1. Clara
2. Florina
3. The infanta Margherita
4. The infanta
Augustina
5. The
infanta Francesca
6. The
infanta Manola
7. The
infanta Isabella
8. UTTER
or Raping the Air (half-poem)
9.
List
of my flaws and the percentage of untreatability
10.
Dayliness
11. Mia-maia
and Tess-the-poetess
12.
The
diary of a clone-16 years, 3 months
13.
Haunting
deep inside you
14.
Barbed-wire
silences
15.
Hunger
strike for you
16.
The
cage
17.
Cookie
the cook
18.
Lolo
locomotive
19.
Inside
20.
The
basic cell
21. Blowing Across
the Table
22. Elegy for a
Medical Student
23. Handicap
Clara
clara’s body was in
squares
so she divided it numbered
it
A5 B3 C7 the square I9
was his favorite morning
after morning he used to
deposit
kisses memories whispers
there
an ever growing heap of
used kisses
that
is to say soiled worn out depleted incapable
of getting repeated he
was quite inventive
but he couldn’t give up
I9
then B7 became his
resting place
where he’d gather
strength after some
very daring move at C5
and let’s not forget the
celestial corner A1
where a crowd of angels
jostled the kibitzers
dying of curiosity to see
how it might come out
after the classic attack
on B7
nobody seemed to be
winning don’t imagine
that
anything about this battle was ordinary
clara
finally got in trouble when she fell in love
the squares dimmed faded
disappeared
he took to stalking off
in high dudgeon
at the interruption of
their game she’d cry
the angels couldn’t help
but laugh then finally
they themselves decided
to play on clara’s body
tracing lines drawing
squares
translated
by
Adam
J. Sorkin and Aura Sibisan with the poet
Florina
one fine day
Florina burst into bloom
each strand of hair
on her perfect
body
some say firm
others say thrillingly
soft
musical and fair
each and every strand
metamorphosed into a
petal
yes a petal
in the evening Florina
combs
her chrysanthemums
dahlias but
you haven’t seen anything
yet
you should gaze upon her
hands
at the fleshy sinuous
freesias reaching
mingling blooming opening
wide
what fragrance
when Florina dances but
you haven’t seen anything
yet
because those long legs
of hers
some say like a model’s
others say
too thin and bony
like daisies
tremble side-by-side in
rows
planted in the garden
beds of parks
for a long time now
Florina hasn’t moved
so as not to ruin
that sister garden
her siamese twin
she stays exactly like
that
neighbors come to the
courtyard
passersby tourists
arrive to see her feel
her smell her
so her parents sell
tickets
just to look at Florina
how she stays so still
she has learned to wait
to understand the sun and
the rain
to fear hail
children
young lovers who pluck
her petals and recite
she loves me
she loves me not
she loves me
it’s so pretty to see
them
the young dandies the
mature gentlemen
all the bachelors who line up
to smell Florina’s feet
to caress those daisies
sprouted from her thighs
to water
Florina’s flowers
with saliva sweat tears
to make an offering
of seed somewhere
maybe some different sort of
flower or something like
a flower or who knows
what kind
of petaled witchery
might spring up from the
warm hard
smooth sweet earth
of Florina
for a long time
Florina hasn’t moved but
old crones gypsies
neighborhood gossips
swear that at the very
moment
she gave up the ghost
water gushed from her
mouth
water kept flowing
and an artesian well
remains right there
in the middle of the
garden
Florina
translated
by
Adam
J. Sorkin with the poet and Jana Rotescu
The
infanta Margherita
noble
gentlemen oh hear my sad tale
blond
margherita has been put under lock and key
shut tight in a music box
its walls lined
with finest silk they
nailed her foot
to the gold velvet floor
round
and round she turns crying mar-ghe-ri-ta
people laugh how cute how
cute
she longed to run away
but they drove another nail
