Decked Out at Night
“They stand apart in this world, / each one with his night, / each one with his death, / morose, bareheaded, hoarfrost-covered” | by Paul Celan
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Romania
In Memory of Paul Éluard
by Paul Celan: Put the words in the dead man’s grave, / the words he spoke in order to live.
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The Silver of Our Moment
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
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Honeymoon Suite
by Camelia Leonte: The fiddlers, the wedding guests / have put on black clothes and are looking for you.
Murmur + Silence
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
Nights in Panciu
by Radu Andriescu: On a collective farm in Panciu I climbed with a turkey hen / to the roof of the canteen
Beyond
by Camelia Leonte: He bears his vertebrae on his back. / I wonder what spiritual rage drives him,