Emigrant to Infinity, by Florentin Smarandache

8/14/2019 Emigrant to Infinity, by Florentin Smarandache

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FLORENTINSMARANDACHE

EMIGRANT TO INFINITY

poetry

2007


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FLORENTINSMARANDACHE


poetry

Automaton

2007


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This book can be ordered in a paper bound reprint from:

Books on Demand

ProQuest Information & Learning

(University of Microfilm International)

300 N. Zeeb Road

P.O. Box 1346, Ann ArborMI 48106-1346, USA

Tel.: 1-800-521-0600 (Customer Service)

http://wwwlib.umi.com/bod/basic

Covers Art Images by F. Smarandache

Copyright 2007 by Automaton, Los Angeles

Many books can be downloaded from the following

Digital Library of Literature:http://www.gallup.unm.edu/~smarandache/eBooksLiterature.htm

Peer Reviewers:

Poet Victor Pun, Vlcea, Romania.

Linguist Ion Crstoiu, Vlcea, Romania.

Poet Gheorghe Niculescu, Hunedoara, Romania.

Translated from Romanian by E. Baciu & F. Smarandache.

(ISBN-10): 1-59973-018-9

(ISBN-13): 978-1-59973-018-9(EAN): 9781599730189

Standard Address Number: 297-5092

Printed in the United States of America


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CONTENTMENT: 48WISH: 49

ALONE IN THE CHRISTMAS NIGHT: 51

THE MATCHMAKERS: 57THE END: 65

ADIEU: 66

3) POEMS FROM MY SOULS EXILE cycle: 68

THE SHADOW OF AUROCHS: 69

EMIGRANT TO INFINITY: 70

THE COUNTRY AND ME: 71THE SAP OF THE LIFE: 72

THORNY ROSE OF LOVE: 73YOU ARE SO SINGLE ON THE EARTH: 74

SYMPHONY IN WALNUT WOOD: 75DONT SET YOUR FOOT ON THE VERSES!: 76

ITS AUTUMN IN MY SOUL: 77

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF COUNTRY: 78

ARIZONA, JULY 1990: 79

Editors Note: Florentin Smarandaches Universe, by Mihail I. Vlad: 80


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Meeting of minds:

FLORENTIN SMARANDACHE

I have known him for more decades and I have known his bookseither in manuscript, or published and I think this new book Emigrantto Infinity, American verses, puts on a solid basis a work and a destiny.

Growing in a literature, which, besides Eminescu and Blaga, gave to theWORLD also Urmuz, Tristan Tzara, Isidore Isou or Eugen Ionescu,

Florentin Smarandache demands himself a modern tradition that he keepson and improves it in accordance with his talent.

His steps are not peculiar; a prodigious ars combinatoria will

bring him a unanimous recognition that he deserves.I consider that the present volume, penetrated by a tragic wave,

represents truer Florentin Smarandache that I, personally, I wish he werecloser of Eugen Ionescu and his metaphysical disquiet, and moresideways of Marin Sorescu and his Balkan anecdotes

Solitary, in Morocco or in America, Florentin Smarandacheconfesses also in this book living, his country, Romanian language, such

as firstly Fernando Pessoa said, for his country, Portugal language

August, 1995 Cezar Ivnescu


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IN THE VICINITY OF VICINITY


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PIT OF WORDS

Ive mustered up courage, yelling

- lions, Ill not give you anything!I gave up the tinfoil verb pitfalland the cruel deeds, its enough!daily life is measured in any minute

by flesh from top to toe.


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FATE IRONY

before may I have been me

the fate was donefrom geometric signsLobacevskys onesafter my face but not looking like me

in dropping of time


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DEFEATED TREE

defeated tree by the sun beam

I let my soul in your palmfor our uninterrupted ways

into myselfthrough darkness of my inner heartovercoming the shower of leaves

being melted into feeling.


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THE YELLOW ROSE

in the halo move of hips

the passing away of the hours splits my plaitshair by hairthe night sleep provokes meto smile the yellow rose

from the lips of the non-uttered words

into pronunciation of countless years


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WHEN I LOOK AT YOU

when I look at you I cant see

my eyes are falling on the slit of dressand I covet the hidden treasures


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BROKEN MIRROR

through the broken mirror

may I view the white darkand into the edge of the shiversmay I imagine a mans portraitan old maid

imagine not to be imagined!