through her hand then
chained her to the ceiling
she yearned to move
freely but they crucified her
on a metal arch no longer
can she dance round and round
mar-ghe-ri-ta
still how cute how cute
now she goes pop when you open the top
such
a silly a clown with fake tresses
and
a smile smeared across her face the blond buffoon
springs up just-like-that
from her brocaded hoopskirt
swaying
like an idiot you’ll find it hard
to
believe that this eyesore a scarecrow in a box
once upon a time had a
name
mar-ghe-ri-ta
translated by Adam J. Sorkin and Aura
Sibisan with the poet
The
infanta Augustina
they took augustina to
the fair
with
gaily colored spikes they hung her
in
the corner of a wooden booth and put
a red circle between her
breasts step right up
ladies and gentlemen and
try your luck
5 points if you shoot the
horse 10 for the knight
15 for the castle gate
and 100
that’s right one hundred
points—THE Graaand PRIZE
for a bullet in infanta’s
chest
show
your stuff champ ready the rifle steady
against your shoulder
take aim fire count how many
eyes wink half-open
between augustina’s
breasts BINGO that’s a
hit her legs flail about
her head her arms oh mama
look at the queen
jitterbug
this plush teddy bear for
the little guy
in the man-size cap hey
big shot you’re next come on
who wants to take a pop
you get
one hundred points for
the infanta
it’s not difficult to hit
her all you’ve gotta do
is squeeze the trigger
when
she screams nooo with women this always
means yessss
translated
by Adam J. Sorkin and Aura Sibisan with the poet
The
infanta Francesca
since childhood francesca
has always known
that at twenty she’d move
into the foundation of a
church she had learned
that walls taste good and
smell
like milk that love is
nothing compared
to cement thickly poured
on the shoulder a cold
brick
mortared to the thigh a
course of stone
pressed against the belly
that no kiss can be
sweeter than the mouth stopped
up
by a wall that feels warm
from the fresh mist
of
breath buried only a few moments before
for twenty years
francesca has awaited
the moment of her
deflowering
obscene dreams haunt her
like a sword a crucifix
pierces
her breast her sex her
brain
and all in a sweat she
awakes
the room looks like it
has shrunk
its walls have crept
another step
toward her
translated
by
Adam
J. Sorkin and Aura Sibisan with the poet
The
infanta Manola
manola had to be stuffed
she was too beautiful
they couldn’t
put it off a moment
longer any wrinkle
any crease in her skin
would decrease
the great worth of the
infanta
they sent for the finest
straw
summoned a deluxe butcher
courtiers priests
her body is destined to
repose forever
in the great hall of the
palace
nevertheless
bitter debates rage should they
immortalize her seated in
an armchair or standing
posed in a hoopskirt or
wearing a riding habit
in modern fashion or
period dress and if
modern which couturier
should they favor
the bidding continued
nonstop manola’s price
had soared she was more
expensive
than all the paintings
sculpture art
objects they couldn’t
waste
a moment more
any crease in her skin
would lead
to a disastrous plunge in
her value
only right now this very
instant can manola
fetch so enormous a price
translated
by Adam J. Sorkin and Aura Sibisan with the poet
The
infanta Isabella
on a saturday night they
walled up
isabella under the warm
glow
of candelabras holding
fingers not
candles fingers burning
as punishment
because she reached out
with her hands
for a forbidden
fruit: a red leather hat
the last word in hats
shame on her
a hat in the shape of a
bell
how could an infanta wear
a whore’s
hat a cloche that grew
only god knows how
on an age-old tree at the
castle
chop down all the trees
they bear strange fruit
damn their seeds! who planted them?
