Categories
Poetry

Happening and more…

By Vasile Baghiu

Happening

Yesterday, I met poetry 
on the stony Loch Long shore,
near Ardpeaton.
The place was empty, and I think
she felt very well as she was: ignored, 
neglected, abandoned among the wood pieces 
and dry sea wracks.
Though I had suspected for some time 
she was not just the kind of a thing written 
on a paper sheet, 
it was at that moment 
I viewed the truth.

The waves looked like real sea;
the breeze, kingfishers, 
the insistent wind bringing clouds, 
by heaps,
carrying them further away, like in 
a movie shown with high speed,
yet other details, not very easy 
to be described - 
all made me recognize her 
from the distance. 

I had my camera close at hand, so I took 
many photos 
thinking to impress my friends later, 
as I knew they would not believe my story.

In the evening, when 
the images were downloaded, 
nothing could be seen 
on the monitor.
I resigned then to sadness and insight,
and I confine myself to write here. 

Still I am sure I really met 
poetry yesterday.

Under Wave

It is as if I were ill sometimes,
feverish, lonely, 
abroad.  

I do not share myself between
me and my own person.

The world swishes inside;
and the heart, 
agreeing secretly with the brain,
makes waves to show I am still alive.

Despite the smile, 
I am not on the wave --
quite under it. 

Maybe I am in vacation
and try to take advantage of
the good weather. 

Striving to be at least 
a part of what I will never be,
I dare not venture too deep
but splash a bit with the oars here,
where I suppose the shore is nearby
helping me feel safe.










I Do Not Write
Today I do not write. 
I wish I could live a bit more than I do 
in normal circumstances. 
I put aside all the pencils and papers,
close the computer
and come into the midday sun. 
I do not write, 
so I go for a walk,
and think of the things 
concerning me closely
these days:
the life at home,
and the new British poetry
at “Bloodaxe”
I spent all the last evening.

This morning I sent e-mails 
to two persons who 
do not get along very well, 
hoping they would make up 
when seeing
they have a mutual friend in me. 

Wordsworth was right: long and solitary 
walks are good for inspiration,
but today I do not write. 
I feel good, but I would not pretend this 
comfortable feeling will infiltrate 
my writing too, 
in case tomorrow I begin
the story again. 

I get a bit more distant from myself
so that I can see me better. 
A fit of laughter seizes me. 

Today I do not write.

(First appeared in the volume Cât de departe a mers/ How Far Have I Gone, 2008)

Vasile Baghiu (b. 1965) is a Romanian writer, author of eight books of poetry, a collection of short stories and three novels published in his country. He has been awarded a few writers-in-residence grants, in Germany, Austria, Scotland and Switzerland. Some of his works have appeared in translation in magazines and anthologies such as Penmen Review, Magma Poetry, Southern Ocean Review, The Orange Room Review, Stellar Showcase Journal, L.A. Melange, Poetry Can, Banipal, Cordite Poetry Review, The Aalitra Review, Bordertown. Co-author of the poetry collection Transatlantic Crossings: The Constant Language of Poetry, (TJMF Publishing, USA, 2006). Vasile had in the past diverse work experiences as a nurse, including a sanatorium. A psychologist and a teacher now, married, he has a daughter and a son. He currently is working simultaneously on a new novel, a new collection of poems and a non-fiction book.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s