Lidia Popa (Romania)

 
Lidia Popa (Romania)
 
 
Lidia Popa was born in Romania in the municipality of Piatra Șoimului, in the county of Neamț, on April 16, 1964. She finished her studies in Piatra Neamț Romania with a high school diploma and other administrative courses, where she worked until she decided to emigrate to Italy. You have lived for 21 years and worked in Rome as part of the wave of intellectual emigrants since the fall of the Berlin Wall.
You wrote your first poem at the age of 7. He is a poet, essayist, storyteller, recognized in Italy and in other countries for his literary activity. He collaborates with cultural associations, literary cenacles, literary magazines and paper and online publications of Romanian, Italian and international literature. You write in Romanian and Italian and also in other languages as an exercise in knowledge. You have published her poems in three books in Italy “Punto differente (essere)” – ed. Italian and “Nell’antro dei miei pensieri (Dacia)” – ed. bilingual Aletti Editore 2016, “Anfora di cielo” – ed. bilingual Edizioni Divinafollia 2017 and in 37 literary anthologies from 2014 to 2021 in Italy, Romania, Spain, Canada, Serbia, etc.
Her poems are translated into Italian, French, English, Spanish, Arabic, German, Bangla, Serbian. Her writings are published regularly with some magazines in Romania, Italy and abroad.
She is a promoter of Romanian, Italian and international literature, and is part of the juries of the competitions.
She translates from classical or contemporary authors who strike for the refinement and quality of their verses in the languages: Italian, Romanian, English, Spanish, French, German, stating that “it is just a writing exercise to learn and evolve as a person with love for humanity, for art, poetry and literature “.
 
She has been awarded starting from 2015 in some important international competitions with recognition diplomas, plaques, trophies and medals of which we remember:
 
*Literary Prize I Trionfi – Francesco Petrarca International Academy 2015, Italy for unpublished,
*Corona International Literary Prize 2016, Italy for publication
*Poet of Love Award, Gala of Love 2017, Italy for unpublished
*International Contemporary Poetry Prize “Club della Poesia” 2017, Italy, for publication
*Maria Cumani Quasimodo Literary Prize 2018, Italy for unpublished
*Alberoandronico Award – Non-Italian native speaker plate 2018, Italy for unpublished compilation
*Literary prize diversamente Uguali 2018, Italy for unpublished
*Salvatore Quasimodo Award 2019, Italy for publishing
*Le Rosse Pergamene Award 2019, Italy for unpublished
*International Gold Cup 2020 Literary Prize in Colombia for Poetic Art
*Universal Placa of Honor 2020 in Colombia for the contribution to universal poetry
*Stella D’Oro Universal Award 2020 in Colombia for the passion of writing
*Arpa D’Oro International Literary Prize 2020, Republic of Colombia, for poetry
*César Vallejo 2020 Award conferred by the Spanish – World Writers Union (UHE) for literature,
*2021 Literary Creation Award in Colombia
*2021 Universal Art and Literature Award in Colombia
 
She is a member of the Italian Federation of Writers (FUIS) an honorary member of the International Literary Society Casa Poetica Magia y Plumas, a member of Motivational Strips, a member of numerous other literary groups at the level internationally, etc
 
 
Pomegranates and digressions
 
The pomegranates broke apart
and filled the earth with fruit,
Brittle stems sprout from each bean
under the warm blankets of winter.
Only pomegranates grow in the station alley.
The chestnuts died the other day
electrocuted through the hand of man.
What the secular has forgotten to love,
but he adores the temporal fruit of wealth.
What does the man know of eternity?
Nothing we know
from what is consolidated
in the light of the ancient scriptures on humanity,
as if he were a made up chimera.
We will not find ourselves returning
to reintegration into nature as
ancestors lived among snakes, loins,
with bread scented with sun-baked wheat
on the improvised oven on a stone.
A slender body of a morgana fairy
the humanity of stones according to which we desire
with disheveled thoughts and a stressed brain like a broken pomegranate.
 
 
 
When the verse was alive
 
I am fragmented like salt fragments
wandering on twisted streets,
and I have lost the nostalgia to lead on forgotten paths
where ever the human leg would beat.
We were leaves of two maples from one coast.
I would have rot anyway.
I could not be reborn in another variety.
I preferred to be oil and mir, relieving a wound.
You said it was too late when the verse was alive.
Sometimes a wandering bird chirps me:
Long is the way to heaven.
Separate our abyss on purpose.
There is a lot of smoke in the autumn air.
Over the clay spreads the eternal frost.
 
 
 
At sunset time
 
Hide under the words
who keep watch at the edge of the day,
don’t look for the knife in them,
but the comfort of white hair.
 
An owl sings our stop
under the oak of immortality,
with whispers comes our step
above the shadows of the sunset.
 
Our road was very smooth,
we will pay the tax to the souls:
the last word of the end
it will serve as a pillow for rest.
 
Hide under the words
who keep watch at the edge of the day,
be the holy prayer of sadness
of colorful souls in love.
 
 
 
About my dreams
 
You are right,
I neglected myself in favor of others.
But who cares?
I have experienced happiness
to see others happy,
and that was enough for me,
that glint in their eyes
and the soul I comforted
with my feelings.
 
I did not seek glory
but I avoided it as much as possible,
how you avoid the photographer when he tries
to get your attention.
But he still surprises her
surprise smile as if
you wanted to escape and they got you.
It was only a moment after you left
with the equinox at the edge of the world
leaving the memory behind.
 
One, two, three, smile please!
 
 
 
The minuet for peace
 
Singing to love on the harpsichord
a minuet in the quiet of nature.
When the branches fluttered at the window
a lay prince of the east I dreamed…
 
What a night, what a peace, what a whisper
in the mysteries of light they want to take me.
Nectar to withstand contrary currents
only through the sounds of union for peace.
 
 
 
The forest has forgotten about me
 
The forest has forgotten me
gave me only trills at dawn,
a cedar at the green gate of the house
where I have lived for decades
and pines across the street,
like a swan’s nest
where crows feed their young in summer.
 
The forest has forgotten about me
because I got lost
between concrete cubes with antennas,
where the owl sings only at night,
when a soul goes out elsewhere,
and I know I can’t see her again because I am
far away, where the sun sets and forgets
to rise again, giving me goodbye
far above the clouds,
from a white, cold and impersonal context,
where blue or turquoise is only the sea,
and the houses are ocher, or rust like the sunset.
 
The forest sent me to a sunset
when she died in the east,
disarmed from the trunks
of a foolish thought and of silent people.
Since then we have been dying little by little,
in the ocean of impotence and indifference
without complaining, we become like stones
a testimony of time howling
a new rebirth. But where?
 
 
 
We are everything and nothing…
 
Nobody knows who we are
and what we do.
We don’t need.
We are wings in the wind,
The thrills of the heart and of the thought,
The magic of a caress,
The ear of silence,
The smiles of the sun behind the clouds,
The source that flows and gives freshness,
We are everything and nothing…
Nothing that can hurt a crying soul.
 
 
 
The lyre of a silent mind
 
I’m the question mark that
still waiting for the answers.
Who does the research and does not
he is satisfied with nothing.
 
Because the questions are many
and the answers are still few.
Like the collected pebbles
on the deserted beach on the first of April.
 
I am the sea that embraces
the feet of the earth.
With the saltiness patos
and shipwrecked clams.
 
In a wild afternoon
hormonal storm.
With lightning the thunder that
they rattle silently.
 

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