burn the garden poison
the gardener
the keeper of the garden
where isabella reached out
with her fingers for a
forbidden thought
nobody could save her she
was walled up
inside a hoopskirt two meters
by two meters
gradually she turned as
hard as stone and became
the clapper of a bell ISABELLLLAAAAAA
they hung her in the
chapel
high above the castle
translated
by
Adam
J. Sorkin and Aura Sibisan with the poet
UTTER or Raping the Air (half-poem)
I am a half-brain
in a half-man
a midget angel my wings tattooed
with terrestrial landscapes
I possess a half-soul
empty as a coffee cup
turned upside-down
by a fortune teller
the black stains on its sides
are half-sins
the white stains on my imagination
are half-salvations
the black stains on my nose
are nothing else but black stains -
a day’s grime gathered
walking in Bucharest and generally
in the world
the white spots
on my nails are nothing but hieroglyphs
of
calcium deficiency
I'm half-wanton and half-stiff
half-victim and half-thief
I have skin because I didn't know
what color fur to choose
at my birth
I have fur because I loathe
leather clothes
I have scales because I'm Pisces
I have feathers because I adapted myself
to chill and warmth to furnace and frost
I don't have a beak because I love
to have lips and mouth
wet lips and insatiable mouth
I'm half-rational and half-mad
half-alive and half-dead
but I love
to palpitate the air with the half-top
of my tongue
to lick to fondle to penetrate
its holes
to make it feel its transparent flesh
to wrest from it shouts of pleasure
to shove it in the corners of my palate
to hit it to beat it to rape it
to kill it
in other words - to utter words
List
of my flaws and the percentage of untreatability
start
from
one hundred per cent in
alphabetical
order: abnormal 15% acidic 16%
amoral
17% angelic 16.17% anaemic 17.16%
alwaysreadytochange
25%
alwaysimpossibletochange
52%
bad
20% brutal 30% boring 40% boorish 0.4%
charming
60% cool 60% cynical 60% claustrophobic 60%
curious?
– you’re too curious!
crazy
– like a daisy
dreamer
66% dirty 33% dunce 6% demonic 3%
domestic
36%
euphoric
70% enthusiastic 71% erotic 72% energetic 73%
egocentric
– see under one of a kind
gossipy
28% fantastical 27% hysterical 26% hypocritical 25%
intuitive 7.0%
incoherent 7.1% impossible 7.2% improbable 7.3%
incredible
– some would say
loving
50% lovable 50% loveless 50% lunatic 50%
mythomaniac
23% masochistic 77%
neurotic
80% original – is it ?
one
of a kind – see under egocentric
paranormal-paranoid-paradoxical-paradigmatic
22%
paradigm
11% pathetic 10% sadistic 9% statistic 8%
romanian
– don’t forget
sophisticated
80% shy 80%
superdooper
18% superbitch 19% superb 20%
temperamental
100%
tardy
with time 200%
vamp
– you wish!
wise
– extremely zany – extremely
THAT’S
IT !!!
(or
not, or none
of
the above)
translated by Aura Sibisan with the poet
Dayliness
hello
hello hello hello wake up take
your
shower get dressed drink
your
coffee eat your egg boiled check
your
purse have you got
all
you need do you have
tram
tickets do you have
car
keys i.d. wallet shopping ?
list
get going get going get going
boss
will promote you you were
up
early dedicated motivated dilligently for
the
company you’ve made
heaps
of money you were
very
astute you haven’t
gossiped
you haven’t
talked
small set up schemes
for
anyone to be fired or hired
you
were not submissive but polite
respectful
sympathetic with superiors not
dictatorial
imoral amoral with
inferiors
you may go
happily
home you have accomplished
your
duty don’t forget to
buy
what your husband wife mother father told you
the
refrigerator must always
have
what it needs
you
can be devoted to the fridge
until
you refrigerate
your
drives thoughts temptations
now
you have rested awhile you have recovered
it’s
high time you exchanged lines with your
husband
wife mother father
you
can have intercourse
with
the first two but with the other two you ought to
help
bear with accept
advice
and then of course do not forget do not neglect
with
its large friendly familiar
screen
the TV do not forget do not neglect
the
stove the iron the washing machine
the
electric grinder the lamp the music box
the
heater the remote control the mosquito zapper the phone
hello
hello hello hello helloooo heloooo…
translated
by Alina Nelega and Saviana Stanescu
Mia-maia and Tess-the-poetess
she could understand see hear
only what that crazy
soul-sister of hers Mia-Maia translated for
her
the fat girl who dwelled heavily
inside her chest and suppressed
oppressed impressed her
so that of everything
Tess did replied thought
nothing at all was logical
seemed normal
made any sense
they said she’d lost her way
poor moonstruck young thing
in fact she was bored
