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Poezii Românesti - Romanian Poetry



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poetry [ ]
Andrei Nicolescu [zsa zsa speck]

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by [cory ]

2005-05-21  |   

Literary Translation - Translations of classic and original poetry and other materialsThis text is a follow-up  | 

I find it impossible to have the most vivid and hard parts of my body drilled
without tasting the bitter filth within the muscle

yet, there’s a particle that might bring order into the remains
or the very essence of a muscle, which a body called system can be inferred from

the body’s impersonal moulding
on each little bone makes up a sort of a thin crust
above and under its genetic texture, lacking consistence
nevertheless math-like rigorous

strangely, the impersonal moulded body
stays connected with other out of the place tiny bones
though not being of the same depth and texture

simply no other bones can hold up a fissure
which came out of the muscles, or from the joining fibres


a drill through the society’s sewers is a starting point
a both necessary and painful drill
yet confined by space but not by time
firing pin twisting right in the city’s veins
in the civilization’s lung, as well
real pain is put forth here/ microbes, cartilage filled with fibres/
our eyes are put into focus, as well
they can see hammers swinging above the body

there’s much comfort in this new language/ with steel, plain words
and hunger, oh lord, hunger
keeps me genuine/ the mortal, the ascetics, the aesthetes
are cruelly killed

their presence is more than harmful to the drilling process itself/

it’s compulsory to keep in mind that this tunnel within the body
has one single goal/ that of putting a muscle’s core into the right place
so that this somehow would not spread its bitterness
on the universal body/ that dense organism
made up from all bodies altogether
moving in the same time

the fissure is essential now/ the more intense the more painful
then, as known/ the rest follows


we can speak about a certain anonymous violence in society:
all bodies outside are moving inside of me
that densely gathering of people is moving inside of me
with its small wheels and pulleys
and contorted forces
with every body’s roar
from every pore’s hollow

the movements’ whirl, the flesh’s strain begins right there,
and my autobiographical sweat with men taking a piss while standing in a row,
then the strategies of aversion, embarrassment and perspiration
embarrassment, yes, embarrassment

what makes it unusual are the missing organs, torn apart from its root, then boiled
and from bodies, no bodies are left
only hands, feet, trunks
in a random order
urinating straight on our Bucharest/ with its prophets in every bush
and the smell of savagery on every particular body


before the smell of savagery, a crunchy itching is felt by the body
to every polypus’s root
muscles are shaking on the bones
are pulled down
making room for much drier realities


on the contrary, it is a too well-known fact -
that the only feature of a head
is its placement on top of a body


how is it possible for me
to say something/ to really say something/
and not use another language but that one characteristic to the teeming with cellar
inside of me?

well, this is possible
but later


the epidemy which was proposed teems with exciting contacts
light beings
between the intestine’s swellings and peels
between men, women and children
the mere touching, dampness
and gentlemen’s filth, the voluptuous filth
in all possible forms
is joining slobber, hemoragies

everything densely gentleman, everything densely
so it stays


I haven’t seen light yet
leaking cellar, the purl of the sewerage and blocks along with it
words are stretching, yawning, pissing, defecating

then our stapled ears on all walls
sensing the real pulse of the society
and all coming fissures rolling down

as in the end holes is all we’re talking about, isn’t it?

the inner side, the core, don’t mean so much
much deeper and necessarily painful holes


so it has always been
and so it stays

*21.02.2005, Andrei Nicolescu

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