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  August 2004
volume 2 number 3
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  Vasile Baghiu
  Steve Goldman
  Larry Jaffe
  Jasmin Jordan
  Rick Lupert
  Jeanne Marie Spicuzza
  Pedro Trevino-Ramirez
 
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Vasile Baghiu August 2004
   

 

bio


    Born on December 5, 1965 in Mastacan-Borlesti, Romania, Vasile Baghiu is a member of both the Writers Union of Romania and PEN-Club. During communist times, his publication options were extremely limited. Since its fall, his poetry, literary critiques, essays, and prose have been published in Romania's most important literary magazines and several daily journals. He also published a book by his father, Prisoner in Russia, written in 1953 and kept hidden until its publication.
    In 1998 Baghiu published The Manifesto of Chimerism, in which he theorizes on a new direction in poetry. He has published six books of poetry and his work has appeared in translation in magazines and anthologies in Italy, Spain, and Germany.
    Baghiu lived in Germany in 2002 (Heinrich Bvll Foundation scholarship) and 2003 (K|nstlerdorf Schvppingen Foundation scholarship). He was featured at the International Poetry Festival in Bredevoort (Netherlands) in 2003.
    Having worked successively in a sanatorium, a labor of toxicology, a health education service and a cardiology surgical facility, Baghiu has found his experience as a nurse has greatly influenced his writing. Baghiu lives in Piatra Neamt (Romania) with his wife Iuliana and their two children, Ioana and Stefan.

   

 

I Found it Hard to Climb in Darkness

I found it hard to climb those stairs

in darkness,

and I was minding my steps


lest I should fall into emptiness


and that void be death,


lest I should never get near you.


It was the smell of dust


following drizzling rain


in which sparrows were bathing.


It was a sanatorium at night


with lights on all floors,


like universities during times of exams.


I was writing in my diary


and I did not forgive myself,


as if I were a stranger to myself.


I would go out not too far


as if after a long convalescence,


at the wood's edge,


where beasts are afraid to come.

copyright 2004 Vasile Baghiu

   

 

I Could Be Anyone

The chance to be rescued from a story

which is not yours and you cannot control anyway

doesn't look to hazard but to be something else.

It is rather about a certain mood of being

against what you think you could be,

in a world in which to be something

is less than not to be.

In a huge passage, under the railway station,

in a mirror,

I got a glimpse of me, one from the gloomy days.

we didn't speak to each other,

only quickly exchanged some greetings.

Fortunately, I had already found something to kill time,

drinking a beer among some people who spoke about football.

There was a time when I was writing sad poems

and that is becoming important now,

something which doesn't belong to me any longer.

I keep talking to myself

and to another unknown

in a picture against wall.

I could be anyone of them, but I come from a place

where all these things get color

merely after you become someone

but not yourself.

copyright 2004 Vasile Baghiu

   

 

You Are Hung Up on a Smile

Poetically speaking

things are always in our favor.

Both tears and smiles will melt successfully

in the patient magma of some lines.

in this sense I could say

that poetry is an opportunity for you to be

compensated,

a long stroll along the margin of a cemetery.



Realistically speaking

things are often against us,

as much time as you write a line,

as long as you hang up on the smile

of the woman you love

and who makes signs to you with her hand

a few seconds before taking off.

Always, I thought my sadness a tic

from which I was not able to liberate myself,

or a tear that I cannot wipe from my eyes

because I am ashamed that I should be seen.



Actually, it is about a real fall

an the gentle slope of the fall.

I cannot see very clear into the future.

There is a thick fog which prevents us, from inside,

to understand deeper the meanings

that fall down to us from sky.

Maybe it should be possible with poetry,

even though others, not only a few,

have tried it too.



Or maybe by fortifying ourselves

with more and more patience.

But not even like that

and also maybe not even in one other way.

My luggage has been already taken away

and now I am hardly trying to follow it.

copyright 2004 Vasile Baghiu