people bored her
with their problems gossip smirks
their love affairs intrigues
scandalmongering
she got along only with angels
whenever one of them decided
by chance to descend into that
turbulent perturbed disturbed brain of hers
she’d let him take sensible charge of her
in his care she’d more than willingly open
her mouth
her sister Mia in hibernation in her chest
like a boulder
where she stayed stone-still stone-quiet
and waited
for him to be done and be off
yes he wouldn’t last long
that creature oh she spoiled his placid
disposition
his celestial bearing his forbearance so he
loved her quickly and left her
pregnant with a poem a painting
a sonata but never did he
even look back to see
what he might have left behind him in the
world
that was it here today and then on the fly
going going gone
just
like always this evening it went on again
a
merry swarm a swirling flock
of satisfied angels
who
had forsworn their lovers
writhing
in labor
translated
by Adam J. Sorkin with the poet and Jana Rotescu
The
diary of a clone
-16
years, 3 months
I come of age I eat fruit
and I do my best
clone clone
to be the other although
I am he whenever he says I
I think of myself who
is not me
who am I
—you’re really enjoying
this, lord—
across the lawns of my
mind there strolls a mother
who is not my mother
although she is my mother a mother
with silent glass walls
with a slender transparent silhouette
through her hair I saw
the trees outside
I watched the tips
of blue-black reddish
fingers grasp mother
by her mouth shake her
stare closely at me through
her
glass sex while I scrambled in vain
for
a corner a cranny a drawer my mother
had no nooks no angles
she was perfect they
dipped all sorts of cold
instruments into her and
ogled
me like Peeping Toms well that’s how it happened
my test-tube mother’s
face
superimposes upon the
other’s face
my grandmother his mother
it’s she
I dream of it’s her
nipple I remember
however there’s
a third mother too the mother as they usually say
his wife that is of
course mine too
because I am
a smaller he and
nevertheless He as well
how can I tell my mother
that I remember every bit of it
the tumbling around the
nights spent together I know
the creases of her skin
by heart her smell
still haunts me there
between my thighs I’m obsessed
by the music of her
twitches when
instead
of coming out of her I was entering
—you’re really enjoying
this, lord—
I am my father’s clone
and I should
be grateful that I’m made
in his image
child facsimile
counterpart counterfeit
clone clone
adam
was he your clone
almighty father?
it would be a true
miracle
to become a man who
penetrates my mother
and makes her pregnant so
she’d bear me a baby
that is of course a
brother sorry I mean a son
—you’re really enjoying
this, lord—
I smash test tubes
microscopes
shatter mirrors
everything and anything
that comes my way I
scratch
my grandmother’s picture
where her boobs are
which I believe fed me I
know
I’m my own father
yeah
laugh it suits your type I’ll mash the ivory of your grinning mouths
and stuff your bloated
beer bellies with bullets I’ll make you lose
your
looks lickety-split I’ll tear out your hearts stack them here in a slimy pile
and you know what else
then I’ll fling
one or two of them high
into the air and
bang bang I’ll shoot
birdshot at them like at sparrows
or I’ll shove bladderfuls
of your blood into the chest
cavities
of birds fish animals
I’ll do you some good
goddam moneyboxes
jangling with the small change of ideas
I’ll send you all the way
back
to your caves your ocean
muck the air
once upon a time you were
free
fuck-overs
clonesmiths
you clowns haven’t a clue
how good you used to feel
when you didn’t ever
think
translated
by
Adam
J. Sorkin and Liviu Bleoca
Haunting
deep inside you
I’m not sure I really
want
to learn by heart
the landmarks
of your body
to map it precisely
on a 1:1 scale
or 2:1 instead
all your mountains
valleys meadows
are occupied territories
condemned to the gallows
by my rebel imagination
that has already
committed suicide
in cell no. 102
of your blood
going on a thirst strike
for crazy visions
it hasn’t missed much no
not in the slightest
it withered wizened
shrank
such a pity
yes quite a pity
reason lamented from next
door
it died there
in cell no. 102 of your
blood
swimming spasmodically
in your cytoplasm believe
me
nothing out of the
ordinary
it could have escaped but
no
it had to infiltrate your
blood
penetrate deep inside you
haunt you
sort of dissolve itself
so as no longer to be
oh poor dumb thing
it has transformed you
into the unwitting king
of a world
of slippery fish-images
elusive
delusive
illusive
ever since then you’ve
been
writhing and twitching
as if possessed
