TRANSLATED FROM THE ROMANIAN BY IRINA CREANGĂ
POEM I
if you sleep
you lose
all the silence
and all the solitude
and all the sadness
and all the needs
you ignore
the city built by your mind
plans are enough
plans bring you happiness
without effort
without money
without disapprovals
abandon the others in your head
let the others cry for you
and never go any farther than that
this is the life where movements are never new
the body has learned
to be an obedient machine
setting apart what you need
and what you need to do
the economy of movements
resignation
my habits’ whore
get under my
dull dull dull skin
the fragile feeling of release
given by a new city
where you are by yourself
until you realise you don’t have a lighter
once again the need for the other excuse me, do you have a light?
the contact the anxiety
I’ve never known what the greatest illusion really is
to continue
to start all over again
to continue
to start all over again
to continue
to start all over again
POEM II
after you left and took the dog with you
I got a cat.
we’re in the front yard trying to make friends so the animals
can get along
when you drop him off at my place.
the strategy is
you keep the dog on a leash
I hold the cat in my arms
until they become indifferent to each other.
but you get up you go to the bathroom.
I’m left frozen holding the cat;
any movement from me or her
would set off the hunting dog.
I wonder, can dogs feel hatred?
thirsty. I’m thirsty.
and nearby, only your water bottle.
I don’t want to feel the traces.
coughing. I start coughing. everything dries out.
I unscrew the cap slowly.
I touch
the mouth of the bottle
with my mouth with your mouth with her mouth with his mouth
in silent doggedness
what I can say is
your dog’s teeth
did not touch the flesh of my cat.
POEM III
give us this day the time to adapt to change and death
and help us understand that generosity is a bait
in the faint light inside
horses are moving in a circle
pulling the treadmill
to put salt on the table.
half a year later
they are taken out of the mine.
blindness.
bullets.
the body is cold
yet the milk is warm
in stillness they’re filming the scene
of the murdered mother
nursing her young.
the waves are pushing the child
who swam through the night
to escape that wretched place.
the dangerous immigrant
no longer threatens civilization.
the earth shakes under the water,
water rises stronger,
they look down,
pluck out the fish,
and praise the gods for the food that has been laid out for them.
these news stories i’m watching and crying
it’s bad over there over here it’s
warm warmish lukewarm
they counted you in when they reported the daily new cases
when they reported the number of cases in the ICU
when they reported the deaths
one among them. and that’s it.
for me, the only one I could call father,
who art in the ground
I carry your name, I live in your house.
forgive my sins,
as I forgive your distances
and don’t abandon me down here and deliver me from myself
for yours is the death
*
in the morning I found everything in its place. I washed myself with the same soap. I used the same toothpaste. nothing came to an end through the night. and I was scared of falling asleep. of waking up. I turned on the computer. two windows popped up. back when I was writing those lines you were alive. the documents will continue as if no break. as if no end.
this impassibility makes my stomach turn. my stomach – the place where I felt that you were going to leave. my fiend. I look around. chairs. pillows. windows. clothes. why the hell are they all looking exactly the same?
.the stiffness of the room makes me sick. all lifeless things have survived. from now on, you too. lifeless. bodiless.
*
it takes only your image (breaking through my mind or through my heart – I don’t even know where I love you more) for the sadness to begin. this fungus of the heart or of the mind. This is the only way I can love you now – feeling you like a lump in my throat or in my heart, I don’t even know where it hurts more. I found a picture – when were we at the seaside? – most of all I remember your absence
a lump of longing a lump you were when
they put you in a bag and cemented you
this destroyed my mum. this too.
I told her does it even matter anymore? you got out , you can’t see anymore
that the world is a piece of shit, you got out, father,
you got out.
Also, Read Selected Poems From Sovraliminale By Francesca Del Moro, Translated From The Italian By Patrick Williamson and published in The Antonym:
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