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poetry/ english

so  many  times  I  had  absurd  claims
I  thought  my  soul  was  a  perfect  radar
for  your  steps, your  breath
your  weeping

with  ardour  and  love  we  could
finally  reach  in  peace  the  other’ s  skin
if  we  didn’ t  discover  with  disappointment
that  we  are  the  prisoners  of  our  epidermis

and  your  singing,  and  your  weeping,  and  your  look,
the  emotions,  the  incomparable  and  your  dreams
all  of  them  are  mine  for  ever

tearfully,  crying, I  hold  you  hopelessly
I  embrace  you  like  I’ ll  never  embrace  you  again
you  exist  in  me  deeper  than  in  your  heart
and  shaken,  I  whisper  to  you  from  a  distance
– nobody  has  ever  understood
anybody !

had  things not hit  me
with  such  fury
I  might  not  have  seen  them
I  might  have  never  cared  about
my  sadness – my  joy

sometimes  I  am  allowed  to  see
how  evil  mingles  with  good
how  from  their  combination
everything  comes  to  life
my  death – my  life

I  would  have  never  found  the  way  to  you
if  I  hadn’ t  wandered  about
if  so  many  nights  hadn’ t  blinded  me
if  I  hadn’ t  found  comfort  in  loneliness

sometimes  in  the  middle  of  the  tempest
deep  silence  overwhelms  me
and  while  I  am  hit,  battered  and  slashed
I  can  see  in  silence
how  my  death  feeds  my  life

after  I  was  cured
I  found  out  how  ill  I  was,
after  I  did  not  love  you  anymore
the need of you
fell  devastatingly  upon  me

after  I  am  not  anymore
I  shall  indeed  grasp  everything
I  am  nowhere  present
nor  absent  anywhere

many  a  time had I the wish
to  cease  existing,
although  I  have  never
really  lived

nearby  the  stinging  nettle  is
in  imperial  bloom
nearby  coloured  airplanes
are  taking  off

I  have  not  been  sentenced  anywhere
but  I  can  find  escape  nowhere
what  do  I  expect,  now
when  I  don’ t  expect  anything, anymore ?!

I  carefully  counted
all  my  malformations
all  my  helplesnesses
and  I  happily  gathered
my  entire  misfortunes
in  my  soul
what  do  I  expect ?

the  waste,  the  loneliness
the  ragged  and  cobwebbed
remains  of  the  puzzle
the  infections, the  mud,  the  slag, the  confusion
kept  me  warm,  stifled  me
and  yet …

and  yet …
when  I  don’ t  expect  anything
what  do  I  expect ??

I’ ve always  been  thriled
by  the  moment  when men  lose  their  little  wings,
by  the  moment  when  they  begin  to  slowly  revolve
around  their own lives
with  a  kind  of  frenezy
with  the  same  amazement  I’ ve  always  watched
intrigued  how  my  fellow  creatures  plunge  into  their  lives
with  indifference
with  indifference  and  fatigue
with  a  sweet  and  sad  exhaustion – like  a  stone
surreptitiously  my  friends  revolve themselves  into  silence
– some  easily, with  discrete  smiles,  as if  joking
– some  others,  resolutely, stubbornly
hasten to shake their flakes  off
and  in  vain do I  call  out to them,  in  vain do I  shout  in  despair
and  pull  them back by their  feet …
they have sunk  into  their  lives  to  their  waist,  to  their  ears
they don’ t  want, oh,  they don’ t  want  to  hear  anything  but
the nourishing  sound
of their  revolving around  this  world, this  life,  this  death
oh, my  friends  have  all  disappeared
swallowed  by  their  dull, hungry  brown – desperate  lives
and  I, strange  and  immature, see  how  the  possible  is narrowing
how  it  turns  into  a  spot,  into  a  trace
into  the  dim  breath  of  a  memory,
and afterwards  nobody  can  remember  anything  about  it

so  many  times  have  I  asked  the  other
to  take  a  right  view  of  things
but  I  haven’ t  done  so!

All  my  condemnations
have  stayed  in  front  of  me  for  years,
but  I  couldn’ t  follow  them
I  didn’ t  know  to  understand  them
I  couldn’ t  see  them
to  the  end
have  I  known  to  expiate  to  the  end!

my  youth  only  elapses,
joy  only  elapses,
life  only  elapses,
my  guilt  remains  unchanged
– never,  anything  have  I  known  to  expiate
to  the  end;

I’ ve  always  been  harshly  asking  the  other
to  take  a  right  view  of  things,
but  I  haven’ t  done  so!

and  now,  when  I  am  no  longer  expecting  anything
my  hope
is  stronger  than  ever.
all  that  I  could  touch
and  I  do  not

all  that  I  could  understand
and  I  do  not

all  that  I  could  be
and  I  am  not
I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  do  exist
I  know,  this  will  seem  dreadful,  dreadful  to  you
but – forgive  me  forgive  me  forgive  me ! –
it  was  much  later  that  I  found  this  out

long  after  you  had  left


hardly  had  winter  come
when  spring  was  gone  already

hardly  had  I  begun
to  close  in  on  you
when  you  moved  away
for  good

and  only  after  death
took  me  kindly  by  the  hand
have  I  started  living.
I  was  not
you  were  not
and  we  will  not  be

maybe  only  this  serene  moment
of  rousing  the  unbeing  within  us
over  our  tombs
it will  be usefully

