poems by dorina neculce

Literary CV: Dorina Neculce – Romanian writer, from the city Botosani-live in city Iasi.

Member of the ‘Junimea 90’ Cultural Society- Iasi,
Member of the Literary Circle ‘Junimea 90’ – Iasi,
Former coordinator of the Literary Circle Friendship Universe – Iasi,
Literary debut at Tatarasi Atheneum from Iasi, 2009 – collective volume – with the group ‘Wandered angels’, All Publishing, Iasi, 2009;
Publication: poetry: The world from the mirror, Pim Publishing – Iasi, 2010; My gothic smile, Pim Publishing – Iasi, 2011: Solitaire flight, Pim Publishing – Iasi, 2012; Old trails, Pim Publishing – Iasi, 2012; At the end of silence , Pim Publishing – Iasi, 2012; Contraria (lyrical dialogues with Rameel), Pim Publishing – Iasi, 2012; Vade mecum (6 contemporary poets), Winter (6 authors), Pim Publishing – Iasi, 2012; Insignia (volume published by the literary site Casa Gandului, 2010); Lyrical meridians, 100 contemporary poets, Armonii culturale Publishing, 2012; prose: If I could get through time, Pim Publishing – Iasi, 2010: poetry: Eyelids flounder – Pim Publishing, Iasi, 2012.
Literary awards: 3rd prize – awarded by the Literary Magazine ‘Noi, Nu’, from Cluj – December 2011.
Poetry Contest 2nd prize – haiku- February 2010, organized by the Association Universul Prieteniei – Iasi.
It is on the anvil and it is going to be published in 2013, a new Trilogy of gothic poetry, ‘Gothic solitude’.

cassandra’s cry

translate by prof. Oana Nechita

1.as a dishevelled cassandra

I spin the last distaff

sitting at the shadow of the cross gluing up

sweetened poems on the face

of the bronze shadows.

2.knower of silent colours

you will come

dressed in the shirt of the thoughts

of iron

3.as a dishevelled cassandra

from fogs and smoke I

will pour the cold

in bones

as if

the glances of the bowmen will pour

atriped from

the white marble breaking down

the springs in eyes until

the last scream.

4.is as if

I still could live

deep in an

unseen window

baroque sound sat

step over step

time over another time

free sclave sucking up

the clay of it’s own

grave.

let’s go mashenka

I call her don’t hide yourself

this bowed woman won’t stop

she’ll cry anyway and she’ll still cry

you have to get out the buildings

without windows

can melt you down

...........................................................

mashenka is the metal girl

of a dwarf family

her thoughts – knotted stitch- feed all the roses

(this will help us maybe

only this will help us)

when everything is lost

when the trees strip us of the shadows I hear

the beating of your heart as some rebel chord and

I can see my mother herself locked

in a rose she is holding in her chin with

the hand

she breaks out

she snuggles at the chest of mashenka

the metal girl

is whining

.................................................................

ohhhhhh it’s so simple to turn off

light I say and I breath

all the gore

I think I will turn grey

’ He and She enchained

holding hands

will throw at any moment

’from the irion border of Mirabeau birdge’

I am amazed

shattered

between waves

I am listening to this news through speakers

of an underwater station He

because he didn’t fiind his lost feelings and

Her because she didn’t learn on time how to embroider in the sky’s heart

the meaning of the true word – every Thursday I remember

you – he and she

folded in curtains of glass -

and I fall asleep but every second now the inevitable (it doesn’t respect) will take place and (kneeled covered blunted crucified in shadows) I am waiting

the end as a healing as a dispensation to the taste of blood ………leave it, I tell to myself. If I think better I think that

I will turn grey…….my hot eye ruby heart the smile of my deeds

priceless quenchless unasked in your body

crowns I entwine (and I was blossoming in your thought/ as a wounded magnolia in arms,/cursing, I can’t move,/ I lie on the soul,/ in

cheek,/mixing myself with blood, / the silent of the nights is crying over me!!!...)

Part II: ,,Gothic solitude,,

when the blue strings are getting off

fluttering over sunsets

I get loose my dirty hands

I unsew my livid eyelids and

I float drifting

over the water of Jordan

with bats in claws

I feel only the supressed memory

when I twist them under

the shape of a stitch in my thought

there under the stronghold

marooned there where

are gathering

all the clouds of ash

simplicity

I’ve finished with profoundity

I tell myself from now on

I will be the common man

I will learn even the

dedication until beyond the word

a ceaseless bending

between a bourn and

the other-

swollen by the same flounder of eyelids

commiting myself heavenly

in a dance of white butterflies

I shall burn

in the light

of the wings

clairvoyant