{"id":4989,"date":"2010-06-14T15:13:02","date_gmt":"2010-06-14T13:13:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=4989"},"modified":"2010-06-16T09:05:10","modified_gmt":"2010-06-16T07:05:10","slug":"poems-by-cristina-morgothya-nemerovschi","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=4989","title":{"rendered":"Poems by Cristina “Morgothya” Nemerovschi"},"content":{"rendered":"

Winters, December<\/strong><\/p>\n

translation from Romanian by Margaret Wilmot & Elena Mihu [MTTLC student]<\/p>\n

I was turning into a chameleon<\/em><\/p>\n

I only enjoy writing about myself
\nI get bored writing about other people, it feels superficial
\nlike sliding on thin ice
\nIn any case, I could care less about pleasing someone else
\nFuck off and that\u2019s it.<\/p>\n

Besides, they don\u2019t exist, don\u2019t count
\nI\u2019m no clown, the circus is closed, go have fun somewhere else, don\u2019t forget
\nto pay on your way out
\nThe elephant died with a bleeding trunk, everyone cried
\nSanta Sangre<\/em> is way more with it than Romania, where
\nBasescu-voters sing manele-tripe<\/p>\n

Let them leap from the trees
\nBranches be sacrificed instead of Easter lambs
\nChristmas pigs
\nTurkeys
\nLet\u2019s sit down and have a real cigarette by the red rain-gutters
\nIt doesn\u2019t matter at all what\u2019s real, what\u2019s not.
\nYou can cringe, cut off your hands for the muse, or spit in her face<\/p>\n

Vodka with stout
\nYou\u2019re driving too fast, I think I\u2019m going to heave<\/p>\n

I arrived too late at Mangalia station,
\nit was autumn, all the greenery dry as hell
\nThe headlights are on
\nGroovier than the horror movie I saw at 4,45 am
\nI always said anyone can make up his own blair witch<\/em><\/p>\n

You were the colours inside me,
\nSo often exploding in a thousand nuances
\nUntil I was a chameleon
\nEvery facet a different way of being
\nMy feelings too becoming colour
\nEach smile a different animal
\nIn you, with you, moment by moment<\/p>\n

I hardly remember the winters before the revolution
\nI\u2019ve even forgotten some of those in the \u201890s<\/p>\n

I remember fragments of thought from childhood
\nFeelings which, if I\u2019d been different, I wouldn\u2019t have acknowledged
\nI\u2019m trying to pull a thick wing over them
\nI don\u2019t want to see beyond, I no longer believe in obsessions
\nIncest is not all that different from sex with strangers<\/p>\n

You always lagged behind, way behind
\nNaturally, I was always trying to tug you into the present
\nBut it was then I began to draw away<\/p>\n

I was obsessed; there were serpents and wild beasts\u2019 wings, jeepers creepers<\/em>
\nAnd condor events<\/em> – I organized weddings
\nMaybe it would be an idea just to have a drink today
\nChristmas – all such bullshit – is more than a date in red on the calendar<\/p>\n

You lag behind us, behind the car
\nLike an abandoned puppy
\nIt doesn\u2019t matter
\nIt\u2019s beginning to snow
\nNight has come
\nOne of these days should be the one, yes; it should happen one of these days<\/p>\n

II<\/p>\n

It\u2019s really cold
\nd. says it\u2019s like where we come from
\nHe\u2019s proud of his Eskimo blood
\nHe\u2019s spent New Year\u2019s Eve alone for some years now, laying out
\nthe cards by himself
\nThe freeze is really cool, man<\/em> when you\u2019re drunk
\nYou don\u2019t even notice it,
\nLike a monster ready to pounce, batter your bones<\/p>\n

A. calls us, in a fever, tells us to hurry
\nThe drugstores are running a holiday-timetable
\nI take the subway to cr\u00e2nga\u015fi, people look at me strangely
\nAs if accusing me of all kinds of things
\nI can\u2019t say I feel innocent, just wonder how the hell they found out
\nIt doesn\u2019t matter, we\u2019re getting there, I stick my headphones
\ndeeper in my ears
\nOn the next seat, there\u2019s a pretty girl with a moonspell<\/em> T-shirt under
\nher motor-cycle jacket
\nMemorial<\/em>
\nIt doesn\u2019t matter, I\u2019m just day-dreaming. She\u2019s likely to be a dumbo
\nIt\u2019s better this way, saves time
\nShe\u2019ll be a creep, for sure<\/p>\n

I get off at cr\u00e2nga\u015fi station
\nIt\u2019s cold as hell
\nI\u2019m shivering and it\u2019s snowing on my hood
\nI don\u2019t know where the drugstore is so I text
\nMy hands freeze to the mobile
\nIn five minutes he\u2019s here.<\/p>\n

The chemist hasn\u2019t got laid for some time and she\u2019s suspicious
\nA real nightmare
\nWe\u2019re stammering, one has a cat, the other a dog
\nLaughing all the time, nudging each other
\nFinally, she gives it to us<\/p>\n