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LEFT FLOWER AND GREEN

you, my left flower and green

pollinated by hell butterflieswith seed of black

you tipsy me with breathingsand the bluest longing


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GOOD MORNING

the waterside daybreak says

and the old ages wentwith the head straight up

guessing epigrams and squaresthe light is spreading tonguesinto trenchworks much cut

from the cheek of the earth


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NIGHT SPIRIT

night spirit from Universe

day and night are blendinginto deep of revelationsdeath takes a napat the spring curing of sins


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SOUL WITHOUT SOUL

and I suddenly see myself so.

without body, without ribs -all by myself without knowing whymy soul choked my flesh


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TOO LONG ROUTE AMONG THE FOREIGNERS

(and I cannot turn back my sight anymore)


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PASSING THOUGHTS

You, power greedy men, starved and robbersPerched on our shoulders as some guards

Im the knight who fights

Starting the battle with a flower in hands

Like, too hung adornmentWill be a sward at belt

I further write a letter

as a punishmentoras a curse


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THE DEAF AND THE DUMB

Being silent you say wise words

Speaking you hide the truthBut we are deaf and dumbInstantaneously we applaud to steps

Being silent, speaking, you fulfil your missions

Applauding, we closed our obligations

And looking for each other in the world, brothersWe leave for home or somewhere


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HEALING

No, not any wound is healed

In my heart clearancethere is a placewhere the fire sunheat, forgetfulness,

love and beggary

Couldnt yet plough

for appearing flowersHere is the place in which exploded

atomic bombsbeing all calcimined.


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PASCAL:

If I judge myself in absolute, I suffer,

If I judge myself by comparison, Im content.

THE MIRROR

After I paced the square

on all its sidesAnd the circle round the round

standing even in the middle

as the first astronomer on the moonSince a peculiar thing

that I can do againfrom time to time

pleasantlyis to be face to face

towards a friend

when he wants/ is asking forto look at me

like / as in a mirror


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A YOKE

Sanding upright

as a yokeand thinking of myselfwhat I should have done

I see silent

I havent done anything

of all Ive done

and it had to be done

Amazingly I look atthe eyes of my fellow man

who sustains with strong argumentthat I did all it was possibleeverything had to be done

And my deeds are placed

from a side of yoke to otherso that you ask yourself

where indeed the bucket is hungwho appeases his thirsty and what with?


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WHAT DO WE WANT?

What we hate at the others

maybe we are ourselvesand we cannot possibly recognise ourselvesOr we dont want to beor we shame or we are afraid to be

So how those whom we hate are

What we like at others

its possible to be us, ourselveswe want to be

or even we areAnd we meet our disciples

What we want from the others

we ourselves cannot giveand we ask for from the others

What we love, ask for or hate

its always very clear and veryvery justified for us

who hate, ask for or love

What we give the others it always is

a blending of the good and bad

In different proportionswe give for nothing

and asking for usalso pleasantly or reluctantly

All depends on everything, dependson the position in which you arewhen you let free the way of the feelings

opening the cage doors of the Noahs ark

And it depends more somethingof the position of sun

against

H hour


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THE GREAT ARMY

Here a Great, an invincible Army,Bound itself with money and hatredWith great and trifling lie

With might fear

Millions tragic destinies together

Here is a Great, an invincible Army.


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TEST AT GEOGRAPHY

The war has begun for long

now it is finishingin a crucial point in fact.I conquered half of the worldremaining only other half

that has just achieved to ride

the other half of mind

Maybe the halves are not evento each other remaining to count

when census can be donethe new and old two halves

of minevery soon being conqueredunder just any feet slipping

on to right the other left

between them dirty river setwhich runs in a clear sea

Far away I see my foeriding upset up to toe

with the two halves splitone to right to other left

making too way a dirty riverruns to sea fast, clearer

Lad, get-up let the questions

on the earth, what battles, oceansall of them are and will be

Youll get test at geography


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The fight martyrs in a just worldHow will you pay sacrificed lives?

And death that woke so many dreams,

Inside of mine is draught of loveThey didnt sow and water love.


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or on the leftYou mock at us rascal

You took your salary, bonus and tip

And kept your mouthYou gather money for car

Rascal

I saw you increasingunder the angel wing

Also Chief but greater

when your belly was bigger and

your baldness created respectYou had everything

but something you hadntI heard on the radio

you chose alsofreedomhow much you suffered

how you were persecuted

that they didnt give you Mercedesbut a wheel barrow, Moskvici

with an unwell-bred driver includedthat is not enough the bonus

for Kent cigaretteshow good chiefs like you

new-technocratsarent let also to make dustthe powder

You succeeded to fall into, too

among large long lineof political asylum

After thisnothing

nothing I heard about you anymore

I came also in the West

dying of my Countrys longingof People(The stupid man dies of care for other

you said to me

too encourage mephilosophically)