“There  is  a  worm  hidden  in the Cosmos”
( Constantin  Noica )

even though  things  are  stained
in  wonder  I  notice:
they  are still getting  further  stained

no  one  ever  stops,
no  one  ever  advances.

very  closely
a  pure  sound  passed
those  that  can  still  hear  it
hasten  to  forget  it

when  you  lean
over  me
who  do  you  lean  on
and  when  you  wait  for  me
for  such  a  long  while,
when  you  wait  for  me,
like  that,
with  a  kind  of  deserted  hope,
who  do  you  wait  for ?
much  more  depressing  is  the  world  in  December
suicide  is  walking  around
much,  much  more  aggressively …

if  I  get  rid  of  this  winter
and  of  this  illness
and  of  this  death,
I  know  for  sure  that  when  summer  comes
I  shall  be  longing  for
that  gauntlet
thrown  down  long  ago
I  pick it up
every  day

I  wouldn’ t  have
to  face  you
if  I  had  seen myself
the way  I  am

I’ m  slowly  decaying
and  I’m  still  making
plans  for  the  future
I  do  not  recognize  anything  anymore,
I  do  not  know,  I  do  not  remember
a  stranger  through  my  life
I  hurriedly  pass.

only  sometimes  do  I  perceive  my  trembling,
fearful,  helpless  heart,
heart – an  animal  on  the  brink
of  extinction

in  your  eyes,  the  world  looks  younger  to  me,
ill  and  young,  dying  and  young,
anytime  ready  to  open,  in  its  last  spasm
towards  beauty

The  snowfall  of  last  night
like  a  fragile  shield
which  covers  the  uncertainty,
the  impatience  of  being

“  Do  not  drink the  waters  of  death.”
( St. Anthony  the  Great )

let  us  purify  the  place
then  let  us  wisely  wait
and  will  Beauty  itself
some  day
in  front  of  us ?

misshaped,  rumpled,
memories  put  on a new  apparel
each  season

but,  as  years  pass  by,
I  remember  everything
more  and  more  clearly

I  could  even  touch  now
your  tears  of  those  days
if  my  torment
touches  you,
forgive  me !

today,  well  locked  up  in  myself
I  might  leave  for  a  deep  journey

I  know  I  need  a  lot  of  things
but  first  let  me  close  the  window
close  the  drawers, stop the  music
and  slowly  close  my  eyes

today  I  think  I  shall  go  far,
far  away,

there’s  a  favourable  wind  blowing
from my memories
I  love  the  fissures  of  my  soul
against  which  I  rebel  so  much

to  a  never  heard  tune,
on  life  and  death,
I  passionately  dance.
if  I  had  taken  into  account
all  the  instructions,
I  wouldn’t ever  have  reached  you
I  used  to  love  you
I  used  to  breathe


I  burst  into  tears

I  couldn’t  find  you  anywhere
– you  were  everywhere
I  couldn’t  meet  you  anywhere
– you  were  meeting  me

I  was  trying  to  detach my things
neatly from  everybody  else’s
and  late  I  learnt  that  I  was  living
for  you  and  through  you

I  had  come  down  from  adolescence  with  a  guilty  look
I  was  pallidly  dreaming of  elopements from the Seraglio
I  wasn’ t  meeting  myself  any longer
– you  were  meeting  me !


( I  keep  choosing  you )

when  I  was  going  down, I  thought  I  was  going  up
I  was  sick,  bewitched  by  my  boundaries
an  inner  voice – unknown  to  me – was  mumbling
that  inside  is  outside, that  outside  is
deep  deep  inside

then  I  saw  you  for  the  first  time
long  after  I  had  held  you  tight  in  my  arms
my memory  has  chosen  you  and  I  keep  choosing  you
each  moment  I  find  myself  alive  in  you,  but
I  will  go  away,  so as not to  lose  you
had  things not hit  me
with  such  fury
I  might  not  have  seen  them
I  might  have  never  cared  about
my  sadness – my  joy

sometimes  I  am  allowed  to  see
how  evil  mingles  with  good
how  from  their  combination
everything  comes  to  life
my  death – my  life

I  would  have  never  found  the  way  to  you
if  I  hadn’ t  wandered  about
if  so  many  nights  hadn’ t  blinded  me
if  I  hadn’ t  found  comfort  in  loneliness

sometimes  in  the  middle  of  the  tempest
deep  silence  overwhelms  me
and  while  I  am  hit,  battered  and  slashed
I  can  see  in  silence
how  my  death  feeds  my  life
sweet  and  spacious  are  all
before  they  jump
on  your  back,
full  is  the  breast  while
you  can  see  it  full
and  silvery  are  the  paths
until  you  take
the  first  move

sweet  and  spacious  are  all
as  long  as  you  think
you  can  still  come  back

I  am  sentenced
to  my  own  self

– a  more  severe

I  could  not  have
if  only  just  a  little  weaker  had I been

I  would  have  had  my  way
if  only  just  a  little  stronger  had I been
I  would  have  passed  away

meeting  you
I  only  started  doubting
your  existence
so  many  gates  I  had  passed  through
heavy  curtains  I  had  drawn  apart
nights  and  days  on  my  knees  I  had  climbed  up
but  I  couldn’ t  reach  you

now  we are standing next to each other
I’m holding  your  hand  tight
I’m looking  in  your  tearful  eyes
and  I  wonder :
when  will  I  reach  you ?
sometimes  I  can’ t  hide  myself  anymore
and  I  have  to  face  my  deeds
with  brutality

cigarettes  don’ t  help  anymore
daydreaming  doesn’ t  help  anymore
only  the  autumn’ s  leaves
seem  determined
not  to  leave  me

sometimes, after  much chasing
I’ m  caught,  unmasked,  humiliated
nothing  can  ever  save  me  now
nothing  will  ever  come  close  to  me
– everywhere  I  go  I  run  up  against
pitiless  walls
everywhere  I  go  I  suddenly  run  up  against
how  long  do  I  have  to  wait
to  learn  which  things  are  mine ?