We slowly make our way to the flat
\nWe don\u2019t hurry, there\u2019s no need
\nWe buy chips and alcohol
\nThey sell fir trees in cr\u00e2nga\u015fi market<\/p>\n

The smell of resin sets my nostrils on fire
\nAnd a dense and foggy thing creeps through my brain
\nI see myself becoming a fir tree
\nAs if with a fir mind smell my bones rotting
\nOr even a spruce
\nA spruce among firs will seem like a black man or Chinese
\nRemembering my time in the shadow of student hostels
\nThe unhappiest places in Bucharest<\/p>\n

It\u2019s warm in the flat
\nThere\u2019s almost nothing to show a.\u2019s a tenant here
\nWe snort for a few moments
\nAnd for the first time today actually begin talking to each other
\nAbout death
\nSartre
\nGod, and how all this shit came to be
\nV. comes and we begin to talk about pink elephants
\nShe\u2019s really high but still we think she\u2019s laying it on a bit thick
\nYou show up much later; you\u2019ve been at work<\/p>\n

It\u2019s starting to snow
\nThese miserable balconies are too close together
\nYou can really feel the winter<\/p>\n

I\u2019m thinking again
\nWe should go in with someone
\nOnly for the rent
\nAnd only paying when we feel like it
\nNot forced to
\nOn days when we\u2019re not in the mood<\/p>\n

I feel like building a snowman
\nBut the shadows in my head are nearer
\nI feel at home there
\nAnd your hands don\u2019t freeze when you touch them<\/p>\n

We talk about everything
\nIf we didn\u2019t do drugs, there would be limits to our love
\nTwo by two or maybe one at a time
\nThat\u2019s how we love things<\/p>\n

The night passes slowly
\nWe are listening to soad, rammstein, nightwish, pink Floyd, rhcp, metallica<\/em>,
\nmaybe travka<\/em> too
\nIt\u2019s a.\u2019s music, after all
\nIt feels like the holiday will never end<\/p>\n

But it\u2019s Christmas
\nYou go to your parents
\nI can\u2019t imagine what it\u2019s like to have family
\nSomebody waiting for you, dinner on the table
\nRussian salad, vine leaves, roast meat and cake
\nWearing something nice<\/em> just for you
\nWho\u2019s downloaded the latest manele-album, just to please you
\nAt the age of 20 I realized no one would ever decorate a tree for me
\nI thought a Christmas-tree stand might make things easier
\nCheaper too
\n– So it seemed –
\nI just wanted to bring the beer<\/p>\n

December 24 smells great in Bucharest
\nNeighborhoods bustling, being a part of things<\/p>\n

It\u2019s still snowing; they\u2019ve all gone home to their families
\nWe burst out laughing, screw them; let them drink with mom and dad<\/em><\/p>\n

We pass crangasi market on our way home
\nThe subway has stopped running
\nAll the abandoned fir trees are lying in the mud
\nThey look like soldiers who\u2019ve lost the war
\nThey smell of resin
\nOf Christmas
\nOf then<\/em>
\nAnd once upon a time<\/em><\/p>\n

It\u2019s 6 o\u2019clock
\nIt\u2019s Christmas
\nThe 660 bus is coming
\nWe\u2019re the only passengers
\nThe smell of fir is everywhere
\nIt\u2019s some hours now it has begun, I think it\u2019s begun<\/p>\n

III<\/p>\n

A cough is like a ram with a double set of horns
\nThis fellow is really getting on my nerves
\nI can\u2019t understand why he can\u2019t find the lighter
\nOr if he\u2019s such a clot, why on earth he doesn\u2019t just ask for one<\/p>\n

It was great at the seaside, strange too, and so cold
\nSome people from Timi\u015foara wanted to kill themselves
\nBut for the moment they\u2019d forgotten why
\nI gave them some wine<\/p>\n

Little angels shit on our heads
\nI explain what I really want: for a parson to piss on the graves
\nwith twisted crosses
\nAnd a crow on a branch above shits on his head<\/p>\n

In the mountains we met some people from Craiova
\nThey all had wine, we\u2019d have killed for some miserable beers
\nThe punks from Craiova were having a beer
\nUntil some creepy woman kicked them out
\nHer type shouldn\u2019t have the right to vote
\nNot even when it\u2019s a question of who gets to stay, who not<\/p>\n

I also want to write something about mom & dad<\/em>
\nIt\u2019s a bit complicated
\nHurts some yet I enjoy it too
\nBut they ended up like little kindergarten-friends, the smallest ones
\nIf you tried really hard, and remembered their names, you could find them somewhere here at home or abroad
\nOn facebook<\/p>\n

The Christmas of the Revolution was great
\nFor the first time, he went to the market and bought tinsel
\nand artificial snow spray
\nHe died when I was 11<\/p>\n

A little bit later he became a monarchist, which was strange<\/p>\n

The party was always lively, even wild
\nI don\u2019t know what the shit people find so entertaining about me
\nFireworks, the ram on the cover with a double set of horns
\nhave retreated for a while
\nHe was shy
\nI really don\u2019t want to go on about the ram, I just find it funny
\nAnd I really saw him that night in Cheia
\nHowever, he only appears after long and tiresome periods of meditation
\nNot just whenever<\/p>\n