I came

with my broken bones again


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freshjust before my leaving

Leave, I was said

not to make troubles moreto our authorities

They wanted, too, the poorto restafter a long lifepassed with the club in hand

in peoples service and of revolution and development, too

so many-sided and coupons

how many clubs they brokelearning ABC

being a burden to uswhat effort

to be colonel today with studies in Rightbefore being an illiterate sub-lieutenant

I found youhere

with new citizenship mumbling distinctlyRomanian

cargood job

half house paid(knowledge is a treasure)you had arranged things here, too

cunning

rascal

I took from the beginningAll

From the illiterate licence

to washing up and washing cars

Precisely:From the fiddle mastersIn the land of Cockaigne

in the world with all of things

I provoked to loose my weightbecause the pearl barley fat remained

and made my body heavy

not being


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enough slim, slenderI slept also on the floor

with hand under my head

as if I had been at JilavaI havent find trousers yet

and shirt for my sizeall are too largeor too shortAnd do you rascal spit, my cheek?

You dont deserve my answer

neither evento spit you

my spittingamong

my toothless as a battle ragged flagThat I give it to worth manbut you

you havent the honour

to measuremy strength

I ignore yourascal

You said to my child

the dearest and the most innocentthat Im a dim of dozenBut how many bucks are you, rascal?

The slops that the lifeand the two

worldsthey threw

in my mess tin

or in my face

they preserved my soul freshin change all perfumes of this worldthey couldnt remove the stink

of my soul

The applebefore letting itself

(it cannot escape)

to be eaten by you


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vomited youand a folk blouse washed

with chemicals of your inside

soul unfriendlyshows

as if it was come out of the sewerof a cityrascalI ignore you

being the unique thing

which provokes you pain

You want to be GreatGreater of all

you are great like a litterRascal with Chief licence

Your lowliness doesnt touch me


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NOBODY

Nobody can polish

The guilty gestureNobody can saveof cursewhat is cursed

Nobody can forgive

the name that lets a stain

on the lips that uttered onceIll hate what I hated

Ill love what I lovedTill the last breathing

in the world keeps on changingsubdued me to order whichancestral asks me for salting it

in everything needs


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HUNTING

A pace, another pace

a leap, further a pacea pace in fronta pace, further twoa pace behind

I let hunted

by you pleasantlyId like be eaten

Any pain I shouldnt beaten

Your paces I seemed them to be my huntingthe paces of the starved wolf.but I found

terrified

that the lion hasnt me eatenLittle

Mousewill be eaten even it


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HOSPITALITY

Dear Lady

You pay a visitFriends, lover, sweetheart,It doesnt matter.You pay a visit

You can receive and refuse

ask for or to give anything

you dont worry, is it?You pay a visit

Romanian is hospitableAh, further still!

At leaving, dont forget in a cornersomething sharp as hanger-onin which by mistake

a wound in heart I make

But you can take alls possibleeven myself

by soulRomanian is hospitable.


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DESIRE

Youve obliged me to wash

The flag of your capitulation LadyIts sparkling, like the dazzling snowAs before it seems to me a veilOf hemp, of flax

Or of a delicate silk

With my longing of sorrow

Contemplatively demands:Will she ever reappear?


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WITHOUT CEREMONIES

Extensive specially for you, without ceremonies, on the white bed,

like a peasant table in the field during summer, under the sunUnder the heating of my infernal sunI am going to lay youFertile earth over the lunar soil

I didnt plant either flowers or thorns

Whether they were I forgotI seem to pull out all in the same time

I havent put the perfume, because it mustntyou smell as life itself and this is enough

On the white bed without brimslike a peasant in the field summer

human-like

I want to be of mine and Ill belong to you.

With trembling hands andencumbering each other

with many and different handsentirely my body turned into hands

being in feverish statusI want to know, to caress, to inciteto separate, to unite

all mountains, all vales, all parts of your body

To feel how mountains raise higher and higher

and vales run deeperto feel everything inside of you becomes longer

projects itself-, infinite, defines

May you close, may you open

and throwing the last your petalsremaining unique, may you yell, may you whisperto sky and to world in any case indifferent

that youthat Ithat we

Then we gather

from all the corners of bed, room,

from the four lines of the world


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and share found petalsthat as if they hadnt torn of us

during this storm

and we do again our beings:one to you, one to me


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YES AND NO

Yes and no and no and yes

Yes yes. YES NO. YES.I answer your questionsand YES when I utterit means I agree

And not I utter it means I agree

Because I can so many

To be in agreement with my own feelingsAnd sound like a bell

marking, waitingdays and new events

And all is like as whenI, audience, I should applaudMe, the actor

at open stage

even on the sharp brimof essential retort


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STRIP-TEASE

If what I wrote about you here

I should write a bookI seem to me that every turned page,Understood non-understood by readerwould be like a stranger

with cold hands, impersonal ones,

I should take out your dress in public

slowly, very slowly or in a hurryattentively or tearing from the sewing

all objects of your dressingand you would be naked, ashamed , humiliated

as in a strip tease.And you dont want to strip,do you?

