for Desert Dreams (1) click here  

by Adrian Sangeorzan (USA)

Translation from Romanian by Caroline Carver, and Iris Butnariu and Andrada Vissarion, MTTLC students  

pentru versiunea română click aici 

      We had to walk 25 miles every day.  It seemed like the most useless and stupidest march in the world because it didn’t go anywhere.  We would sometimes go around in circles because we would reach the same rocks again by nightfall. Read the rest of this entry »

by Răzvan Petrescu ( Romania)

Translation from Romanian by Manuela Cazan

Edited by Adrian Ioniţă

pentru versiunea română click aici

    It was a Thursday afternoon, around six o’clock. I had taken my dog out for a potty break, an English Setter with a black spot on its left eye and an excessive urge to pee. Usually, I don’t need to go to the loo at this time of the day, but the park is nice, the leaves fall, trees blossom, biiirds, sometimes it snows, and you find yourself not lonely, but alone – as the saying goes- in the middle of the world that keeps silent. Read the rest of this entry »

                                                                                                      by Robert Şerban (Romania)

Translation from Romanian by Philippa Lawrence and Silvia Bratu, MTTLC student

pentru versiunea română click aici 

If it begins pouring with rain, when you’re waiting for the no. 8 tram at the stop next to the Abattoir, the only place to shelter is the lobby in the block of flats opposite. You reach this via a sort of pergola covered in vine leaves tunneling across the pavement. The trams seem to flash by like Japanese trains, therefore, if you’re in the lobby, you’ll miss them, unless you make a dash for it. However, the rain is faster than tram no. 8 which takes its time, especially on Saturdays and Sundays. Read the rest of this entry »

by Dumitru Radu Popa (USA)

Translated from Romanian by Olimpia Malai (MTTLC) 

pentru versiunea română click aici 

      ”Hey, you over there! Watch that mug, will you? You think after you croaked, we won’t need it anymore?” Read the rest of this entry »

by Andrei Mocuța (Romania)

Translation from Romanian by Nigel Walker and Gina Liliana Cotoarbă, MTTLC student

pentru versiunea română click aici

 Hotel Pasteur, Bagnolet

As expected, the hotel room was a very modest space, placed right at the end of the hallway along with other five chambers. The room had the shape of an isosceles triangle with a small kitchen, an old bed, a prewar wardrobe hung with a huge mirror on each of its doors, and three windows. The toilet was shared on the hallway, and the showers were somewhere on the first floor. Read the rest of this entry »

 by George Asztalos (Romania)

Translation from Romanian by Pat Earnshaw and Simona Daniela Sanda, MTTLC student

pentru versiunea română click aici

Aqua nobilis (a red story)

Back in the time when I was still living in the countryside, at Nadeş (a mixed community of Romanians, Hungarians, Transylvanian Saxons and other ethnic communities,)  in the other world, of course, when everything belonged to everyone and no one, old comrade Hermman, my neighbor, grew giant tomatoes… Read the rest of this entry »

by Fabian Anton (Romania)

Translation from Romanian by Laura Badea, MTTLC student

re-write by Robert Fenhagen

pentru versiunea română click aici 

Like any cool story, it started off with something silly—even stupid.

It had been evening, around eleven p.m., and I’d spotted Dia, and her crew of nutters, but didn’t want to have anything to do with them, but you know how it is when someone, who you haven’t seen for about a million years insists that you get together with them, so I went.   She had Raul and some guy named Mike by her side and off we went.
It went downhill from there. Read the rest of this entry »

by Gheorghe Recheşan

Finalist of the HBO-Tiff 2010 Competition

Translation from Romanian by Adrian Ioniţă and Alina Blănaru, MTTLC student

pentru versiunea română click aici

Every time I rode my bike on that peaceful street, the houses sheltered by the chestnut-trees with whitewashed stocks would align themselves quietly along the sidewalk and I would see Guido sitting at the window.  I did not know his name at that time, but I had been  shocked by the  unnatural pallor of his face, an immaculate piece of paper lividness, which, in contrast with his dark eyes and his short hair’s anthracite whirling, seemed even whiter, almost ethereal in the glass’s reflection. Read the rest of this entry »

 by Adrian Ioniţă  (USA)

Translation from Romanian by Doris Plantus-Runey and Valentina Tache

re-write by Robert Fenhagen

pentru versiunea română click aici 

 The intense focus of his eyes reflects the concentration of the man writing about a deserted nineteenth century mansion. A seemingly obscure subject, it has captured his interest to the degree that allows his mind to exclude all others, and he occasionally forgets to eat as he toils alone in his apartment. Read the rest of this entry »