On the body of the sky I write with strokes of knife
o, the birds of the soul in flight have stood stone-still!
in me it looks for the man and says...
with strokes of knife I write a prayer
I keep on living the life of a prayer for nights and nights and nights:
I drink the water of the murdered silences
ELEGIE CUVÎNTULUI DALI / Elegy To The Word Dali
With no shame cries out the word Man
I have my own biography:
I feel more and more incomplete:
I am the supreme being provoking’!
VORBIND LIMBA POFTELOR / Speaking The Language Of Lusts
I listen to the word it listens to me
history itself on the spot arrived wanders in its mind:
...and because this very moment ...the days before yesterday is a 1990
and six+1
LUMEA ASTA / This World
Come on, drag this kite, you, also, damn it!
be loneliness: bless the waters with drought
I come into this world and applaud
(Traduceri de Olimpia IACOB)
APA TÃCERILOR / The Water Of Silences
Lord of birds, I live the life of birds
I drink the water of their flight -
ten times thirst has shown up
and left a crucified empire behind it:
in you it foretells the suffering of some other births
in him it gathers up all those be - comings that devour him
and the word made flesh for years on end is awake
and a body the word has made from the syllables of the lightning
and a man to tramp through nightmares the word has made
and wound in the wall of light the word has made itself -
it’s a long journey through the dark silence
this fright of deep silences I drink
that an uncertain being has become
with primitive forms
more and more beautifully primitive:
- some fear for me, please,
to be able to eat this bread,
and the word kept snow-storming Fear
that was much bigger than the body of the sky -
I read it despair and suffering
on a chair snarling like a dog
a way of saying wonder
or devil smelling of incense
an adjective standing on a leg, the adjectives spit me
and with uncontrolled movements
(they’re movements indeed)
one day the words will vanish away by turns
ane day I’ll find myself without a hand
on a sick day I’ll find myself without days
one day I’ll be without the necessary nonsense
one days without any danger of death
and ever nearer to the pain
without any rush into shame
I show you the new Dali -
this throbbing that entertains you
that is call of the eyes opening the wilderness:
and I write: mescaline
I pass by a word and write:
it was a word from the north, south, west, east
from whence the sin keeps growing
now it is the gold monk
hidden in the pod of the wind
then I climb up
the climbing is blue
a sound vertical universe
and I go on climbing through the clouds’ graveyard
up to the far end of the ghost’s provinces
till I break the hovel of the Old Man form Above
and I call out:
are you a man, Sir?
it writes my name on its tanned thigh
and presses my mouth against a wall
the wall crashes:
...and you, lady Sadness, you see
how I invent your existence
how I furnish the bomb with Jesuses
how I speak the language of my lusts
and now riht now
I swear to remain a young caretaker of your open gates
- much honoured instance! By the three letters...
by the three letters - oh, poor word
suffers from nuclear psychopathy -
bells keep raining in it, it’s still alive, is it? it falls down...
the Lord of the poem falls down
when I swear... the days is nameless, unimportant and doesn’t matter
to remain young... the day after tomorrow I’m coming back to myself...
it’s a spy
I sign you in, damn it, emperor of dwarfs!
haven’t you got one leu? pass me a cigarette at 3 o’clock today
and remember I enjoy sunny days
with your right hand, yes, just like this -
it’s a man also like any other man:
it’s out in the market and admires the strait jacket
of the animal made of shells of darkness
you call it and your call burns like a torch
and the animal turns into a thinking tree -
a rush - light with one million legs
guides the rhinoceros over the equator
be sin and bear the cross of the sinners
through their mouth you hear yourself talking
on the cliffs climbed up they’re waiting within you
to see through the lens of an instant
how Our Lord puts together the gods of clay
you’re quiet why are you quiet?