In front of anyone, for anyone and whenever

You are not courageous to do this becauseyou are impure in your purity

that you preserve like a treasureso saint and too personal

for a moment and special individualsMay I know? Maybe though

You should like and should boastthat you were stripped in publicin comparison with the other ladies

who live wrapped themselves up

trembling of warm all their lifewithout somebody thinks

to fill their shady-side


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OH, YES

I take out of me

all what was able to take outI squeezed, I seizedI tore frenetic and insanityas if Id have saved

the ship to drown

And do you still say that you havent received enough?

Havent you received anything?O Great you are Love

Great how the Sea isDeep and greedy Sea

Indifferent and very arrogantIve been due tothat Ive given enough

and me emptied of feelings

emptied of myselfwith a borrowed word

I yell youNoooooo

ReadyEnough

I am coldWarm me you that emptied me


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COURAGE

When you see you might have courage

You are afraidAnd you wouldnt want to give anythingToo much prudence you put in your luggage

When you see you might receive

Everything you wished till yesterday

You pretend that you dont feelnot to see what you received

When in front of you route is open largely

The will of yours to decidethere is entirely in incapacityYou stutter clear: non-reciprocity

You havent ever see a high wayYour eyes are not used to see

When you see you might have courage

You are afraid entirelyAnd you wouldnt want to give anything

Too much prudence you put in luggage.


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RECIPROCITY

From your soul

nothing overflowsnothing dropsto my soulYour soul

isnt flood

I feel, tooas though I throw myself

by my willin a fountain

deep and left thereAs thoughI am at my wits end

of my own accord.


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PRAYER

God

do a true human being of heragain

God

You who are above of the Good

and above of the Bed

You who exists

in non-existence, too

You who did everythingfrom nothingand nothing from anything

only you know how

You who are good

gentle, lenient and endless of greatall the time smiling indulgently

to our nothingness and defiantinfamy

You who gave us to knowthe goodness as a light

and the badness as an absence of its

May we know we are with youand when we were lost

You who give to us the soul

and heart

and though and word

colour and musictaste and loveforgiveness of fellow man

everything

to havea beautiful life

even here on the earth

and we havent known yet


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Good

do a true human being of her

again

May she be more courageousMore obstinatemay she trust herselfMay she choose her utmost

and have it

as an encouraging

for next stepMay she behave as a man

defeatingGod


May she be more delicate

May she smile and laughmore

May she be dreamingbecause she is older now

and years passed plentifullyneed more dreams

than nightmaresLighten her nightswith stars of dreams

and days

with sun warmof her soul

pure

God


again

May she give sooner, firmer

kindly her warm hand

to those who strugglehardly they stand up their

feeble legs of their life


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Goddo a true human being of her

again

May she be surrounded

only by true peoplemay she be nearer the truthmay she be comprisingmore lenient

living

and helping the other, too, to live

plentifully

Goddo a true human being of her

again

May she be an old woman

truly beautiful

wearing in her hair, on foreheadyears

as a haloin her eyes the light of joy

and in body of joyand her lessened body

the saint sealof quietnessand the reconciliation with people

life

and its aimas it is

God


again

Pull her ears or haircarefully, like a parent

with all your love

put on her knees, tooto recall

not to forget

that the other need her not less


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thanshe needs others

and others are alone without her

not only she without them

Goddo a true human being of heragain

Give to her the bread

for whole life

not thin slices and dry, tooForgive her wrongs

without willin the same measure she forgives to others

and forbidher temptation for foolish marriageGive to her somebody

to love

the least I love herGive to her hope

of bettertoday

that withoutthe time of joy cannot be tasted

in plentytomorrow

God



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CONTENTMENT

You lover unexpectedly appeared

Prince Charming on horse of sheet of paperIt was enough a yell of pain in order to beAnd wholly bathed me in your life-giving waterMy ashes you should light to shake me hot

I thank you for taking with you

In eagle flight to high skies, serenity of silverSo much tired you are

You gave power for time was going to comeIn change it would have wasted

You gathered in my feeble hand the sceptre of my proud anddignity

I was exhausted you give me hope

On my forehead up in hair you brighten the life for meWith you I saw the alive light, pure of eternity

