emigrant to infinity, by florentin smarandache

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    FLORENTINSMARANDACHE

    EMIGRANT TO INFINITY

    poetry

    2007

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    FLORENTINSMARANDACHE

    EMIGRANT TO INFINITY

    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

    do a true human being of heragain

    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

    do a true human being of her

    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

    do a true human being of her

    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

    do a true human being of heragain

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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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    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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    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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    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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    EMIGRANT TO INFINITY

    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