how  long  can  I  keep  falling  down
with  no  return,  with  no  way  out ?

from where do so  many  frights  and  wastes
come  to  my  soul ?

which  are  the  boundaries  and  what is the  share
which  is  the  strength  and  which is the weakness?

where  do  the  tears  of  the  whole  world  drop ?
and  where  do  the  teardrops  go ?

why  is  night  falling  so  soon  now
why  do  all  people  hide ?
how  closely have we  passed  today
one  by  the  other
I  had  raised  my  white  hat
you  were  smiling  from  your  floating  island
the  air  between  us  spiky  like  the  nettle

only  late
through  the  deserted  town
have I come  to  long  for  you
and  much  later
in  my  room  at  the  centre  of  the  universe
have I  finally  arrived
( your  scent  was  dancing  its  naked  heels  on  my  chest
and  your  fair  hair was  really making my eyelids heavier )
I  was  ashamed
and  I  have  never  written
I  have  never  believed
that I  could  ever  touch  you

small  signs  announced  you
and  hid  you  all  at  once

outside  of  myself
whereto  shall  I  step ?

only  on  my  torn  and  bloody
only  in  the  uncertain,  hesitating  step
only  in  the  undecided  gesture,
only  in  the  forced  and  fleeting  smile
only  in  trembling,  only  in  whisper
do I  feel  at  home

at  the  close  of  the  millenium
as  in  Genesis
women  pass  through  my  neuroses
they  quickly  light  a  candle  each
and  in  their  uncertain  light
the  instant  is  then  revired :
I  am  my  brother  once  again !

hurriedly,  they  interlard  my  body
with  possible  deaths
: could  I  fly  for  good
out  of  my  wild  despair ?

women  pass.
then  everything  relapses.

I  have  not  cleared the  faces  of  the  world yet
– I  am  ready,  I  am  ready  to  die –
and  the  slow  moon has not  counselled  me  yet
– let  us  go,  let  us  go,  no  more  words

I  have  not  spent  an  evening  with  you
– let  us  go,  I  am  ready,  I  am  ready –
my  window  stays  open  at  night
perhaps  destiny  will  visit  me
after  my  hasty  departure

I carry a  fleeting  world  on  my  shoulders
the  uncertain  borders  of  love  and  hate
are  not  uncoupled  yet
over  me  kind  bewilderments  hover
– I  am  ready,  I  am  ready  to  die !
it’s  time  to  tell  you
about  my  casual  life
I’ve  shot  a  few  times  doves
and  other  singing  seasons
several mornings  I have stopped
in  front  of  cups  of  coffee
in  which  my  heart  was  mirrored
always  prepared
for  the  great  crusades
( I will  show  you  on  the  map  the  places  where  I have led
humble  epochal  battles )

now  I  love  only  the  sunset
its  light  in  which  we  melt
like  two  candles  of  twin  wax

I  have  always  believed
in  coming  back

big boats were  harrowingly  shipwrecked
and  I have believed in coming  back

from  me  all  turned  away  their  faces
night  and  day  were  the  same
bitter  and  sweet  seemed  alike
mother  had  long  in  her  tears
buried  me
but  I have still  believed
in  coming  back

with  my  last  strength,
I  kicked  my  last  strength
my  wings  and  my  body
riddled  with  arrows
I have still  believed
in  coming  back

I  was  moving  away
I  was  moving  away  trembling  with  anger
I  am  moving  away  obsessively  repeating
that  I  still  can,
that  I  still  can  come  back

sometimes  melancholy  wins
and  beyond  all  heavens
childhood  stretches devastatingly

if  Hölderlin  should  come
the  sky  will  set  forth  sweet  songs
of  resurrection
and  the  eye  of  the  needle  will  close
( the  freight  train  will   run
over  my  neck  no  more )

if  Hölderlin  should  come
only  the  bells
will  be  heard  in  the  distance
and  voices  of  children  in  a  fervent  choir.
all  that  is  elusive  will  have  a  shape
all  that  is  unborn …
… will  be  born,
if  Hölderlin  should  come
someone  is  ringing
but  no  one  answers

nothing  can  be  bound
nothing  can  be  shaped
nothing  can  keep  you
nothing  can  stop  you

you  would  go  out
and  climb  the  statue  in  the  central  square
and  speak  to  people
– what  can  you  tell  them
what  else  can  you  tell  them ? –

towards  evening,  calm,
you  lose  yourself  in  the  crowd
you  do  not  walk,  you  just  slide
you  let  yourself  pushed, shoved  aside
you  do  not  care  for  anything  anymore

before  it  had  time  to  unfold
your  life  was  gone

the curtain !  the curtain !