I thank you for bending deeply and gentle towards me

As Phoenix, of my own ashes, of world I promise me to come


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To grin and bear it

(Romanian saying)

Wipe your weeping tear

You can burst out laughingAnd you meet a trouble

People say to make sport of it

WISH

(to an inexplicable upset lady)

I wish

You laughed

You smiledsecretly and kindlyas you remember of an inner joy

known only by you

May you laughwith very large-mouthed

with tears falling downwith peal of laughter

in trills, sprightly, childishly,

with shoutswith shakings and pains of belly,splitting with laughter

healed with a glass of watertill hiccup begins

and you hit my head with fistin spite

and you try to put the pillow on my mouthscreaming:

beeee silent, silent once crazy

May you laugh when you fall illwith laughter

as bewitched by curseMay you see the doctor giving

a pill for sadness


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and injection for sweepa syrup for seediness

beam of worry

something there to heal you pain of laughanything

May you worrythat implacable you will diewith laughter as cancerthat this life is impossible

to live decently

because of laughter

And the doctor recommends nothing

elsethan me as psychotherapist

a little making sportto heal of laugh

May you smile secretly and kindly

As you remember of an inner joyknown only by you


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ALONE IN THE CHRISTMAS NIGHT

I write a letter further

to discuss againabout Christmaswhat weve done, weve madeand especially about

what weve broken

May we see what kind of fir trees weve had

and weve found on thempoor us

poor them

As a prelude in Christmas nightthat for me began at two oclock in the morninglocal hour

on twenty-fifth

I kept in my armsthe last case

a young girlbeautiful Spanish

of sixteen oldsomewhere

a singer is yelpingas a bitchbound at vineyard in summer

on dog days

forgotten there, toowithout water

a sentimentalsong

drunk

the victim of a car accident

a hand, a leg, three ribsbrokenon the right part

on the left part

that the heart isunhurt

Shell be healed till summer

The other escaped safe


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Look it isnt seemed curiousthat in this life

the others always escape safe

when we all the othersare always left with

broken bones, bumps and bruise in headI betThat the ChristmasIll see again

At emergency

Asking herself feverishly

Frightened joy and dismayedIf they will be two

girlor boy how He wants

How Ive saidthe fir free was

one Oregon hoary

from the American Rocky Mountainsthat keeps me warm

temporaryinstead the Carpathians from Arges

I had hung to up top, a top knot

some hopsweak onesbut pretty nice

wasted till in the morning

what a pitythat they didnt last

to the Christmas dayfor celebrating with us and Bach

I had more

hungunder the hopesa favourite

but being an exaggeration

too heavyI took it down

I dont like exaggerations

I let the things such they are


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being enoughFurther I had

a hot hug running in bare feet

but only oneFire

Too muchIt was fire my firI put it down, too

and I put it near me

in my armchair to sit sensible playful

to keep me warm

because it had gotten coldalone

at daybreak

I had moresome good thoughtstoo little explicitly

It was take down these, too

but I told myselfto let more them

it is to able to catch

framecolor

maybe I make from themlater flower on a folk blousemaybe an Ardeal apple

maybe

so I let themmaybe

warythoughtful

maybe

who knows

Two telegramspicture postcards with night

Four weeks of entirely silence

Many doubts


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Odd gesturesfor a Christmas fir-tree

Isnt it?

Two short nice kisses

but only twoI havent morewhat a pitythat you didnt see

these two

were indeed

very prettyquite delightful

to seeAt them

I had furthera silk thread

found by microscope

aid.

triflesbut how much they enjoy somebody

alone with his fir

I had furthera paintingpainted with modern means

on polish paper

with apples and Romanianfolk blouse-old model

still lifebut

what emphasising

what reverberation

what odd tremblingyou can tryyou yourself

looking

still life paintingin Christmas night

Aa shouldnt I forget


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under the fir treefurther it was a poodle too

non-electronic

well, is possible without it?that yelping

annoyingit wants to Americabecause in this way it says when it wants outfor not urinating on the carpet

it is learned

what more

with all pomadesand I kicked it

somewherewhat I need

of pearl capWho has sent it me?Excuse-me I forgot

Further there were in fir tree, too a gambol-boy making gambollingscatter-brained, brawler, giddy, dizzy, frisky, crash, smash

hes taking his tongue to meand pull a long nose at me

but I know, there isnt doubtthis is my sun

he had fixed there, alone hanging down with his headto congratulate me not properlyand with Happy Christmas

to enjoy more

in original kindbecause it is his mode

finally

I began to doze

overwhelmed of confusion

as a joyI heard Bachthe bells of a cathedral from the Danube

solemn

somebody was whisperingMerry Christmas was

At null

I answered and I do


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overwhelmed of confusionThen somebody sceptic came

even so he introduced: I am the Sceptic

who seemed he ha appearedI dont know from where

Saying to me that Im drunkAnd I hear the dogs in Giurgiu

I went to bed

when the people say

that you are drunkIts obliged

Then I dreamt

thatmy face was caressingby somebody

with copper-coloured hair

It seems!So?

