Blesok no. 30, January-February, 2003
Poetry


You'll shrivel, you'll be an exotic fruit
Translated by: Daniela Giurculescu

Daniel Banulescu



You’ve sung beautifully and yet you heaven’t changed your life


All laughed and went away
As if our short life was meant to be laughed at
Some of them with their long and toothed faces
They laughed sighted and went away

We were sitting and bleeding
We were sitting falling down on ourselves as on some flying little carpets
Fallen down carried away and as dry as a paper for catching flies

Like a springboard which makes no sense
You work on it, agitate it punch it
And nothing happens
And out of the blue you can hear that stupid song
About that little and foolish shepard and about the sad lamb who sang he had got rheumatism
-tra-la-la-
And by no means you should drop by him these days
You’ve sung beautifully but you haven’t changed your life
You cried struggled and jumped and sang beautifully, singer
But you haven’t changed your life
You crouched tensely and crawled to the toilet and threw out
Applauded by thousands of spectators who were caressing your jaw
And nothing happened

How beautifully you’ve sung how smart you felt
Especially when madness grabbed your head squeezing and began to lick your lips
It was something I hadn’t seen before
Standing and looking calm and saying
“God, I’m so sick”
We came back home ate and belched
Suspecting you haven’t even changed your life




Decameron


Standing on the table waving our arm elegantly and singing long live Rapid!
With our claws and teeth among the distinguished crowd and again:

Where are you my dove (la-la)
Where are you, my love (la-la-la)
I’ve been waiting for you since three o’clock

The great martyrs of the moment must have shown up
Standing alive in their flesh like in some plump couches
And singing “Our funny life”
Music will have stopped the gang must have split up
We will have reached the end of our philosophical suffering
We will have hit the road decisively to the bedrooms
Each of us beside a pair of hot endless legs
Which join together (that’s all we know)
Like two Danubian kingdoms

Because I had been still and I hadn’t moved
And because she had been still beside me and hadn’t moved
Because I didn’t had to worry about her
As she wouldn’t either move or hurt me

And because that day I had been restless in vain
While the dogs had enlarged the world and world had troubled my windows with its feet
And as you couldn’t straight anything on anything from the phosphorous of a flag
She wouldn’t either move or hurt me

Because at that time neither for their lives
Nor the songs from the priests, nor the good books
In this air that came to have the habits of a building
She wouldn’t neither move or hurt me
And because I could have thrown up quietly for each of them
More beautifully than they could have raised their kids
Because I was bending, twisting and laying
She would neither move or hurt me




Epilogue


You’re taking my hand and make me cross my entire life
And when I reach the other shore I feel no pain any longer
And all of a sudden laying in the grass of your islet
I look like a map of the Roman Empire
Either the ants or the worms dare not approach
The way you once allowed the migratory people

You didn’t allow my soul to leave my body
And perish in a glance against any amount of lies
The way my body would perish after a few days silence
Morning with scents

Asaf wrote: “God lies in God’s gathering
But you, too, God Jahve
May raise up sometimes and wonder about along the boardwalk of the shrunk walls and stinking
Stuff you haven’t created but made to last and “sanctified” against you
Which me hand in hand
With Nimrod Adam Satan
Iuda had been awaiting for our death while they are still awaiting for theirs

You make a step
You bend over and sniff even the smell turned rotten of my own life

You’re bending your loins picking up and twisting around your fingers the tiny thread of my life
You reparfume it and place it again around my non frayed neck which has been cleaned all over again
I feel dizzy happy and frightened by your kindness




You'll shrivel, you'll be an exotic fruit


I don’t have to forget you
Because as soon as I fall asleep you cease to
Exist for me
You don’t have to move or moan
Or to hum with the entire wisp of your cells
Because as soon as I begin to fall asleep
You don’t even exist for me

Go back to your good queue for tomatoes
Be dignified merry with your friends distinguished
Within the society
Behave as if
You didn’t know that since tomorrow
Only the earthquake would rise your skirt
And only the ground thrown away with the shovel
Will give you back a part of what you lost
Be reasonable
Your hands are so beautiful that they have no beginning
And nor will they ever begin
The lips you’ve got will remain unknown to the bull-dozer man
Your thoughts unheard by the carpenter
And the grave digger will never find out about your breasts
Who will renew your linen who will wash you
Who will push the coin in your mouth
Who will squeeze you in to my pockets
Where is your soul
Where is your perspiration
It has steam up the window in front of the Scala supermarket
And I’ll send a mad with his finger
Until you no longer annoy the window