she  lit  my  way
when,  eyes tightly closed,
I  was  in fear  looking  for  a  place
To  rest  my  eyes

again  she  told  me
when  I  lay  obediently  down  on  the  rails
that  only  after  my  hopes
had  been  poisoned
could  I  start  hoping  again

she  is  my  mother  and  my  daughter
– limit  and  infinity –
she  hasn’ t  yet  been  shown  to  me

her  story  is  by  no  one  told
her  story  is  by  no  one  written
I  knew  entirely  her  tale
even  before  I  came  out  here.

between  me  and  the  one  who  could  love  you
sometimes  God  shows  Himself
together  with  strange  things
that  darken  the  world’ s  face

between  me  and  the  one  who  towards  you  is  running
there  are  so  many  things  that  stay  still,
foreboding …

( fog  clims  and  descends
– I  do  not  want  to  touch
what  I  can  hardly  see ! )

between  us,  the  dead  and  the  living
together  are  rejoicing
the  world  is  waiting,  again,
to  start

between  me  and  the  one  who  could  have  loved  you
you  can  hardly  step  further,
you  can  hardly  breathe
and  you  have  such  a  beautiful  face
of  the  past
It was as  if  I had come out from an  underground  tunnel
while  autumn  flowers  left coard for me
I don’t  know  why, but  when  it is  autumn I remember  you
and my uncertain  steps  seem, suddenly, to  have  a  meaning

far  far  away  a  song  is  heard
that  I  once  used  to  whisper :
“autumn,  autumn,  why  do  you  change
so   deeply
your  slave’ s  paths …”

look,  peaceful  now,  I  become  confident
and  I  raise  hesitation  to  the  rank
of  ruling  principle  of  the  world

you  are  near,
you  hold  my  hand,
even  if  you  are  so  silent,
even  if  you  don’ t  exist …

why  ever  do  you  change  so  deeply
your  slave’s paths ?
again  and  again,  something  else
seems  to  be  more  important
than  my  life

those failed meetings  with  myself
are  as  many  regrets
as  many  euphorias  for  me
and,  death  in  my  arms
far  away  my  death
must  be  from  me

more  and  more  something  else  seizes  me,
rolls  me  up,  loses  me
again  and  again  I  keep  turning  myself  into
something  else

so,  whatever  most  profound  in  this  world
seems  of  another  world  to  come
it’ s  better  that  you  are  away
I  haven’ t  written  to  you  and  I  won’ t  ever do
the  medicines  that  you  have  sent  me
I  have given them away  at  once  for  a  cigar,

sometimes  I  do  remember  you
in  unexpected  moments
sometimes,  indeed,  I  laugh  all  by  myself
as  I  walk  down  the  road
sometimes  I  feel  I  could  even  touch  you

it  is  all  right  that  you  are  far  away
it  is  all  right  to  have  no  one  to  confess  to
– it has,  anyway,  become  a  little  irritating
to  tell  you  everything –

I  sometimes  do  believe
countless  contrary  things  about  you
and  every  single  thing  reminds  me  of  you
I  do  have  any  memory  I  wish  about  you
and  more  and  more
I  am  ashamed  of  you

indeed,  indeed,  it’ s  all  right  that  you  left  me
ever  since  I  was  born.


again  I  had a dream  that,
on  the  brink  of  happiness,
I  took  my  days
sadder  than  ever
in  my  life,
I  went  down

more  and  more  often
I  choose  to  walk
through  the  ruins  of  my  soul
and  I  always  take  along
your  small  bottle  of  perfume

of  course
I  step  politely  back
from  all
the  others

and  thus,  stumblingly,
I  still  believe
that  one  day
I  will  know  how  to  serve  You
no  one  else  in  the  world  has been  born
since  Napoleon,  Stavroghin  and  Mîşkin
disabled,  we  hold  the  book  in  our  hands
and  soil  the  pages
with  our  tears

come,  sing  for  me  that  old  song
so  I  forget  my  weakness,
so  I  forget  the  pits  where
I  have  humbly  entered
as  if  in  sacred  monasteries !

sing  for  me  that  old  song
so  I  forget  my  lawlessness
so  I  forget  once  and  for  all
that  I  was  not  born !
whenever  You  come,
I  shall  be  Yours,
however  late  You  come

and  even  if  You  find  me
Yours  I  shall  be
Yours  I  shall  be

Yours  I  am
only  Yours
for  no  one


take  me,  take  me, take  me
my  sins  altogether  along !

there  is  nothing  close  to  me  any longer
there  is  nothing  left  that  can  save  me
there  is  nowhere  I  can  find  my  place  and  my  home

sinfully  I  went  near  things
my  eyes  closed,  foaming,  I  went  near
God,  oh  God,  my  evenings
the  weaping,  the  deaths,  the  reluctances
sinfully  estranged  me  from  my  flesh

somewhere  nearby,  someone  is  gently  crying
a  riddled  and  repulsive  soul, clinging  to  memories
there  is  nothing  close  to  me  anymore
there  is  nothing  left  that can  save  me
take  me, take  me, take  me,
Your  will  be  done,  of  Lord !

what  did  you  do  with  my  days
what  did  you  do  with  my  nights
with  my  young  arms  what  did  you  do ?

in  momentary  sparklings,
amid  calamities  and  curses,
I  sometimes  do  perceive,  drunken  with  fury,
my  vanquished,  withered  and  shameful  image

my  whole  shivering
can  hardly  whimper,  can  hardly  touch
the  big  wheels

in  this  world
that  killed  my  world,
in  this  slanting,  disfigured
in  this  world  I  have  to
find  my  own  relief
from  the  flower  suddenly  grown  in  front  of  me
I  turn  my  look  in  fear
– I  am  not  prepared  for  this  event …

and  I  still  wonder  “ who  leads  my  steps ”
now  when  my  deeds  with  submission  I  welcome