I forgot to say you

that my fir-treewas fairy lit

with only big lightlightened by meand with a halo

by you

Your fir tree

how was?

The men, too

needs

ofencouragement!


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And all started

from a marriage offer

at newspaper

of boredom

THE MATCHMAKERS

The matchmakers wrote yours truly,

a thousand and one lettersas a correspondence

of import export

of hight, of weightof colour of the hair and eyes

But not of colour of the soul

Dropping as by mistake few coins on the floor

from where with a sovereign scornthey didnt rise again

you see

how generous they areand

its duty of the servant to cleanfrom down

they didnt complicate with triflesand they turn over their pocketsfor seeing you how much money they have

But not how is their true valueThey sent to you coloured photos

with their houses and cars

Of carton

They sent you photos

each of all more handsome

Even one more impudent sent you his picture when he has his shirta little open showing his chestapologising saying he prefers a sportsman carriage

in order to see his male hairy chest

Not, too the bracelet of his soul

They asked you for photos


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seeing how beautiful you arewhether you have rich hair

voluptuous bosom and slim hips and

slender legs they ought to see, to touchto convince themselves, to be sure

for what they give money and car, tooto whom they hand the market bag, pen and cleanerin Romanian languageand who they pay the plane ticket of first class

to see

if your silhouette is matched

with aerodynamic silhouette of cleanerof the last type

ifthe colour of your eyes

corresponds with the drawingwith the back of the plateof china

from China

if your walking could be enoughundulated

if hecan in this way join harmoniously

the lines delicate curved of furniturestyle

bought from the storeat cut pricefrom the corner

Onesitting cross-legged

at microscopeis studying your photo

hear you confound it!

look dear what are men!

what they can dowith your photowhich you send it

not forgetting your eyes

he says that he finda silk thread

grown in skin

under the nylon stalking


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well-stretched onthe leg he liked too much

Another

Another what?says that he found the same thing

but looking only with own eyespiercing eyehe took out thread penetrating with pincers of eyethat

he likes

legs of singer

that bald-headed

Somebody wanted to know preciselywhat size you have at shoes

blouses, skirts, dresses, coats and pantsall figure fingersfor making you to think

that he prepares for you entirely wardrobe

and further jewel small boxas surprise

meanwhile he carefulwas thinking if the shoes

dress, and the other thingsleft of his ex wife

of whom he had remained alone owing to divorceshould match to youwith few alterations

as today ages are difficult

we live in plenty economic crisisgood things are made with difficulty

what is inside of them is importantnot what is seen outside

he

is at age when he likes

more to lookhow a woman takes out her clothesnot how she take on the clothes

further he doesnt trust in nice coloured advertisements

being natural neo-realisticsurely he was waiting too-thousands of kisses and hugs

hot grateful

for


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his generosityunprecedented

about you

will hear the same thinglater

from a lady neighboursThe same, heraised sentimental and character problemsin the same time

speaking very nice about his ex-wife

of that he has just divorced

in accordance with the principlethat it isnt nice to speak badly about ex-wife

for making the nextto think

that also about heryou will dothe same

to the next

and making intricate in wordsnotions and philosophical high considerations

the sinful mouth says the truthhe wrote that his ex-wife

was a true womantill divorce

she was devoted Ladyin the kitchenthe finest coquette

in society

with the perfect behaviour in worldand in bed

an authentic cooksaying this so at random

in order to provoke you to know

that he wants

as you, too,to be at the same heightmay he be happy once

in his life

as you are good housekeeperso cultivated

well-mannered

careful


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61

lovelyso his wife was

what

somebodyraised even problems

of your studies for seeingifyou are enough educated to dustyfrom the piano near the stove

properly recently bought

also from the kobsa and cembalo

old, the dearest family memories, toofather and grandfather ex-kin,

which have been lyingby much time non-dusted

in heap of wood pell-mellin front of the family fireplaceunder the tent well-smoked

by gypsy boys

run at the nosethe dearest and the loveliest

may they be eaten by crownswith their shalwars as blue jeans

and entirely

Butany of them didnt ask for your photo with your high foreheadthat is full of thoughts and worries

what do they make with it?

