Image on a Film, a poem in Magma Poetry

 

Image On A Film

by Vasile Baghiu 

(self-translation)

Link to the page in Magma Poetry No 31, 2005

There is something obviously lyrical
In the roses carefully placed on the stone,
Letting me see, among leaves, thorns and petals,
Just some fragments of the inscription

I try to catch a good moment
In which I can find myself alone
In the middle of a hospitable circle of friends.

My heart beats sometimes
Like it did when I took your hand for the first time.

There are gestures which are not lost, yet,
They have remained on the pellicle,
But I cannot distinguish the people
Who were very close to us in another time.

The film lies in a drawer,
And only a few of us
Would be interested in making photos from it again.

Held up to a window's light,
I once saw, through its transparency, some flowers,
Possibly roses with thorns,
Like these already withered.

I saw smiles, champagne, confetti,
All above our heads,
Surrounded by an invisible aura.

It Is Me Who Is Breathing Here, a poem in Magma Poetry

It Is Me Who Is Breathing Here

by Vasile Baghiu 

(self-translation)

Link to the page in Magma Poetry No 31, 2005 

When I feel my life is like
a heap of overturned tables and chairs
in a house somewhere in Checnya,
then I know the moment is critical.
But I also heard that science has advanced nowadays
and figures out even soul problems.
My difficulty is that I cannot find my soul
for very long periods of time.
It is easy for everybody to understand
when I speak about such simple things as the soul,
because it is like when I talk about football or
weather,
or even upon some poems from school books.
I lose and find again
not only something which belongs to me,
so that they know it is me who is breathing here,
but also how much of me has been left.
Yesterday, when a strange person
gave me a map to simplify what I was looking for,
I felt he had smiled at me,
not exactly to me,
but to someone who was behind
and plucked me by the sleeve,
like a child,
impatient to go further.