– perhaps  in  somebody  else’ s  place  I  presented  myself
perhaps  I  came  in  a  different  zodiac  than  mine
perhaps  someone,  out-of-his-mind,  every  night,  calls me
and  asks  for  his  signs  that  I  sadly  embrace
oh, what  if  there  is  someone  else  suffering  what  is  meant
for  me  to  endure ?

perhaps  someone  does  mix  up  everything
and  my  blood  cries  in  foreign  veins
and  I  exist, strangely,  in  a  foreign  body,
and  my  whole  destiny
under  falling  stars  unfolds …

an  awful  guilt  I  bear  on  my  back
there  is  nothing  else  outside of  it
my  life  is  a  long  string  of  rooms
that  suddenly  will  not  communicate
with  one  another

my  life – a  clock
once  wound
by  a  deskmate

my  life – a  train  which  crawls  along,
no  turning  back,
on  the  same  old  rail …

my  life – a  bridegroom’ s  suit,
torn  in  the  waiting – rooms


my  life – an  unending  attempt
to  retrieve
what  I  have  never  possessed

this  paralysing
of  ashes – my  life

here,  after  twenty  years,  you  come  and  tell  me
that  the  ravines, the  pits, the  swamps  that  I  pulled  you  along
have  been  good  shetlers  to  you  afterwards,  that
you  have  never  seen  such  a  splendour

“sounds, blue  and  cunning  sounds, sawdust  freshly  broken  up
and  satin  copper – coloured  belts  are yeasting  mixtured  not too
far  away

for  twenty  years my  consciousness  has  tried  to  get  the  forgiveness
for  the  loneliness  and  the  misfortune  in  which  I  walled  you  up
and  for  my  wrong  act of  coming  up  against  you

“ on  the  corner  screen  the  story  of  the  sinking  in
alcohol  of  the  very  beautiful  sadness  in  string  is  still  on”
but you, you thank  me  for  having  pulled  you along  in  the mud
for  having  forced  you  to  look  nowhere, you
carefully  describe  the  weird  plants  that  were
madly  flourishing  in  my  soul
and  you  think  that  their  shadow  had  afterwards  guided  you
not  to  lose, not  to  slide,  not  to  be  mistaken

“the  small  muslin  rags, the  castor  oil  and  the  cork  of  an old
hermetically  screwd  on  in  the  summer  warehouse,
will  soon  blow up”
– but  nobody  will  ever  know  anything  about  that

oh, may  your  life  be  blessed  as  you  let  me  turn
my  eyes  in  silence
as, instead  of  seeing  my  forehead  full  of  dust, you  see  it full
of  stars

“last  year, in  an  autumn  afternoon  someone  entered
the  hollow  on  the  bank  of  the  river  and  never  came  out  again
and, a few  days ago, a strange  old  woman  put  a  yellow  cross  of
nut  tree  there…”

may the guardian  angels  watch  over  you, my  strange  lover, as you
let  me  see  a  deep  invaluable  sign  in  my  life’ s  futility
now, my strange  lover, I’ ll pray  for  you till the  end  of  time
sometimes  you  appear  like  a  blessing
in  this  country  full  of  confusion
you  still  show  yourself,  test  yourself
though  the  misgivings  have  forgotten  you

sometimes  I  don’ t  expect  you,  either
absorbed, I  catch  sight  of  you  like  of  a  wonder
I  catch  sight  of  you  like  of  a  story
about  what  it  might  have  been
and  will  never  be

late, at  night  I  draw  near
the  white  page
and I write  to  you, panting, breathing  hard, with shyness
I  jerkly  write  to  you  in  haste,  with  the  fear
that  I  shall  change  my  mind
the  next  second
I  write  short  halting  lines  to  you
I  write  to  you  like  this, with  a  slight  hope
which  is  much  stonger  than  me

I  have fallen  down  again.
as  time  passes  by, this  happens  to  me  ever  oftener
– it  is  ever  harder  forme
to  keep  my  balance !

these  things  I  catch  sight  of,  bite  me
and  those  I  cannot  see
keep  piercing  me
and  my  panting, often  interrupted  path
is  hunted  by  glidings  from
all  over  the  places

I’ ll  never  taste  again
the  tea
in  a  man’ s  house

there  was  a  time  when  I  used  to  love  you  because  you  belonged    to  him
like  I  used  to  love  your  home  and  your  children
there  was  a  time,  in  adolescence,  when  I  wouldn’ t
listen  to  what  was  reaching  my  ears  at  all
whole  nights  we  all  three  spent  in  the  garden

under  an  apple  tree  your  husband  was  playing  love  songs  on  the            guitare
with  such  a  love,  that  under  his  lost  glances
our  souls  were  noisingly  embracing  diffusely,
but, by  that  time, I  didn’ t  want  to  know  anything  about  that
I didn’ t  want  to  know  anything  about  the  dreams  in which
I  was  crazily  kissing  you, with  despair, humiliation  and  sadness
I  was  sending  to  the  depth  of  my  soul  everything  that  was  coming                    to  me
I was  avoiding  the  misgivings, the  whispers  and  the  predictions  with                    a  feverish  care.

