Cristina Galeata is one of Romania's fine young poets. She was
educated at Universitatea de vest, Timisoara and she is doing
postgraduate studies in Social Work and is a volunteer at the
Bibloteca Americana. A native of Slobozia, Judetul Ialomita, (the
home of the legendary poem Mircea Dinescu), she has been writing
since she was seven and has been in trouble ever since. Her poems
reflect her fine appreciation of contemporary politics and social
life in the "New Romania" and a dissatisfaction for the current
cultural milieu. Her most recent work is published in Banshee
Studios (www.bansheestudios.net). A series of translations in
collaboration with renown New Zealand poet, Trevor Landers is planned
later in the year. She hopes to publish her first volume of poetry
in early 2004.
how do you imagine that day
well, my vision is similar....
The answer is that it doesn't matter...
If I were to choose from Romania I would choose
Maramures, the Barsana Monastery.... I don't know if I sent you.
Picture that particular monastery, iubire
it's all wood and flowers and peace
red faces and strange drawling talking
and a breath-taking landscape, the heart of my country.
The Romanian Psyche
It's not very clear in my mind
whether I still know how to dream or
I just apply automatically a function
that has served me in the past. And for the second
time this year, the slogans and newspaper
cliches has not lost all charm for me. Who knows, among
recipes for dishes and lessons of typing and religious
dissimulation, what I will find
in experience and perspective
and so on and so forth, you seem to crave that...
you even find the stories of the revolution heroic
whereas we are ashamed: it took too long
and accomplished little, that is how the Romanians explain it
that measure of inconstancy we have always cherished.
A small notice in a Romanian Metropolitan newspaper, missed by
everyone except me
I notice the wonders of this
bark of a tree, little wind-blown unkissed
by the sun, not cut by the knights for the fire
it cannot be shut
in this sky
between these trees
between these young winds
ah, claro, Cristina loves you
by the accepted absence
and then writhing in the said web
serene, I listen to the music and rave inside
this open book has been closing of late
to friends and I forgot
that you are for me alone
emotion with no end
desire with no guard
outside the rain has stopped
time to smile again
Fall on your knees, Conducatorul
I said it depends on the order
if I accept it,
.....I have forgotten what paper looks like...
distance is meant to be travelled
and yet seldom have I felt you so near
dreams are the basis of my ethical code,
relativity, you might call it
there are no fixed principles, only an
idea of "law" and it feels heavy on the soul,
especially because the memory of Ceausescu
can create the stifling atmosphere of communist society very well
& I was much too young to really
feel the communism
it just the memory of it that keeps me awake.
Letter to Trevor
Motto" "You always had my love. Only I didn't know your name"
From the unstoppable frivolities of my youth
and the quiet denial of old age
the swift avoidance of pain
the banking of hope
I bring you the welcoming of my love
for I am a being of light notwithstanding,
sickly motions of this flesh before my soul
from the evenings of knightly deeds
the mornings delivered to my lady
I offer you the the death of my fools
& the farewell of my children
and yet again
from the utter endings of my life
from all the parts of my body
that number you amongst them
I give you.
the act of becoming was a gift to you
from the patient burying of desires
that they may bear fruit of this world
from all the trees of all my forest
called by your name, beloved
and from all the springs smelled for your pleasure alone
I have come to say to you that I am whole.