but only one who saysthat sanctifies the square altar of your life with kisses

Only one said to youthat he would kiss you hands

on both faces

and lips

and soleswith the same pietyequal joy

and immense passion

Only one is whod put them at cornerin knees

on uneven letters forgotten unwritten

and hed pull your ears


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or hairof love

Only oneevening hed put you sole on his hot forehead

burning at thought thatyou belong to him, as a sultanTurkish one

Only one cares for

Also of your breathing when you sleep

And hed wash his face with your plaitsIn the morning

Only one would want to make laughTill you fall

Ill of laugh as a doctorWho gives you something against the laughOnly one would give you what he has

And he ask you for

To lend with twenty lei monthlyFor his cigarettes

Only one would look

in your eyes like in a clear mirror

And hed drink only life waterdrop by drop from the tops of youwet by the dew of petals

of red roses

To be, too even one timedrunk

of you

Only one is so daft

so it difficult for you to say

that you met in your lifeeven by correspondenceone defer than him

Only one would dieonly your pains

and would smiles only

so modest


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for your happinessOnly one would give you

the pure diamond of love

without impuritieswithout conditions

and not forced by anyoneand he wouldnt put on your finger a thin and tight ringas sign that you belong to himas if you dont lose your way

to the other(man)

Only one would feel melttill, too

the next silver snowsthat will fall

in the silk of your copper hair

Only one would want

that he is permitted

to go to bad and good bankto change

all troubles and unhappinesswith which the life gave to him

not being thriftywith caresses and joys

gentlefor you entirelyto be happy

a bit

Only one wants to be

the dry club -knotty, black, polished

thin, fine

and firm

of your oldness

Only one today

cries deafening singing

as mountain cockin dawns

and doesnt hear,

too, deafening silence


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of surrounding eternityOnly one would grumble in his beard

All life discontent forever in face to himself

that he didnt give you enoughthat you deserve more

that he didnt deserve you at all

Only one lies you todaywith lie of beautiful words

in delirious

and

that tomorrowhe

himselfand only

hesingle of allhe can turn the lie into truth

and not the truth into lie

And only one can he that

to who the life to sayOne unites Florentins bondwoman

VeronicaWith Veronicas bondman

FlorentinMay they make loveMay they own all life

And joy

May they sing,Laugh

TogetherAmen


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65

THE END

Its come

the end of the mad daysthe end of demented daysin which the sun doesnt set offso that the night doesnt appear

and day hasnt give the lie

There arent envelopes in boxNothing we have to say each other

All what would have been was goneWe are enough just ourselves

Raise your beard upper manThe beard you stop not more to tremble

Wipe your heavy tear from your eyes

And from your sight the hot radiance

What would have been was goneNothing we have to pay each other

There arent envelopes in boxWe are enough ourselves


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66

ADIEU

Mary, Great Lady, my sweetheart

Thrifty, shy correspondentso silent and so busyReceive these last linesfrom me

your American submissive correspondent

so much respectful

You dont try the answer

Pitifulto do something whats so difficult for you

an exceeding norm

I excuse you

I accuse you

I dont understand youI forget

Being up

in the tower of the oldcathedral with its big clock

imperturbablemarking the time and spacethe segment of time

The end the beginning

you feel as if you were at a ship helmDistrustful

You look awry, from where the wind blowsLightening

You further cut off by cold order

At weak light at a gas burner a deck

Like signature on a check

To contemporary mankind the isnt well

Dismayed in new crisis he letter is throwing

Not leavingIt falls in Atlantic that drowned it

Nothing can flow


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on the water of the flabby mankindImperturbable I keep on

Imperturbable the march to nothing

In deafened sound of the drumMore one is heard, too by a small cricket

I dont press my waist in corsetNeither my hips I hide in a crinolineMay we fill the non-existent glass with nothing

May we clink from here to the moon

I want to have the pace of snailIn order to arrive at eternity in an instant

You lied yourself

And I dont trust you again.


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POEMS FROM MY SOULS EXILE


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THE SHADOW OF AUROCHS

:No, aurochs didnt die!

Pace on our traceshow we pace on theirsAurochs are in shadow of uproar,they are in each of us

No, aurochs shall not die


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to Francisco Bellot Rosado

The solitude terrorises me in the refugee political campus

with every minute dived in the immediate timein I-WAS. Because I-WILL-BE doesnt occur in the futurenow when Im writing - Im bewildered,

not of poetry, but purely and simply of alcohol

Do you condemn the weakness of a brutalized deserter?I drink; I drink from La Fontaine

2the sacred water

of fables. Yes,

lucky the poets who are unhappybecause they have the lyric status to create

2Jean de La Fontaine (1621-1695) was a famous French writer, author of Tales/Stories and

especially Fables. In French language, La Fontaine also means water fountain.