my  friend  was  so  dear  to  me  that,  without  knowing
I  was  sending  your  thoughts  back  to  him.
– endless  nights  were  guarding  us,  kind  gods
were  joining  us,  soft  velvety  sounds  were  covering  us
but  I  didn’ t  know  that  and  I  was  carefully  hiding
all  your  signs, I  was  shiveringly  covering  the  pits  which
were  lying  under  steps,  I  was  wrapping  the  sadness  with  fear
– don’ t  reproach  all  these  to  me  because  only
now  I’ m  finding  them  out
I  dare  face  them  only  now
my  lost  love,  my  non-had  love,  confessed
but  not started;  my  love – flawless, faultless  punishment
my  love  which was  never  mine  has  tried  me
afterwards,  always  with  never  ending  sadness
later,  my  friend  died
and  now  we  watch  together
how  our  story  is  slowly  going  away  from  us
with  no  coming  back,  with  no  way  out  and  with no

today,  with  humiliation  and  shame  we  confess
that  we  haven’ t  confessed  when  we  had  to
that  we  haven’t  had
the  courage  to  take  a  look  at  our  tormented  souls
that  we have uselessly  expected  to  forget
the  unforgettable
that  we  haven’ t  know  how to live with a  flaw
would  have  diminished  our  present  flaw, we haven’t  learn  in  time
that  what  we have guiltily  avoided
will  strangle  us

our  friend  passed  away  a  long  time  ago
you  still  exist
I  still  exist
and  we  can  no  longer  hide  ourselves
and  we  can  no  longer  get
anything  we  are  offered
the  autumn  leaves  mildly  fall  on  the  street
from  behind  the  bars  the  city  seems  more  lively
I  don’ t  even  know how to  expiate  my  fault
and,  bewildered, I  stand  an  easy  prey
to  a  song  of  celebration
the  melancholy
A walk in Copou on the 15th of January 1999
awfully difficult
have I found it
difficult, difficult,difficult
to assume
even the slightest crack
of my soul

difficult, difficult do I find it
to appropriate
my unlikeness of the world
my likeness of the world
and my heart

today,  for me, Copou
is the center of the Universe
I’m walking timidly and confidently
like in Heaven
I am even wholly inside myself
as you, yourself, used to be once

today  it is Mihai Eminescu’s birthday
he didn’t turn 40 in the end ­
lately I’ve felt him closer and closer
it’s as if I understood him better
it’s as if I’d stopped understanding him

difficult, difficult do I find it
to appropriate
my unlikeness of the world
my likeness of the world
and my heart

I’m walking on a fresh
deep and tidy Copou
I am even wholly
inside myself
and I have much more
than I have even been given

awfully difficult
have I found it
difficult, difficult, difficult
to assume, humbly
my smouldering tears, all the tears
of my soul

I’m finally getting rid of my youth
Oh, God, it’s such a joy
to behold
my youth years go by!

I was at a loss what to do
to speed up
my youth years’ fall,
nothing would seem better to me
nothing would be dearer to me
than to see
how my life
quickly goes by

anything would be of use
if it could help me
get rid
of my youth
quickly, quickly, quickly,
in an instant
of my youth

my lungs would prevent my steps
my heart was like a wall in my face
my eyes, always unbearable,
would blind me painfully
oh, God, it’s been such a joy to behold
my youth years go by!

The treacherous hour in which all mix up
‘tis as if
nothing hits on anything
things pass, alas! one through another
without effort, without pain
and the scented fate
enchants them, passes them

my comfort
has long stopped
to come around
my confidence has withered
and the distance
has drawn dizzyingly close

now, late, I remember
a song for which
I’ve prepared so much
a song which
I’ll never get
to sing
Why I always choke with tears
bearing death in my soul
I make
for death

why do you tell me
that you’ll never
leave me?

between me
and my death
your fragility
sits itself quietly
as if this were
what God wanted

I make for death
and with every step
I turn fortified
and free

about the defeat that fortifies you
I haven’t found out yet
the use
of victories,
I haven’t beheld yet
the winners

my eyes glide
with devotion
only towards
the smile
of the defeated

only the defeated
can be the elect
only the defeated
can sound the reveille
only from the defeated
can you expect
the real victories?

there is so much sadness around
and so much virgin joy
that I have the time to measure
at length
my whole futile

when does the world have a meaning?
when you have the secret power
to count your disillusions
with joy

when you had been dead
and you rose again,
when you no longer look for

I love you
I love you
and I’d like
so much
to love you

than I discovered
that I couldn’t
touch anything
and that little
for me

now deluge
may befall
I can start
to be

it’s so late, sweetheart, to hurry
probably I’ll never be
as old as today
suddenly an old mirror
has shown up before me
in which I dimly saw myself
decomposed, amputated, humiliated

now I’m standing still
under the snow-laden firtrees in Copou
but inside me everything
is swirling rapidly
greatly embarrassed
I attend
an awful

it’s too late, sweetheart, to hurry
I keep on receiving
but alarming news
and I put all my hope
in this winter

happy day
yesterday was
a fully blessed
yesterday I forgot
about suicide

when your woman deserts you
wherever she might go
you think that you stay hidden
for good

among her belongings
my soul, straighten your knees,
stop the fall,
the decay
stop the sand,
the water

wherever she might go
you no longer matter
not a whit
wherever she might go
you’re not left
your birth was
an aberration
an imitation
a negation
wherever she might go,
there’s no place for you to go

when a woman leaves
a dreadful noise
visits your temples
and scabby frogs
speed up
climbing on your body

no, no, no
I won’t believe anything
of what befalls me
it’s a bed novel, a cheap film,
a spurious song
nothing, nothing
is true!

