PRIMORDIAL

Flow from a gigantic eye,
the tear of the beginning,
The ghost universe lies
extinguished in transparency,
The globular form falls
through a space conceived
by infernal thinking
of the penetration in essence.

I will be discolious

I was beyond imagination.

New forms
Under the enlightenment
the same spectrum,
they gathered each other.

I had left behind
the truth until then;
The concrete was no longer staring with us
And so
the size disappeared
leaving us,
The earthquakes of eternity.

Burdensome

We were the slaves of the unseen harmony.

Dress in light
We were carrying in gold litter,
mirror with endless faces,
Knowing all the worlds,
and the goal of the passage
from one side to the other.

burdens
they were pleased
over the edge of time.

Excugetare

Motto:
"A philosopher said this way: Cuget, so it exists.
It turns out from this that it exists, since I think?
The philosopher did not know, therefore, what life is and what the nephew is.
I can say: thought so I don't exist. Or otherwise: there is no, I still think.”
Victor Kernbach (Secret holidays)

I knew you were on this field
flourished by your eye,
demon turned from the Mysteries' Plateau,
bathed in the flow of time
like a lightning
large plasma.

I knew you were existing beyond form
in the wave of the waves
illuminated enchanting by the spectrum jerbele
thrown over the being of the world
abstract, attractive,
enslaved.

I knew I would meet you
With the myth of the traveler,
me, the passage by form,
through the spaces, the worlds always
of this continuous becoming
colored and sad.

I always knew that you were exaggerating
beyond the desert appearance
by which I was traveling alone,
like light,
poured over everything that can be,
Above everything it was, everywhere it is.

Disappear at the same time

Almost transparent
under a chosen light
I was passing binding to each other
with endless threads.

Eyes twisted in us
they were shaking the meat cosmos.

Hate the outside
He didn't get here
and the tranquility was full.
Our blood,
chlorophyll overturned in red
he wore the ground of the earth through us,
The trees of space.

The eternity demanded us.

We would have liked to rush,
We would have liked to leave a trace.

The eternity demanded us.

At least let's go together.

I tried the knowledge

You were beyond
of transparent green.
I passed my eyes
through the circle
And I met you.
Ready not to know you
with this body.
Later I knew it was you.
riches
They were in two of us.
They had to be inventory
and during this time
I had the mission
divide
and study
in the form of a population
This area.

We were gifted
with attraction
But I had mistaken time
with very little,
believing that we met
somewhere in the past.

Interpretation

Clay scorch
I had found you in a part of the planet.

Through your mouth
The dust became
anti -gravitational
pushed by your lungs
to the burnt air
of unknown elements.
I had found you
Even though I had lost my eyes
in the dry valley.
The pure space allowed us to meet anytime.

My thoughts and
Your thoughts
they became a beaten carpet
over the deck in the dry valley.

Golden, glitter
lighted this meeting and
If we were tightened
matter in steps,
We would have been stepped on
over the woven carpet
of our thoughts and
littering over the deck in the dried valley.

Under this game

The air was too little for us.

The punishment in which we were caught
It had been given to us for life.
Pardon papers could not do
the nerves of the hands would have died,
under this game
in which
our bodies were melted.

The meeting was not given
in the place where I could penetrate
without bodies.

Our merging
will be triumphal.

Eternally mixed in others
We will be able to be together.

We would have wanted the size here,
During this time to be,
Instead of this planet,
in meat with this structure.

Death of light

I mor.
I-gap me under your eyelid
In the saddest grave
what was ever in the world.

And God will know
that his universe
with the-light of light and love,
collapsed, captive forever,
In the eye of a nomad prince
sent by the shadow of the night to wrap the light.

I go out in your eye,
to reborn a desolate fire,
When your eyelid you will open.

And God will know
that he lost himself
and his brilliance,
When he let me die,
In the eye of a nomad prince
sent by the shadow of the night to wrap the light.

