luciabordeianu

when I was student at first university I quit,

we adapted the minimalist style,

me and the other two girls.

the food was not important.

maybe only for the dark brown roaches.

which let us split their two rooms apartment,

no balcony, on Victoria Boulevard.

they seemed the only ones disperate to dig for food

inside our small kitchen.

and whenever we swiched on the lights,

were running all over the floor,

as Olympic athletes.

(this is a situation you have to take on

when you’re part of such big bug family).

for us, money for cigarettes and chocolate were important

and

we could have become criminals in their absence,

even back then we knew to kill only time.

especially in those disco Wednesday days.

with free entry for girls.

and above all these, we were very rich!

a small Motorola mobile phone.

a black and white TV.

a cd cassette player.

a real treasure for any first year student!

for private parties, we played live sessions

with dance, with voices.

the only album we ever had

was that B.U.G . Mafia album,

featuring Catalina.

I know all lyrics by heart.

thanks Roxana & Raluca,
gyeah!

I drove my parents crazy with childhood’s diseases,

my baby’s cries and later with my infinite silence.

but I don’t remember much of those moments

and what I cannot forget is what I think

is essential.

like when I was loosing the house’s keys,

the flowers from my teacher’s bouquet,

the time, alone on the streets, and the trust in myself.

whenever I was loosing a key, I was climbing our balcony.

windows were always opened,

not sure if especially for or because of me.

and teachers don’t need flowers to teach.

in time, I built some walls for trust in myself

and after I finished the project,

the trust in people disappeared like smoke in the wind.

I still wonder if this is essential too.

piece by piece I was loved.

there is no doubt that each of them

found and revealed some parts of me.

the lips, an ankle, my left hand’s red triangle,

my eyes, my hair, my skin, my kiss.

I think one of them got in love with a thought,

but most had not.

piece by piece I got lost.

there is no doubt that each of them

took away some parts of me.

the lips, my ankles, my left hand’s red triangle,

my eyes, my hair, my skin, my soul,

still here with this old body and the rest of my thoughts,

kept all locked inside.

and you?

light one to smoke and tell me!

I listen.

The boy in the red pants

was watching me pass by on the country road,

full of mud or dust.

This image comes from the past, yet it is still so vivid,

much more than anything I feel today, or on any other day,

lately.

​He could climb, fearless, the blue wooden fence,

each day, from Monday to Friday.

​When I first saw him, I remember asking myself

why he didn’t just open the gate.

Why struggle to climb up just to watch me in silence?

It never occurred to me that the gate might have been locked,

though he couldn’t run out onto the country road,

or maybe farther, to the end of all existing country roads,

or even farther, to the next roads—the concrete ones—

or even to a river.

​Sometimes I walked alone, because I knew the way back

to the old house by heart,

so the elders trusted me.

​The boy in the red pants never said a word, but I think he smiled.

Or at least, I hope he did, just once.

If not, why would I remember him from the last century?

​So that spring of ’86, I didn’t care much about friends—

I hadn’t made any at the village kindergarten anyway.

I didn’t care about the trees, flowers, or toys waiting for me on the porch.

I paid no attention to the newborn lambs from our sheep,

or the baby chicks from our chickens.

In the spring of ’86, I cared only for the boy in the red pants!

​I was so proud of him!

He always stood there silently, with a curious look,

curly blond hair,

and scraped, scratched hands.

​I tried to climb our fence, too, and I did.

But I could never keep my balance the way he did,

with a kind of elegance combined with wildness or recklessness.

I had too much caution back in the eighties.

I got rid of it!

I dreamed a war, I was a soldier.

Fires weren’t killers, at the beginnings.

They sound as fireworks

during midnight celebrations.

And bombs existed only in my imagination,

till first hit so close,

forcing us to hide

into the darkest corners of the house.

Then I found out!

I was a soldier and I didn’t know

how trained I was,

what fighting skills I hold.

Strategic thoughts and movements

to keep the others safe, alive.

So, as soldier, I become a target.

Missiles chassing me allover and,

until the end, I will run, run, run,

keep distances from the loved one.

Because is my duty, as soldier,

to play and cheat with Death,

keep her away from you,

by keeping you away from me.

Și am început să lansăm cuvinte

în vastul spațiu dintre

noi.

În spatele zidurilor adormeam în pază,

tinandu-ne prinși, uneori goi.

Pieile noastre se frământau și stârneau

vise.

Și ai crezut că eu sunt mai rece, mai tare,

mi-ai lăsat libertatea de a zbura

înainte, înapoi, în vastul spațiu dintre noi

doi.

Și eu am crezut ca am aripi.

Și tu ai crezut la fel.

Si am început sa facem salturi mortale

in vastul spațiu.

Acum, ca doi acrobati, de-o o parte și cealalta,

am împietrit la înălțime.

Mulțimea de jos ne privește cu murmur.

Vom sări unul spre celălalt?

Ne vom prinde brațele?

Vom dansa?

Ne pasă sau nu ca nu ne vom atinge?

Vom cădea?

Deși m-aș salva,

eu nu doresc sa te transform in personaj,

te țin doar pentru mine,

să nu te împart cu nimeni.

Tu vrei să iti schimb numele,

să tes in jurul tau contexte

să te trimit in aventuri la mal de mare,

imaginând puncte culminante,

care să țina lumea cu sufletul la gură.

Eu ma gândesc doar la gura ta pe a mea.

Nu vreau să o deschid ca sa creez cuvinte,

ce ar transforma gânduri in texte mai bune,

mai proaste.

Refuz să te scriu!

Te țin viu doar in minte.

Închis între pereții craniului meu,

departe de foi, tastaturi.

Refuz sa verbalizez!

Visez.

Has anyone ever whispered in your ear

that Eric Clapton song,

Wonderful tonight?

It happened to me in the last night of ’96,

while dancing to a party.

The guy wasn’t an artist, but I didn’t care,

I was in love more of his scientific side.

Anyway, he surprised me and I appreciated

every word rolling out through his

unperfect lips.

And how the song end was near,

I became hungry.

I saw myself into S. eyes

same as Narcis looked at his own river.

I became greedy, he became the water

I depended of.

Girls, the story here has no happy end,

and the ’97 was even worse,

not as we all expected or wished.

But look, we are few of us left to pass through

and maybe tonight I will pour wine,

play that Clapton song where he speaks about

how he would change the world.

No more water!

Ma si enervez cand e vreme frumoasa!

Daca-i toamna sau iarna, sa fie asa

cum trebuie sa fie!

Adica asa cum am invatat la scoala,

despre anotimpuri.

Mi se da lumea peste cap cand vad soarele,

cerul senin, dincolo de sticla ferestrei

iar copacii despuiati,

insirati intre mine si restul blocurilor

de pe planeta!

Astia nu au inteles ca nu merge sa iti faci de cap?

Astia nu sunt constienti de reper…

repercusiuni.

the poor place where I felt safe

and warm, somehow at home,

some arms around my body,

some friendly words,

some carring human being thoughts,

some smiles, some forehead kisses.

Somewhere I always ran away.

Sometimes I missed all these.

You were my shelter I was used

to return to with broken bones.

Nobody could ever fix and

I only layed, waiting year after year

my own kind of heals.

You were my shelter, my prison, my tomb,

waiting year after year to escape from.

And the day I will arise and shine again,

leaving all known behind,

is almost tomorrow.

Be never sure of a final return,

dear shelter, my prison, my tomb.