translated by Chris Tanasescu & Martin Woodside<\/p>\n
the first.\u00a0 the second<\/strong> god doesn\u2019t further still on a narrow path further still on a narrow path a house a fence a tree a bird<\/strong> I\u2019ll never travel America I won\u2019t wander the boulevards of Paris won\u2019t appear to me anymore in the foggy evenings farewell, farewell, roads on which Wilhem apprenticed I\u2019ll never see Rome (and you Isonzo won\u2019t shape me like one of your stones)<\/p>\n I won\u2019t turn towards Zaragosa either on the banks of Bahluiu I will wait (may Oedipus\u2019s tomb in Colonnus stay forever unknown)<\/p>\n country of no fatherland Zombie Zone (their country)<\/strong> I\u2019ve had it up to here They won again and here\u2019s my lot They chew the cud with a bulging fat or cool down the stagnant miasma out of the great merde sea a fecal rush translated by Chris Tanasescu & Martin Woodside the first.\u00a0 the second (\u201cprimul. al doilea\u201d from weekend printre mutan\u0163i, Pan, 1994) god doesn\u2019t give you the first that you look for alone straying step by step from your fellow of flesh of blood of word\u2014I look<\/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":[704,77],"tags":[100,1151,1123,536,709,312],"class_list":["post-6446","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-29-30","category-english","tag-chris-tanasescu","tag-egophobia-29-30","tag-english","tag-martin-woodside","tag-o-nimigean","tag-translation"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-1FY","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6446","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=6446"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6446\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6450,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6446\/revisions\/6450"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6446"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6446"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6446"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n(\u201cprimul. al doilea\u201d from weekend printre mutan<\/em>\u0163i, <\/em><\/strong>Pan, 1994)<\/strong><\/p>\n
\ngive you the first that you look for
\nalone
\nstraying step by step
\nfrom your fellow of flesh of blood of word\u2014I look
\nalone\u2014for this
\nthey call me the stranger call me
\nthe enemy but then I can barely feel
\ngusts of words on the back of the neck
\nfrom beyond the woods, the gritstone mountains, the lakes
\n–their curse almost a caress<\/p>\n
\na path of air gradually forgetting
\nthe colors because there is only light is only
\ndarkness\u2014only my straw-red blood
\nseen fearfully through transparent hands
\nseems different\u2014and then
\nI cry without thinking<\/p>\n
\nbut never far enough
\ngod doesn\u2019t give you the first that you look for
\nalone and if you find it
\ncan\u2019t be written\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the second
\nis always a stutter<\/p>\n
\n(<\/strong>\u201co cas<\/strong>\u0103 un gard un copac o pas\u0103re<\/strong>\u201d from adio adio dragi poe<\/em><\/strong>zii<\/em><\/strong>, OuTopos, 1999)<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nI\u2019ll never ride Brooklyn\u2019s steel rails
\nfollow echoes of Whitman only in mind prairies and
\nfactories steam rising from rivers\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 with Crane\u2019s eyes
\nI\u2019ll watch the water, its devouring jellyfish flesh<\/p>\n
\nunder statues in bird shit coquettish as snow
\nI won\u2019t go drowsy into bistros won\u2019t be brothers
\nwith Nicholas the dog I would hardly live in a book
\nlemonade yellow (here kitty, kitty, into the sack)
\nor in an attic make love to Zazie
\nand then
\nAnna\u2019s tomboy face<\/p>\n
\nsomewhere between the Pickwick Club and Buckingham Palace
\n(only the girl you would kiss by Spaski Tower
\nwill whisper my name in Trafalgar Square)<\/p>\n
\nfair-haired Kriemhildes on trains from Berlin to Potsdam
\nfarewell crazy Bavarian king<\/p>\n
\nstretch my arm from the top of Trajan\u2019s column
\nI will not kneel in St. Peter\u2019s
\nwon\u2019t bequeath my laundry in my last will
\nin Palermo where
\nPrince Salina sleeps his eternal sleep
\non a sunny terrace<\/p>\n
\nto shatter the lies of apocryphal books
\nmy dear barber my beloved student
\nI won\u2019t send Sancho to Toboso
\nand I won\u2019t sniff the fungus air of Sagrada
\nexcept from dusty fliers
\n(soledades, soledades <\/em>in tomes glittering gold
\nfrom the Golden Age in books trickling
\nthe mixed blood of bull and matador)<\/p>\n
\nfor Ligheea to surface from the muddy waters smelling of the Mediterranean
\n(but she\u2019ll never surface maybe a fat
\ndrunk school girl will curse in demotiki)<\/em><\/p>\n
\nI watch your invisible walls
\ndrawing clumsily on them with chalk
\na house a fence a tree a bird
\nand myself among them
\nplaying with a ring of smoke.<\/p>\n
\n(<\/strong>\u201czombiezon\u201d <\/strong>from nicolina blues<\/em>, Cartea Rom\u00e2neasc<\/strong>\u0103, 2007)<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nof having to deal
\n with all these crap talkers
\nToday I stay silent
\n lying
\n in the near darkness
\na generic go fuck your mothers<\/p>\n
\nanother half century of reeking rot
\nthe fat turd lingers in their toilet mouths
\nno matter how much chlorine I spread about<\/p>\n
\nstalactite of steaming scat
\nmouth like an old whore\u2019s worn out ass
\na long tongue licking up with a splash
\nvast as Balkan and Carpathian snows
\ncan\u2019t cover up their massive shit hole<\/p>\n
\nthat even the 3 color flag stinks of<\/p>\n
\nwith a last fuck you one final fuck
\nI bid farewell embracing an absence
\nwhich remains untouched by pestilence<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"