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THE COUNTRY AND ME

The county is a river

with waters so clearand Me a cold springin its bed.

The country is a mountain

climbing to sky ahead

and me a bald rockin its top

The county is a bird

with white wingsand Me an eagle grownin its nest

The county is a verse tomeof peace and liberty

and Me an heroic poetryin its spring.


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THE SAP OF THE LIFE

I am stuck into this earth

and I extract my sap from my forefathers bonesand I give sap my twigsany storm cannot pull out my rootstoo deep caught in the sky of my parents

and nobody can destroy my buds


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THORNY ROSE OF LOVE

His song had frozen in the throat

tyrannised over the gentleness of womanthe people had put fireduring the night of sentimentsand sounds lay on

the dew

The man became a resonatorand his thoughts trembled the house


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YOU ARE SO SINGLE ON THE EARTH

You, Bacovia3, with your muse in ecstasy

Are often followed by a thoughtTo live keeping on your life putrefy

In autumn weather and diseaseWhen the night falls in own dirty and tipsy

Late in the caf almost empty

You nicely create lines of pile

Entirely dancing in sorrow as embers

Unhappy poet sings about lead and rains.

3George Bacovia was a twentieth century Romanian melancholic classic poet.


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SYMPHONY IN WALNUT WOOD

Jungle is broken by wet

like a SaharaBitter frost seized with heatThe chill runsAnd I caress the naked knees

of the giddy bird

like Nietzsche, that bewildered


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DONT SET YOUR FOOT ON THE VERSES!

Kneed for kissing the clay soles

The rock covered me with tearsRunning in torrents shaking souls body by bodySnowflakes become a kind ofrainy snow.

The time doesnt exist but only we are

If the planet would inversely spinthe time would pace behind.


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ITS AUTUMN IN MY SOUL

Its autumn in my soul

And leafy chestnut-trees have tearsMy heart is a large wasteOf bitter stains in smile

On ashes evening way

The destiny sadness floods

The greatest dreams are brokenIt rains over me in houses the dead(s) are.


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ON THE OTHER SIDE OF COUNTRY

A great dark is so that you dont see

the soul near poetryAnd the farther you are into nightthe nearer you arriveat the tomb of the world

the forgiveness called.


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ARIZONA, JULY 1990

Being escaped of the dull past

charged by nebulous futurethis exile keeps on-Oh, America, country of contradictionsmother of stateless persons, deserters and non-adapted ones?

emigrants for ever in their inside

what does it matter for you

a further life, a lost one in this destiny of a refugee?Nothing, than a grain of sand

lying on the ocean bottom-


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Editors Note:

Florentin Smarandaches Universe

I have said also with another circumstance that at a correct

study of Romanian writing we cannot neglect the substantialcontribution of the writers from outside of the country borders.

A special case is Mr. Florentin Smarandache, established inArizona (USA).

Two years ago he published at Macarie Publishing House

the volume of verses I exist against myself! whose cover and the

illustrations of the volume were realized by our dear-departed theartiste Mira-Dumitra Iordache.

Then he published haiku. Now he publishes the volume of poetry Emigrant to

Infinity.Florentin Smarandache is a mathematician well known

owing to lots of notions in the Theory of Numbers that have his

name: Smarandache-type functions, sequences, and algorithms.

Our friend is remarkable in another fields, too, for examplethe class of Smarandache semantic paradox, and as a practical application

and, funny, I quote the device of his paradoxical move is: ALL ISPOSSIBLE, THE IMPOSSIBLE TOO!

He published novels, diaries, and his plays gather manypeople in cramped halls of the theatres entirely world

He translates himself his books in English and French.Florentin Smarandache defines himself as: an emigrant at

endless!

October, 1996 MIHAIL I. VLAD


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I consider that the present volume, penetrated by a tragic

wave, represents truer Florentin Smarandache that I, personally, I

wish he were closer of Eugen Ionescu and his metaphysical disquiet,

and more sideways of Marin Sorescu and his Balkan anecdotes

Solitary, in Morocco or in America, Florentin Smarandache

confesses also in this book living, his country, Romanian language,such as firstly Fernando Pessoa said, for his country, Portugal

language

Cezar Ivnescu

Authors Self-Portrait as Spiritual Peregrine Forever

Documents

Emigrant to Infinity, by Florentin Smarandache