You have annoyed me
You’re only the Liliputian vegetation of my imagination
A lattice behind which my giraffes are stareing at you  as if
You were a giraffe
You’ve put on a dress you’ve used some whipp
Cream cake an some flesh as a make-up
But as soon as I fall asleep
You no longer exist for me.
You’re just a gesture someone has made to me
Some who has drunk with me for a lifetime
You’re just a thought of my socks filled with my feet
As un unemployed’s chest filled with worker’s songs.




The Antipa Museum


I had a little sister, I had a girlfriend
A broad who wanted to begin her campaign of Miracles and Resurrections
Among the stuffed bears smashed worms and the serpents kept in formol
From the Antipa Museum
I used to go there every night with here
We used to walk smoke and sandwiches
She would say she hadn’t quite made up her mind wetter to bring to life only one frog first
Or to revive the entire museum all of a sudden
I told her: ,,darling do as you like”
I was amused to see her carrying and  separating all the exhibits
Out of fear
That once resurrected they would eat one another
As I recall she was a stunted broad
She was wearing a short dress
She had her own troubles
One Saturday night
I felt pity for her I put my hands on her breasts
And I resurrected her

Recite me something of Marx –she told me– whisper
Some dirty stuff to me while we make love
Help me to feel safer with you
Than a girl feels in the ladies room

Caress me as if my mother did
If my mother wasn’t my mother
But a rough and quiet man
Who would come back home one evening holding my mothers hand

Tell me if my legs
Don’t seem enough abject to you
If my wicked breasts don’t seem enough abject to you
If my ankles aren’t but the little tribe of savages who have surrounded you
And trying their best to teach you what the fine is
Explain to me if in the meantime we haven’t become a couple of Medicine characters
Traveling along together in a sexual carriage
It is only you that I love because you are the only one who can explain me
How things viewed from above me look like




“Enemy of the People” – lover of the country


I also cut at the seed of your tenderness
I also was sent to the Channel and death climbed upon my belly
It used to whisper me that I was handsome and lisping and it tried to spread out my legs
I smashed its head against a rock

I bent over it and I munched it
I threw myself down on the edge of a ditch
I washed up my clothes and I returned
I also put my name down on her telephone notebook

And the evening while withdrawing in a corner and listening to the prattle and sharing of those around me
I felt happy because God had left on His radio next to me
I loved you while standing my country, while I was chopping wood
I loved you bending a little over the bricks I was piling up
For the hen coop inside which I was to bark only for you

I loved you down on my knees and I loved you being lied down
Twisting and throwing aside the counterpanes and crawling through the cinemas from the neighborhood
Caressing you until your excited flesh bit its own little straps
Your intestines were coming out in the light of the screen to dance
And your sights were sewing an army on my back using some shells

I also went to Botswana where people wouldn’t die so well
I went to Paris –I went to and pro in Paris-
And the belly I was going to and pro with bristled up and ran away
I made the tour of various countries and with each jolt
Death would place its spit finger on my neck and on my face
But my loins want to tell you something
Wish to tell something to your thighs

How will I go out for a walk on Calea Victoriei
How will I live without making yon
Raising above the ham-and-beef shops out of the mercy of whom we live
Above the advices and the mudboles
Our milk and honey flow down on as from
Above the spots of fat
From the soup and from the penitentiaries courtyard
Above the prayers book out of which I whisper to you
While you’re spreading sex on all the things around me

When you don’t come I feel out of order I defeated
Nobody shows his noodle any longer
With its good neck meant to be twisted below my windows
My life is over my socks torn
My cigarettes are jumping directly towards you
And is asking you gently to bring me a coffee
Which you don’t

You undress on rhythm of a worn out blues you take
You make a huge pile out of your own clothes
You climb on them
You slide and sweat
Straining to get at the same time with me at my highest thoughts

Where you’ll never get
Where only boredom and regret
Tenderness or anger can get
Where the blackbird doesn’t sing and the wind doesn’t slow either
Where I shiver wrapped in news paper
Cough bleed read on my own skins
The news about your talking nonsense
You’re in the cloud of flies buzzing already around my jaws






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