There have been other New Year\u2019s Eves since our ex-something
\nand \u201conce upon a time\u201d
\nNow the blizzard is battering at the one and only 2009, on the 20 something
\nof December
\nAll that\u2019s left are car tracks on the dirty snow, which seems whiter
\nthan in recent years.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s nothing for you here, you lazy alcoholic coward, stupid dull bitch<\/em>
\nLive your slimy life and leave me alone
\nWe\u2019ll invent worlds in which you\u2019ve never existed
\nIn which we\u2019ve spent no Christmas together
\nNo New Year\u2019s Eve.<\/p>\n

hardporn<\/strong><\/p>\n

translation from Romanian by Graham High & Elena Alina Cerchez [MTTLC student]<\/p>\n

evening is coming and your brain plunges more and more into black
\nthe night is coming and so we don\u2019t recognise each other
\n…any part of us
\nin the morning there will be nothing left.<\/p>\n

First you bind me to the bed
\nyou cover my wrists in black velvet strips
\nand move your tongue on every piece of skin.<\/p>\n

I became versatile indeed
\nand you saught yourself in every line of mine
\nyou always found what you were looking for.
\nStrange, you looked different from how you remembered yourself in reality.
\nYou were more beautiful,
\nmore innocent.<\/p>\n

The smoke of the dope goes slowly through the cells of my lungs
\nwhile you\u2019re touching my breasts:
\nI wouldn\u2019t hurt you, you know I wouldn\u2019t,
\nwouldn\u2019t hurt you that bad.<\/p>\n

You\u2019d feel incestuous, lousy and maybe a little bit of a pedophile
\nwith me by your side
\nyou\u2019d know that you crossed the border
\nthat here you were able to be everything you\u2019d imagined
\nthat I continued to be yours<\/p>\n

I would do things I hadn\u2019t done to anyone before
\nIt would be our secret, pure and wild.<\/p>\n

The poems and things I had written for you,
\nthe drinks drunk only for you
\njust to feel you somewhere inside me;
\nthe wanderings under the bridge, thinking of you
\nmy vampire look
\nthe killing instinct which went through me everytime I had imagined other possible worlds,
\nother realities
\nwhich you unconditionally belonged to<\/p>\n

The dope-bars and the dealers that sold weed
\nsometimes mild, sometimes very intense, so intense the poem disappeared from my head for two days after I smoked it
\nthe music you listened to once
\nwas already a kind of you, almost you.<\/p>\n

wanted to know how deep it is inside me
\ncloser to the place where I keep my romances and my obsessions
\nyes, you were afraid of me
\nyou were afraid from the beginning
\ni could imagine us together floating in blood
\nin a pot over the fire
\nso that the roof was on fire
\nso that I could evade you entering my human self and me entering yours
\ninvading ourselves like cartarescu\u2019s twins<\/em>
\nfind a way to get away
\nwithout finding our way<\/p>\n

for our nights of sex you\u2019d learned from sadistic movies
\nbut for this one time
\nwith me you would be
\nnot like you\u2019d be in reality
\nbut this time perfect<\/p>\n

It will never end
\nwe won\u2019t find our way out
\nof this demented carousel
\nwhich spins again and again and again and again
\nthe same view
\ntrees sprinkled with blood, children with their heads cut off and snags that holds sand balls
\nrunning happy
\ntill you will resort to the ultimate solution to stop it
\nyou\u2019ll cut your hair off, you\u2019ll shove your fingers inside me and pill out bits of sticky brain
\nyou\u2019ll throw them as far as you can, to not feel anymore
\nnot to be anymore
\nto slip away from this crazy spinning which make you feel sick, that throws everything in you leaving you empty
\nbizzare purity
\nbizzare innocent black velvet, trying to tear it
\nlike a game of wit
\nmeanwhile my wrists are shrinking
\nwriggling in my bed like that devilish serpent from the novel
\ni\u2019m not going to rush, you\u2019re not going to rush
\nyou\u2019re going to bite me like a mad warewolf while you bang me
\nand when you have an orgasm you\u2019ll go on the balcony, break the window and roar to the moon<\/p>\n

i don\u2019t know what will be next
\ni might have to escape the track of neon
\nto enter into another world
\nanother reality with you
\nand take it from the beginning
\ncruel, ignorant and perverse like two children<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Winters, December translation from Romanian by Margaret Wilmot & Elena Mihu [MTTLC student] I was turning into a chameleon I only enjoy writing about myself I get bored writing about other people, it feels superficial like sliding on thin ice In any case, I could care less about pleasing someone else Fuck off and that\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[585,77],"tags":[1149,603,601,1123,602,600,32,403,312],"class_list":["post-4989","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-27","category-english","tag-egophobia-27","tag-elena-alina-cerchez","tag-elena-mihu","tag-english","tag-graham-high","tag-margaret-wilmot","tag-morgothya","tag-mttlc","tag-translation"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-1it","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4989","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4989"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4989\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5110,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4989\/revisions\/5110"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4989"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4989"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4989"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}