Stars orchard

windmill-under-the-stars

Stars orchard

and other nights with bluish black hair

….

on Earth

poem by Paul Vinicius

translated from Romanian by Claudia Moscovici

 

Do you know why

your soul is transparent

and concave

for me?

 

So that I can drink

the moon

from you

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Posted in Paul Vinicius poems, Paul Vinicius poet, Paul Vinicius poetry, poems, Uncategorized | Tagged , , ,

the ideal cat is one that purrs at the state’s expense, by Paul Vinicius

catandlion

the ideal cat is one that purrs

…..

at the state’s expense

….

poem by Paul Vinicius

translated from Romanian by Claudia Moscovici

 

but here

by no means

will there be talk of cats

but of their cunning way

of purring at the state’s

and their master’s canary’s expense

 

but here

there will especially

be no talk of man

but of his canine way of walking vertically

without thinking the same way

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the blue birds

painting by Christian Schloe

painting by Christian Schloe

the traveler’s dialogue with the windmills and
—————————————————-

the blue birds
—————–
poem by Paul Vinicius 
translated from Romanian  by Claudia Moscovici
 
nobody asks you where you come from
nobody asks you where you’re going
 
in spite of that the time and
in fact
a much too polished
sharp
silence
 
(like the dreamy sand of a desert 
that became a sky)
 
makes them speak to you
 
as if the tranquility
of the winding blood
would hurt them
as if
a second heart
bloomed upon
their lips
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one of those days

painting by Amedeo Modigliani

painting by Amedeo Modigliani

one of those days
by Paul Vinicius
translated by Claudia Moscovici
one of those days
—————————
with an inverted sun
that you don’t even get to see
yet
it outlines
leaves and trees
on the wall
of a gilded building
and you don’t feel like doing anything
anything at all
Posted in one of those days by Paul Vinicius | Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

and still brancusi

Brancusi

and still brancusi

—————————
removed archimedes
————————–
from the bathtub
————————–
… dedicated to salvador dali
poem by Paul Vinicius
translated from Romanian by Claudia Moscovici 
sometimes
my love
I gaze at you as at a physical body
(solid)
immersed in a liquid
that displaced
God
from there
or at least
his music
which keeps rising higher and higher
on its feet
like a vertical phallus
of the ocean
copulating
with the sky
please forgive me
that i forgot to buy tea
nettles potatoes cornmeal and parsley
and to offer you
the bouquet of forget-me-nots
for your birthday
to have told you goodnight
when I cracked the squeaky door
in such an inhuman, feline manner
and
above all
(above all)
forgive me
that
(look)
I think of brancusi
when I’m speaking
with you
Posted in and still brancusi by Paul Vinicius, Claudia Moscovici, love poems, love poetry, Paul Vinicius poetry, poems, poems Paul Vinicius, poetry, romantic poems | Tagged , , , , ,

sometimes

photo by Lois Greenfield

photo by Lois Greenfield

sometimes

by Paul Vinicius

translated from Romanian by Claudia Moscovici

photo by Benjamin Kanarek

photo by Benjamin Kanarek

when I speak to myself

it’s as if I were speaking

to the walls

oh God

give me

the wits

to understand

in what language I should

speak to myself

if not

then fine

I’ll speak to someone else.

young lady:

would you like to dance?

Posted in Claudia Moscovici, love poems, love poetry, poems, poetry, postromanticism, romantic love poems, romantic poems | Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

a story of (still) winter

photo by Benjamin Kanarek

photo by Benjamin Kanarek

a story of (still) winter
————————-

By Paul Vinicius
Translated from Romanian by Claudia Moscovici

she yes
she –
who gave the swallows permission
to awaken
from sleep

she
who
even though it was still winter
passed like spring through the old boulevard
awakening it from its nap
with the morning papers
on his knees
unread

yes yes
she
who filled the rusty mailboxes
with the traces of her lips
stamps of lipstick for a tranquil blue day
above the brooding caps