Pass into nothingness,
Being your flame gaze
What the world is trying to pour.

And God will know
that I, his light
I turned into fire
losing my immortality,
In the eye of a nomad prince
sent by the shadow of the night to wrap the light.

Resorie

I swallow my planet
and the silver beaks
I surround my cousins.

The dark sphere
resorves in viscera
the urges in me.

I try to stay,
May I think of you
When will I have a mortal body
When I live through the blood,
I can imagine
that we are a wave again
to forget about my soft meat
of fertile stigma.

I swallow my planet.

The 10 poems presented here are part of the volume The hall of the avatars (Tornada Publishing House, 2014) important parts of this volume come from my literary past. I tried in a while to publish my poems in volumes. Although they were appreciated, even praised - and here as an example the practice of the University professor Marioara Godeanu, one of the most important researchers in the field of biology in the country, who started and ended my courses with my poems - I did not succeed before 1989. All I could do was to publish a series of plaques in Luceafăr, Master Cezar Ivănescu and his creation, the cenacle name of the poet, whose member I was.

Why did this happen?

Because I did not write poetry, "for the country and regime," according to some editors. The 1989 Revolution found me with the volume of poems The tornado game ready. I had recommendations from the secretary of the Literary Cenacle "George Călinescu" of the Romanian Academy, the writer Ion Potopin, to the Romanian Book Publishing House, from the secretary of the Writers' Union, Ion Hobana, and the Albatros Publishing House was preparing to remove an SF anthology in which a part of my volume was to be published. that the only solution would be to accept to publish under the SF log.

It is true that I had set up in 1987, in the Polytechnic Institute of Bucharest, the String Cenacle, in which a philosophical, scientific and literary dialogue group with SF trends. The desire to create an ideal from "knowledge" and to try "a cultural rebirth" was for the group the meaning of the establishment of the Cenacle, which I called String after "String theory" (the theory of ropes), being new by the possibilities of this theory to consider that the universe would have ten or twenty-six dimensions and that "everything" would be ". Within the literary section of the cenacle, the works created by "string" were read and criticized, many of them elaborated under the impression of previous scientific meetings. Among the ordinary participants were the writers Ion Hobana, Romulus Bărbulescu and George Anania, Mihai Grămescu, Professor Dolphi Drimer, physicist Mircea Rusu, researcher Florin Munteanu, students from philology or other faculties.

The Revolution found the Cenacle by raising the question of publishing his works, as in the summer of 1990, I managed to print the first issue of String magazine-a prospective and science-fiction science magazine, which until 2000 reached the number twenty. All this activity, together with my participations in the meetings of the group of interdisciplinary studies of the Romanian Committee for the History and Philosophy of Science and Technology (CRIFST) of the Romanian Academy, led by the academic Mihai Drăgănescu, with the experiences and discussions with Marioara Godeanu or with many other people of scientists, writers or philosophers, to my philosophers.

I debuted at the invitation of the writer Adrian Rogoz, on March 22, 1987, in a meeting of the Cenacle of the Writers' Union and also in the same spring I also obtained a literary award at the Lucian Blaga festival, organized in the city of Sebeș. In the autumn of the same year, at the national confession of the anticipation cenacles, Craiova, we obtained the prize for poetry granted by the Writers' Union and the magazine branches and mention for plastic art. But the great winning of my participation in this counseling was the meeting with the writer Victor Kernbach, one of the most fascinating people I met in my life and with whom I had decided to visit Constantin Noica. This did not happen before ... On the day we should have left for Sibiu, December 4, 1987, Noica left for the Eternal Universe.

After the Revolution, I published a book of poetry in English, the form of form (1993), and several platelets in French and German (1992). I published in String, Quasar, Eucronia, etc. Now we have sites: Agonia, String Center, Facebook ... We have published two volumes of poetry: The hall of the avatars (Tornada Publishing House, 2014) and HOBBIES (Tornada Publishing House, 2015). I prepare the volume By -hand.