when a woman leaves
when your woman leaves,
for good
you wish you were no longer
not even had been born
not at all

A note sent hurriedly, in a state of unrest
the weaker you are
the more fearful I am
of you

when a woman comes towards you
it is as if
the joint armies of mankind
turn their steps
towards you

you’re lost

beyond everything I know
beyond everything I own
beyond everything I meet
beyond everything I dream of

beyond the delicate light
of your eyes
beyond my sons
David and Andrew
beyond the image of the father
beyond the conceited reality
and beyond everything that can be said

lines forgotten among old barrels
I was so ashamed
of my love
that I would hide
in deep cellars
behind some old barrel
whimpering quietly
lest someone found out
about the charm
that had seized me
out of the blue
without, at least,
allowing me
to hold my breath

now, after having stumbled
through my life
without understanding it
now I can offer you
the letter then unwritten
now I can, in nostalgia’s mirrors
look at you
straight in the eyes

coup de foudre
with dizzily precision
you came to me
your eyes closed
your eyes carefully closed
it seemed to me
that you came to me

then, your sweet, unworldly
and your infinite submission
seemed to be offered
to someone
behind me

and one day
in your delicate
amazingly deep eyes
I saw the image of the God
who had long
transcended me
for a moment

when you have no meaning and only gulls of death float above
estranged, devastated
I sink among unsteady borders
coppery waves carry me

and the night won’t resume
reasonable dimensions
the soft breeze of death
deposits drops of life
on my lips

my darling, my darling
how  could you
go forward
so far!
how could you, my darling,
dig the dagger
thousands of time
with so much precision
straight into my heart!

only as long as you are alive
can you change

all you crooked thoughts
stay crooked
and your joy
will be healed

only as long as you are alive
can love visit you
that you’ve never known
how to welcome

for so long
for so long
I’ve been preparing
to take part
in this life
of mine

here, again,
the phone is ringing:
does someone really
need me?

for so long
I’ve been preparing
to answer simply:
I’m right here,
only here!

it’s ringing, the phone is ringing
and I get scared

story from our time

there come to me
so many things
that trouble me
and that I fail to understand

in Bratislava station
pigeons move about
like preoccupied pedestrians

I don’t understand anything around
there for, all I’m left with
is tell stories
till I drop,
about myself

your presence

nothing more
can I imagine
but your presence

I find you again everywhere
diffusely scattered
plentifully scattered
in today’s
unsteady things

you scatter your smile
the past, the future
you shyly scatter
long years of waiting
for my salvation

under your gaze

all that is mine
seized by fear
and all
becomes more
my own

I act as a figurant in my own existence
even if I did hold you in my arms
much more deeply would I have liked
to hold you
even if the signs
did reveal themselves to me
few did I see
and much fewer
did I understand

I don’t know why I am afraid
and I don’t know why dare not
at ease
the pages of the book
which are

to  run,  to  break  my  fetters
to  smash  the  death
that  seized  me  so
to  make  my  way  to  you
my  princess,  my  princess

I  was  still  looking  in  the  distance
I  still  believed  that  all
belongs  to  me
I  was  still  swelling  out  my  breast
happy  to  meet  you
happy  to  touch  you
when  I  heard  already
my  horses  neighing
in   nether  world

I  was  still  preparing  myself  to  welcome  you
I  was  still  waving  hung  by  the  old  mirror
when  I  was  told  that  you  had  left

to  make  my  way,  now,  near  you
now,  when  you  left,  to  hold  and  embrace  you !
death  chained  me  up  so  well
that  I’ m  ashamed  of  crying even
my  princess,  my  princess.
Never  are  you  too  hurt
to stand  another  blow

in  the  autumn  failures  seem  to  increase
bad  news  come  from  everywhere
I  hear  again  that  my  life  passes  in  vain
and  everything  that  belongs  to  me  is  shattered
far  away,  too  far  away

suddenly,  nothing  shelters  me  anymore
nothing  covers  me  protectively
I  was  hiding  myself  behind  hazy  walls  of  air
the  wings  and  the  words  are  dispersed  now
and  memories  won’ t  come  nearer, either

much  poorer  than  the  first  time
I  don’ t  dare  to  hold  out  my  hand
here  I’ ve  learnt  that  many  things  are  forbidden  to  me
that  I  can’ t  touch  anything  without  being  punished
that I have  been  circling  an  immense  emptiness  for a long  time

I  don’t  try  to  escape  anymore – where  could  I  go ?
in  front  of  the  dull  collapse  I  stand  seduced
a  dog  barks  at  the  leaves  that  fall  down  happily
and  I  can’ t  remember  anything  to  protect  me
I  can’ t  see  anything but  my  guilt  covering  me

no  matter  how  low  I  fell,  today  I’ ve  learnt
that  I  can  fall  even  lower – deep  as  the  sky
is  the  soul
your  unsteady  feet,  with  indefinite
faltering  forms
have  built  defiant  columns  inside  me

you  come  to  me
on  the  arm  of  a  stranger
and  your  nights  of  love
are  my  nights

when  I  first  met  you
you  were  wearing  the  sign  I  expected
you  were  wearing  in  wonder  that  sign
through  which,  once  I  united  myself  with  you

irritated,  you  put  me  at  the  pillory
but  your  eyes, all  in  tears, were  surreptitiously calling  me
softly  and  ambiguously  they  talked  to me
and  I  was  thrilled  to  hear
that, suddenly, someone  inside  me  was  rejecting  you
someone  angry, frightened, dispossessed

that  same  night  I  saw
how  the  hand  which  was  rejecting  you  touched  you
and  the  mouth  cursing  you,  wanted  to  taste  you
later,  much  later
I’ ll  hide  myself
from  you
in  your  arms

