IOANA IERONIM

Fugue


a few words on the screen
a signal from you
all of me flashes in response
I can see you come
and go
in loops of night phosphorescence

here you are waiting in ambush
storming
again

worlds apart
suspended in a tune
we swallow half of the sentences
we thrust and break lines
in one breath
virtual real virtual virtual real
wieder again iar encore

percussion for word and distance

*

as there is so little time so much space
why waste time and not write poems
directly on your body
as for instance a few lines
in every palm
terzinas on your cheeks
a smiling rondeau on your lips
sonnets on your shoulders
haikus on your breast
…and you whispering
your answers…
then more lines reaching around
willow branches of a pantoum
and a pair of ghazals
as tasseled slippers
written when the moon
is being sifted through leaves

but if such tattoo is too pagan for us
and naïve
as late in history as this
or still as early,
let’s just drape ourselves
and roll in words,
our silk and satin

*

be unconsoled
cry, woman
you say

and I am treading the ground of my pain
as if for the first time

I take handfuls of dust I cover myself with dust
I swallow the poison
that a half empty moon is spilling
from this November sky

be unconsoled and cry, woman,
you say
look things in the face

*

“every book is a vanquished illness”
the Transylvanian poet Lucian Blaga
once said
and our tribe has repeated it
as undisputed truth
ever since

every book a vanquished illness
I was thinking, with all these words
rolled in a tangible papyrus,
but have we forgotten all humility
as to believe it may indeed heal

heal Love and Death
as it were?

*

as atoms split
and split once more
in windy gardens
and find themselves again
and swirl and then break up
and still keep gliding

a timeless dance imprinted in us

so I now find myself
under the force of gravity
of a sentiment
that daily dresses me in
ever changing shapes
without ever asking

*

Death, you are on our heels
you beggar of our daily small change
hiding your blade
in your boot under your cloak

I look straight at you
through air made clear after lightning
I look at you
through deadly, poisonous human tears
and keep you far,
murderous beggar
after having learned some of your lessons
once or twice
and come back

I, wrapped in love,
will give you none of my joy

go, just go away
with your bass continuum
that you taught my people -
go away with your kitsch tunes
you who click at us
alluring
castagnettas

*

 
you’ve brought back to myself
the one I was in the beginning –
my self abandoned on the threshold
some time early on

so as to travel light
go less endangered

you have opened a door to lost geographies,
to this inner scape where waters flow
unfathomable
under their clear
deceptive
mirror

*

we keep an eye above the water
the other underneath,
we keep an eye on the horizon
the other under a bird’s wing,

we keep an eye on one another
the other close closed in mute love,
childlike, we roll with laughter
we kiss one another’s auras
and bruised skin
and old scars

Ariadne’s thread hidden
at the core of every thing

one eye lives the other one contemplates
one heart lives the other one contemplates

this hourglass given
by the Fates when they were spinning us –
while their gold and pearl hems were being
torn
unraveled
under the wheel of hard times

we keep an eye above the water
the other in the dim salt beneath,
we keep an eye on the horizon
the other
under a bird’s wing

Andreea Banciu

Ioana Ieronim
 

Fuga

Cateva cuvinte pe ecran
Un semnal de la tine
Eu flash raspund
Te vad venind
Si plecand
In bucle fosforescente.

Iata-te apoi la panda,
ataci din nou

Lumi separate
Suspendate intr-un sunet
Inghitim jumatate din propozitii
lovim si rupem randuri
dintr-o suflare
virtual, real, real virtual
wieder again iar encore

percutie pentru cuvant si distanta.

*

Cu atat de putin timp si atata spatiu
De ce sa pierdem vremea fara a scrie poezii
Direct pe trupuri
Cum ar fi, cateva randuri
In fiecare palma
Tertine pe obraji
Rondel surazator pe buze
Sonete pe umeri
Haiku pe piept
....soptindu-ti
...raspunsurile...
Si apoi mai multe randuri intinzandu-se
Ramuri de salcie ale unui pantum
- si o pereche de gazeluri
ca papucei cu mot
scrise cand luna
se strecoara printre frunze.

Dar daca asa un tatuaj e prea pagan pentru noi
Si naiv
Atat de tarziu in istorie,
Ori atat de devreme,
Sa ne impodobim doar
Si sa ne infasuram in cuvinte,
Matasea si satinul nostru.

*

Fii nemângâiată
plângi, femeie,
îmi spui

iar eu păşesc pe pământul suferinţei mele
ca şi cum ar fi prima oară

iau maini de praf cu care ma acopar
înghit otrava
vărsată de o lună nouă
din acest cer de noiembrie

Fii nemângâiată
plângi, femeie,
îmi spui
priveşte lucrurile în faţă

*


“Fiecare carte este o maladie cucerita”
spunea odata
poetul transilvanean Lucian Blaga,
iar tribul nostru o repeta
de atunci
ca pe un adevar de necontestant

Fiecare carte – o maladie cucerita
Gandeam eu, cu toate aceste cuvinte
rasucite intr-un papirus tangibil,
dar am uitat oare sa fim atat de umili
incat sa credem ca poate vindeca intr-adevar

sa vindece Dragostea si Moartea
asa cum erau?

*

Pe masura ce atomii se divid o data
Si inca o data
In gradini batute de vanturi
Si se regasesc din nou
Si se rotesc si apoi se rup,
si continua sa pluteasca

un dans atemporal imprimat in noi

ma descopar
sub forta de gravitatie
a unui sentiment
ce ma imbraca zilnic
schimbandu-si mereu forma
fara a intreba vreodata.

*

Moarte, tu esti pe urmele noastre
Tu, cersetor al maruntisului nostru zilnic
ce-si ascunde lama
in cizma, sub mantie.

Te privesc in ochi
Prin aerul limpede, de dupa fulger
Te privesc
Prin lacrimi omenesti, mortale, otravitoare
Si te tin departe,
cersetor ucigas
dupa ce ti-am invatat vreo cateva lectii
o data sau de doua ori
si ma intorc.

Eu, infasurata in iubire,
nu-ti voi ceda niciun strop din fericirea mea

du-te, pur si simplu, pleaca
cu al tau efect continuu de bas
pe care l-ai aratat si oamenilor mei -

dispari cu muzica ta kitsch
tu, cel ce pocneste catre noi
fermecatoare castagnete.

*

Mi-ai adus inapoi pe mine
Cel ce eram la inceput –
eul meu abandonat pe prag
ceva mai devreme;

cat despre un drum usor,
lipsit de primejdii

ai deschis usa catre geografii pierdute,
catre acest taram interior, unde apele curg
de nepatruns
sub oglinda lor limpede
si inselatoare.

*

Suntem atenti pe suprafata apei,
celalalt adanc.
Suntem atenti la orizont,
celalalt spatiu sub aripa unei pasari.

Suntem atenti unul la celalalt,
celalalt aproape, inchis in iubire muta,
ca un copil, ne tavalim de ras
ne sarutam unul celuilalt aura
si pielea invinetita
si vechile cicatrici,

firul Ariadnei asuns
in miezul tuturor lucrurilor

un ochi traieste, celalalt contempla
o inima traieste, cealalta contempla

aceasta clepsidra oferita
de ursitoare cand ne rasuceau –
in timp ce marginile lor de aur de perle
erau sfasiate
descalcite
sub roata vremurilor grele

cu un deasupra apei
si unul in sarea obscura de dedesubt
cu un ochi catre orizont
si celalalt
catre spatiul de sub aripa unei pasari.