
as  manís heart cracks in him sometimes
for his superabundant self.

Itís long since it was so fatal a summer

And for so much ease itís too hard for you
And for so much good. itís too bad for me.

Mulberries and poppies

 With a poppy only
You brought me the summer
 Its tenderness
is my tenderness also:
 I wither away in a life
as it does in a day.
The same one
In which on the fly I picked up for you
 mulberries purple quite ripe,
thinking that you also would be thinking
of childhood.
For every childhood looked at from behind
 shows its own image:
Well, happy
 with mulberries soiled !

You then picked up a red poppy for me
I also picked  up black mulberries for you
                      purple also
For each other we stole
Ė from no one-

The grass tender
scanty and short
facing the town so large
got tired of warm and much height.

Red  and black. Black and red.
An  exchange.
You took me to your mouth and I took you to my mouth
     Kissing me
             kissing you.
           Kissing each other.

        my sensitive memory
              word for word
      disclosed !

Small world

  How small the world is!
I am
Where you also have been.
And you
Where I also have  been.

 I just imagine you
coming in, then out
coming out, then  in
coming in once again
of the thighs of the seas:
like a dolphin playing on the waves
like a man
possessing a woman
like a proficient swimmer
streaming with water
on the seashore.

And now if I pass my tongue across my lips
I taste the marine salt
On my face?
On your face?

Iím looking forward to seeing you
tasting you
As you taste
some good purple wine
before you enjoy it
and before it
   all intoxicated
makes you get dead-drunk.


As if in secret mourning I have ever worn shades of mauve,
.while awaiting you
I Ďve been writing poems
 for you
since we did not even know each other.

When you read them
 And saw yourself suddenly in them
You were scared stiff as if
of your own image
 emerged  all at once
And cast
and with all speed
by the windows of a long train whistling
as passing by your train
stopped in the opposite direction.

Or of your own image
Repeatedly reversed
In the glasses ever deeper
Of the ever many other waters
still of the same river
 estranged and floating into the other side
of the world.

that we have met
is much more fatal than
 when we never knew each other.

And all my old love poems
Have come but shades
Of one violet poem.

The translatable periphrases
Of my untranslatable

Magic words

   Eyes green
     Painful eyes:
Like those of the men after they have their random drink
Like those of the women in travail:
             With contractions ever swifter
                           ever splitting
                                      ever more often
As if they gave birth
                              to other eyes:
Eyes green
         with poison
                            as poison
Painful eyes:
As if they had poised  each other.
As if the left eye
 had bewitched the right eye.
And the right eye the left eye.
Though they cannot see
                           each other.
           to each other
Just  as a  woman
for a couple of days only every month
and  from waist to toes only
             a land mermaid

becomes inaccessible to her man

 they both much better feeling
that they cannot touch completion
             but together.
(Traducere de Olimpia Iacob)