5 new poems
One. I just moved in.
They carry me in a sort of marsupium.
Two. Major family conflict
I remember nothing of.
Three. Harmony restored.
Trip to the seaside.
Polaroid I now keep on my desk.
Four. Questions about God.
Brief introduction to loneliness.
Revelation of death.
Five. Watching cartoons while drawing.
Delicious lunch under the table.
Grandma’s unlimited kindness.
Six. Inventing a country.
Concerns about the time machine.
Seven. Revelation of happiness
And human warmth.
On my birthday.
Eight. Playground destroyed.
First serious melancholy.
First time abroad
(Blue salty Aegean).
Nine. Inventing characters.
Playing and drawing most of the time.
Ten. First trip to the land of silence.
Ohrid lake blessing my sight.
First time physically flying.
Eleven. Finding my calling.
First major crush.
Awkwardness of puberty
(Blood sticking my jeans to my thighs).
(The seriousness of writing).
Old French songs and American indie pop.
Photographs of my Bucharest.
Fourteen. Completely friendless.
School is torture.
Reading Dickens and O’Henry in the breaks.
Phone calls to imaginary friends.
Finding my calling.
Fifteen. Heart opens.
Finding my calling.
Fascination for being a teenager
(‘Sweet 16’ and all the clichés).
Golden fall light embracing Tirana.
Seventeen. Uninterrupted switch from shadow to light.
Chocking on loneliness.
Four simultaneous crushes and then
Back to the first love.
Eighteen. Revelation of beauty.
On my birthday.
Summer in Paradise.
Losing four friends in one week
(School is torture, once again).
Burst of desire.
Nineteen. Major life change
Heavenly love followed by hell
And revelations of myself.
Right before my birthday.
Twenty. Happy times with close friends.
Transylvania caressing my soul.
Weekly parties in the dorm.
‘I love you’ he whispered.
New Year in Prague
And then the plague.
Romanticizing my past
In order to survive
(The boredom and accuracy of memory, mostly).
Also obsessed with the concept of memory.
Twenty-two. Revelation of fear.
Fight against fear
(Four victories in seven months).
Joyfully drunk on New Year’s night
(Memories gone with the drink).
Work in progress.
HOMOGENIZATION (MODUS VIVENDI)
And who will believe me when I say
life’s intense and overwhelming
even when all I do is walk around the lake
get coffee to go and hum songs to myself
staring at the multiple exposures of reality?
It’s like sleepwalking, I guess.
The physical world is nothing but an empty glass
to be flooded with my dreams.
Past & future are equally unappealing;
what I see before my eyes
is all that matters and exists.
I’m weightless and also finally unified
(body & soul).
All is inspiration and intuition.
Slow tornados in the shape of daily poems
(most of which I’ll naturally never share)
and calls I’m getting even though
very few will believe me
(telepathy is kind of outworn, it seems).
And if I’m wrong it’s no tragedy;
I’ve lost my sense of border anyway.
So how could I be in danger
If disillusionments lost their impact on me?
(If all is unreal and volatile
where would the wounds find place to dig?)
And how could I be safe –
now that everything is real?
(And my mind builds and distorts as it pleases,
unafraid of fear.)
How will I be free?
How will I be anything but free?
Before the new life:
half mourning, half labour
animal turning into angel.
CLUMSINESS & CANDOUR
I want to send you 20 silver seagulls –
a glimmering dance over the stirred waves
or a harp song on a summer night
in the tumult of the city
or a love letter.
You don’t get to choose, though.
I’ll do what suits me best
so if you ever dream of a harp
resting on the bottom of the sea
know that it’s me who hid it there.
STATE OF GRACE
I become a water current
thoughtless and alive
a small force of nature
The center of my skull temporarily turns into a white crystal.