{"id":672,"date":"2009-06-18T15:40:26","date_gmt":"2009-06-18T13:40:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/egophobia.ro\/revista\/?p=672"},"modified":"2009-06-18T15:40:26","modified_gmt":"2009-06-18T13:40:26","slug":"poems-by-adriana-boagiu","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=672","title":{"rendered":"Poems by Adriana Boagiu"},"content":{"rendered":"<p align=justify><strong>Adriana Boagiu<\/strong> is a poet whose lines carry a wordy town into flowery flurries of memory and eroticism, both ingenuous and insidious. Her sound skinning sonnets know how to allure and kill softly, while her irregular-iambic-pentameter or vers libre riffs shake and caress with mixed mercilessness and affection.  I am happy to greet her shrewd and artful voice of which I am sure we are going to hear a lot more not after long. <\/p>\n<p align=right>\t\t\t\tChris Tanasescu<\/p>\n<p>\/\/\/<\/p>\n<p><strong>Skin Treatise on Transition<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Craiova. Lagrange. Vectors. Pascal. And<br \/>\nthe anatomy of the magnificent<br \/>\nfrog. Et Goe, l\u2019enfant terrible,<br \/>\n terrible comme la Langue Roumaine\u2026<!--more--><\/p>\n<p> Repetition is the mother of learning<br \/>\n                                         or was it the mother of platitude?!&#8230;<br \/>\n                                          I remember my father\u2019s fading voice:<br \/>\n \u201cUtchites!&#8230;Utchites!&#8230;Utchites!&#8230;U!&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n<p>  Now I hear the humming of the trolley<br \/>\n  And a Babylonia of melodies<br \/>\n  And the sudden siren call of money<br \/>\n  In the rhythm of my recondite thoughts:<\/p>\n<p>                                          How awfully alike intellectual<br \/>\n                                          prostitution and self-fulfillment sound!&#8230; <\/p>\n<p>\/\/\/<\/p>\n<p>           <strong>Lo -Li -Ta<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Lo  is for your looming angelic figure.<br \/>\nLi   is for lustful lips like ripe tangerines.<br \/>\nTa  is for touching your ethereal<br \/>\nsoul. My Lolita, my life, my heart, mine!&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>There are moments when I smell his beckoning<br \/>\nvoice piercing my breasts and I hear his<br \/>\nmature hand grabbing at my childhood<br \/>\nand when his hand is silent his eyes start <\/p>\n<p> talking to me and they keep whispering<br \/>\n the alluring words: Lo-lii-ta, Lo-lii-ta!\u2026<br \/>\n  and then my other heart hurries to answer<br \/>\n  but, strangely enough, falls into a deep,<\/p>\n<p> indomitable sleep!\u2026When I wake up,<br \/>\n I have forgotten all about my dream\u2026<\/p>\n<p>\/\/\/<\/p>\n<p><strong>                                The Southern Jewel<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>the proud Gypsy welcomes<br \/>\nthe morning<\/p>\n<p>with cries of<br \/>\nMulticulturalism<\/p>\n<p> Pigtails flutter in the wind<br \/>\n and barely touch the<br \/>\n variegated garments<\/p>\n<p>Dappled languages converge<br \/>\nwith vapid remarks<br \/>\nof Marginalization <\/p>\n<p>Begging life,<br \/>\nSinging sorrow,<br \/>\nShouting identity,<br \/>\nLamenting fate,<br \/>\nAware of us,<br \/>\nthe Multimillionaires of Doom.<\/p>\n<p>\/\/\/<\/p>\n<p><strong>Mournful<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Morose acquaintances beguiling inquietudes<br \/>\n Of lost morality in cruel, dead lovers\u2019 hands.<br \/>\nA dream of demon love  breaks asunder<br \/>\nDispersing bits of blissful tragedy.<br \/>\nDeceitful damsels in distress inviting<br \/>\nTiresome monologues about the incidence<br \/>\nOf death. A mad girl shouting in the street<br \/>\nAbout the philosophy of meat conceit.<br \/>\n                                     A beggar lamenting the loss of his<br \/>\n                                     Possession: a merry-go-round of moody genii.<\/p>\n<p>\/\/\/<\/p>\n<p><strong>Hometown Hickey<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Don\u2019t cry, my love, I ran away because<br \/>\nof You! Because of your oppressive stench<br \/>\nof black pitch! And the irrelevance of your quietly<br \/>\nsuffocating cements! And your greatly <\/p>\n<p>commendable lack of pulse! And the grotesque<br \/>\njuxtaposition of your drowsy pink<br \/>\nand my vivid black! And your duplicate<br \/>\nsunrises like upturned sunsets in disguise!    <\/p>\n<p>Do you miss me in your lonely, sullen<br \/>\n nights? Can you hear I\u2019m praying for you to<br \/>\n come back? Can you still taste the happiness<br \/>\nwe shared on your saddened lips? There is something<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019ve been meaning to tell you: when you<br \/>\nleft, a pink blossom fell into your hair\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Adriana Boagiu is a poet whose lines carry a wordy town into flowery flurries of memory and eroticism, both ingenuous and insidious. Her sound skinning sonnets know how to allure and kill softly, while her irregular-iambic-pentameter or vers libre riffs shake and caress with mixed mercilessness and affection. I am happy to greet her shrewd [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"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":[7,77],"tags":[104,100,9,1123],"class_list":["post-672","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-7","category-english","tag-adriana-boagiu","tag-chris-tanasescu","tag-egophobia-22","tag-english"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-aQ","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/672","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\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=672"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/672\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":674,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/672\/revisions\/674"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=672"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=672"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=672"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}