“They stand apart in this world, / each one with his night, / each one with his death, / morose, bareheaded, hoarfrost-covered” | by Paul Celan
by Paul Celan: Put the words in the dead man’s grave, / the words he spoke in order to live.
Ignorant, the snail crosses both good and evil, the sensations of each, as it caresses earth, sometimes warm and tempting, sometimes cold, devoid of answers. Its journeys embroider silver lace on truths, half truths and lies– a work of art by such a slow, insignificant creature, easily crushed by the wickedness of the powerful, by …
by Marin Sorescu: Shakespeare created the world in seven days.
by Camelia Leonte: The fiddlers, the wedding guests / have put on black clothes and are looking for you.
by Radu Andriescu: Badge believed he had Greek blood in his veins and in consequence
by Paul Celan: You too speak: / you speak last,
Murmur Enough, enough, pale murmur. The fire has caught. The ants come after us, cruel army for whom death is only a problem of space. Translated from the Romanian by Mihaela Moscaliuc Silence When silence courses through you, it can’t help but resemble death. Miniature jade figurines contemplate the stillness. Always, half of me …
by Radu Andriescu: On a collective farm in Panciu I climbed with a turkey hen / to the roof of the canteen
by Camelia Leonte: He bears his vertebrae on his back. / I wonder what spiritual rage drives him,