Your  failures  show  me
the  perfection  that  you  will
always  be

I  am  a  boat, a nutshell
on  the  ocean  of  your
panting  agitated  breath
and  you,  hardly  knowing  that  I  exist
unconsciously  command  me
what  I  should  dream,  what  I  should  smell
what  I  should  not  touch

your  lost  mocking  profound  look
is  the  path  on  which
I  meekly  step
with  trust
your  deep  look  with  tears
is  the  most  precious  reality
this sorrowful October end

your  look  wandering
about  all  the  places,  suddenly
turned  my  face  away  from  the  picture
of  the  decaying  world
and  your  delicate  heartbreaking  steps
seem  to  write  a  new  history
your  failures  show  me
the  perfection  you  will  always  be
when, all  of  a  sudden,  implacably
all  the  doors  closed  hermetically
exactly  when  I  was  about  to  leave
this  house
this  life
this  death
oh,  so  many  things  are  to  be  done
when  nothing  is  left  to  be
but  the  belief  that  you  will
finally  come
tired  me  so  much!

and  if  you  come
and  if  you  don’ t  come
in  vain  are  my  ships
that  I’ ll  start  building
tomorrow  morning

hardly  had  I  left
this  house
this  life
when  a  trembling  voice  murmured
that  my  few  talants
are  the  last  talants  of  the  world.
and  what  do  I  see  when  I  can’ t  see  a  thing

where  was  I  when  I  was  not  inside myself
who  talked  to  me  when  nobody  would  talk  to  me?

on  what  paths  did  I  breathe  hard
when  all  the  ways  were  forbidden  to  me?

when  things  that  exist  looked  upon  me  with  hatred
what  did  I  touch,  whom  did  I  touch?

where  did  my  tears  fall
and  where  was  my  place  when  I  had  no  place?

who  warmed  me  up  when nobody  would  warm me up?
who  loved  me  when  nobody  would  love  me?

when  everything  is  cracked, dull  and  decayed
what  else  can  you  happily  dream  about?

I haven’ t  gathered  anything  and  yet I  have  a  lot
how  much  of  what  I  own  is  mine?

I  free  myself  from  your  traps
and  I  happily  find  myself  in  your  traps

I  gradually  withdraw  myself  from  the  sea
but  my  soul  is  like  a  sea  during  the  tempest  now

how  slowly have  I  detached  myself  from  illusions  and  dreams
only to cry afterwards, often  upset  in  the  autumn

and  in  any  meeting  the  hopes  were  singing
with  mild  and  sad  tones  of  separation

a  clear  disorder  keeps  pushing  me
to  watch  over  the  whole  chaos  to  the  end

and  out  of  this  clean  débris  of  struggle
I  always  choose  a  pit  of  mud

defeated  and  decayed  by  this  life  of  mine
in  disgust, I  look  for  a  shelter  in  my  life

I  want  to  run  away, to  get  rid  of  delays
of  expectations,  of  spleen
but  I  find  only  delays

I  happily  free  myself  from  your  traps
and  I  find  myself  staggering  into  your  traps.
I  come  nearer  the old  age  and  I  keep  hiding
under  the  coat
my  whimpering like a  baby

God, I have always been behind  everybody!

melancholy  and  emptiness
my  well-being

impediments  and  hesitations
decide  for  me
together  with  my  fright
hope  comes  to  visit  me

one  more  century  in this world  should  I  live
and  I  wouldn’ t  have  enough  time
to  cry  my heart out over this  life
that  I  am  about  to  lose



1. Jean Narciso Bispo Moura - octombrie 16, 2008

Tranks, very good!

2. SUBODH SARKAR - noiembrie 7, 2008

Dear Dorin Popa

i have been reading your poems, and i am sure
some of them have penetrated my soul. To me,it’s a joy of
discovering a new poet. i like to translate some of them, may be all
of them, into my own language, Bengali. Then i can make a book of your poems in Bengal translation.

love and regards
subodh sarkar
plz visit

3. C. P. Sharma - noiembrie 18, 2008

hi dorin popa,
Your poetry is of very high order. It is the cry of the soul and it has a metaphysical touch about it. You are a born poet who speaks the languaguage of the soul. Your language is so simple yet it goes deep down the soul that the lotus of the heart blooms to the full. Your poems are the utterings of the enlightened soul. God bless you.

4. Ananya S Guha - ianuarie 28, 2009

Dear Dorin Popa,

Your poems are beautiful, touching and embedded in the human angst. Yet they are the poems of an optimist. The images are simple, soulful and lyrical. I greatly enjoy the music in your poetry. You are a great poet.


Ananya S Guha.

5. Linda Wood - februarie 15, 2009

Thank you for sending me a way to read your poetry. I especially liked ‘Nobody Understands Anybody’ and ‘How much of what I own is Mine’. I spent a bit of time reading some of your other pages and like the choice of music.

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