de Irina Savin (Belgium) Traducere din engleză: Iris Butnariu, masterandă MTTLC for the English version, click here Fata de pe locul de la geam Odată fata de sub florea-soarelui, acum o flufferiţă. Prinsă în trenul spre Londra, mă duc să lucrez pentru un film din ăla pretenţios. Urăsc toţi regizorii ăştia prefăcuţi care vor […]
The fluffer, the flapper and the clapper
by Irina Savin [Belgium] pentru versiunea română click aici Girl on the window seat Once the girl under the sunflower, now a fluffer. Stuck in the train to London, going to my next gig for an artsy movie. I hate all these antsy pantsy directors who always want to make you believe they’re not doing […]
Chasing time
by Monica Trif (Romania) Translation from Romanian by Irina Savin Edited by Robert Fenhagen Adrian rushed from the house, made his way as best he could through the fierce blizzard, took his horse and carriage and set off for the village. It was blizzard weather, and he could barely see on that Christmas Eve. […]
Luna mă omoară
[din ciclul baladelor] de Irina Savin M-am îndrăgostit de lună într-o seară blestemată. Eram tristă, suspinând, Lumea-ntreagă blestemând. Şi-atunci m-am uitat afară,
Recenzie: Jean-Marc Caracci – Homo Urbanus Europeanus
de Irina Savin Mi-l imaginez pe Jean-Marc Caracci hăituind necontenit oraşe străine în căutarea unor poveşti urbane. Însă stângaci şi la vedere, căci instrumentul subjugării sfidează prin mărime buzunarul stâng, mic şi dreptunghiular, al jachetei … şi nu-l poate ascunde nici în mâneci măcar. Inofensiv şi tolerant cu timpul, aşteptând, urmărind pe ascuns momentul perfect, […]
Review: Jean-Marc Caracci – Homo Urbanus Europeanus
by Irina Savin I imagine Jean-Marc Caracci as a stalker haunting the streets of unknown cities in search for glimpses of urban stories. A gawky stalker, with his instrument of subjugation in sight, as it defies by size the small rectangular left pocket of his coat … and he can’t hide it in his sleeves […]
Song to Layla
by Irina Savin [Belgium] edited by Robert Fenhagen She always thought of train stations as the heart and soul of a town. For Layla, they were thorny, blameful and half-sinful places for people still hanging on the memory of mostly sad good-byes, a teasing and, sometimes, sinful places for the adventurous ones. And a refuge for […]