she:
like a musical instrument
that even the tone deaf
would have liked to play

if we would put our ears
to the tram traks
we’d hear her heart
ready to revive
the city

and our shabby lives

Posted in a story of (still) winter, love poetry, Paul Vinicius a story of (still) winter, poems, poetry, romantic poems | Tagged , , , , , , ,

the first moment of insanity expired on an April first

Escher

M.C. Escher

the first moment of insanity expired on an April first

Poem by Paul Vinicius

Translated from Romanian by Claudia Moscovici

in the last three years of life

my mother was nothing

but a talking puddle

and I

a mere neighbor

or who knows who I was in her mind

ravished by illness?

at any rate

to everyone else

surely

a crazy person

with papers to prove it

who was conversing

with a puddle

yes,

with a poor puddle

be it even of morphine

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a night like a counterfeit Picasso, by Paul Vinicius

by David Graux

painting by David Graux

a night like a counterfeit Picasso
Poem by Paul Vinicius
Translated from Romanian by Claudia Moscovici
image by Kalstek Photography

image by Kalstek Photography

I caught the sun last night
climbing down from my bed
with bare feet
it had your body
and me
it’s not that I no longer had the heart (since heart I had)
only instead of a sex I had two slippers with red tassels.
and that’s when winter arrived
and that’s when spring came
and that’s when my brother (the Martian)
returned from the warm planets
assuming the form of two house slippers with especially bright red tassels.
and that’s when that blue woman who resembles you
when you awaken from me passes before my eyes
with a teardrop as big as the moon
trickling down her cheek
climbing down from my bed
with bare feet
Posted in love poetry, Paul Vinicius poet, poems, poetry, postromanticism, romantic poems | Tagged , , , , , , ,

“Poems for sick butterflies” by Lia Faur

painting by Steven Daluz
painting by Steven Daluz

“Poems for sick butterflies” by Lia Faur

Editura Brumar, Timisoara, 2013, p.33

translated from Romanian by Claudia Moscovici

“I step towards the glass of water

Lying on the windowsill

My lips bleed for no reason

I’d have liked to watch a movie about butterflies

About how they become sick during childhood

About how their wings fall off during chemotherapy

They’re so pitiful the way they drag themselves on the floor

With the sound of torn slippers

And nobody notices them

They sweep them up like ordinary trash

Some of them are fortunate enough

To be placed in an insectarium before the treatment

But most of them disappear the same way

That their dust would dissipate from their wings

When I used to collect butterflies

With a gauze net made by my grandfather

Yesterday several moribund butterflies

Flew above me

They shook themselves in the air

And the entire atmosphere

Became covered in colorful sprinkles

Here and there, one could spot a wing”

Lia Faur, ”Poeme pentru fluturi bolnavi”, Editura Brumar, Timișoara, 2013, p. 33

”fac pași spre sticla de apă

așezată pe marginea ferestrei

îmi sângerează buzele fără motiv

aș fi vrut să mă uit la un film despre fluturi

cum se îmbolnăvesc ei în copilărie

și cum le cad aripile la chimioterapie

sunt jalnici așa cum se târăsc pe podea

cu zgomot de papuci târșiți

și nimeni nu-i bagă în seamă

îi mătură ca pe gunoaiele obișnuite de zi cu zi

unii au noroc de insectare înainte de tratament

dar cei mai mulți dispar la fel cum

dispărea praful de pe aripile lor

când porneam la cules de fluturi

cu plasa de tifon făcută de bunicul

ieri câțiva fluturi muribunzi

au zburat deasupra mea

se scuturau în aer și tot aerul

s-a umplut de prafuri colorate

pe ici pe acolo câte o aripă”

See more at: http://literaturadeazi.ro/content/fluturi-0#sthash.1naVWPe5.H9PJ4d8k.dpuf

Posted in Lia Faur Poems for Sick Butterflies | Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,