Zorin Diaconescu (Romania)
Born 1948 in Timișoara, Romania. Graduate of the English Language Department of the Faculty of Letters – Babes-Bolyai University, Cluj, Romania. Building a bridge between Romanian and English – a job for a lifetime. Occasional poet. Translator into English and German, among other books “The Microwave Oven” (Der Mikrowellenherd”) – a novel by Radu Țuculescu, a book well received and reprinted in Germany. I also published two documentary books about the year 1989, “Transfiguration” and “1989, Somewhere, Sometime…”.
IN MY MIND
grows a forest no bridge leads to
people are playing between trees and bushes
people born in another century
ready to face a new millenium, they think
there are hills in my mind and there is rain
lots of blind priests watering what they
believe to be flowers
snakes are crawling in my mind
only the dead reach the end of war
meanwhile people are busy counting
casualties over casualties, for the sake of
bets are on
are they going to kill my mind
or myself first?
I woke up a stranger
in a strange land
speaking a strange language
nobody understands any more
busy with crimes, gossip and bullying
came a long way and tired
how short the voyage
how brief our lives
the ground beneath our feet
who took it away?
ONCE UPON A TIME
Once upon a time I thought that our earth will follow the sky
Once upon a time I thought that all the birds will return to their homes
Once upon a time I thought I used to watch the stars
sitting in my native woods
and a somehow magic chrystal were about to reveal
the waves of the sea breaking nearby
Now my head is all but aches, thinking
may be a wish never to become a fact
A white lance is directed at my head
while my nostalgia wanders and wonders
Once upon a time.
Knocking At the Doors of Silence
The strangest library in the world
still unexplored; expecting
no battles fought
no prisoners taken
no kings crowned
deep waters of surprise, restrained by a dam
Who wants to actually open that door?
… fear, anxiety, routine?
Imagination hanging from a board
voives whisper, the key
is a fake and we have to be out of here
Can’t we just pretend?
Translate a few lines
from the language of silence.