The Lily of the Valley Verb


The lily of the valley verb –

like a golden bulldozer

among the ruins

of the rotten verbs –

leaves behind a clean foundation

for the building site

of the Holy Light…

The verb having

lily of the valley flames

melts the gold, the brass, the desert,

the ice floes, the iron

and moulds the statues

of the truth, lining them face to face,

on either side of the way

which leads into the bright sight of the being…

The lily of the valley verb

makes the leap

into the non-linear,

towards the Edenequitterra… !



With Mr Cantemir on Nichita Stănescu,

the First President of the World Republic of Poetry


Encyclopaedicus, Motherland’s Poet bites off the absolute

on the threshold of Paradise and becomes immortal.

Mr. Cantemir, I first saw him at the heart of the cave, riding

the bear of the North Star to take the typhoon by the horns…

Later on, at the foot of the mountain, amongst flowers carved

in bones, I caught a glimpse of him somersaulting three times,

spreading beams, metamorphosing into an egg of snow

as great as a house, leaning against the triangle-like bank,

near the seven spear-fir trees – six fir trees of darkness

and one of lightning… Yet from the fir tree branches

Half-a-Man showed up with a sword of chromium and a gold

spike on his head to split the egg into halves : he named

the starry sky a “lyrosopher”, he called the Earth’s table-shaped

body – rooting from the agate waters – a “poet” ; the galaxy

of sounds witnessed the harmonious number ; the dancing

sphere rolling two swan necks dropped hieroglyphs

amongst the haystacks of beams… Encyclopaedicus,

Motherland’s Poet bends his right knee

on the nape of Mount Kogaion, frightening the chamois,

the edelweiss flowers, while his left ankle is entwined

by the comet’s tail…

Mr. Cantemir, Motherland’s Poet,

the messenger in the azure, in the rainbow’s lift,

appears many a time as a warrior against the vile gods, making

the forests on their crowns stand on end like bludgeons…

Encyclopaedicus, at the hour of the sublime, Motherland’s Poet

attends the anatomy lesson of Prince Charming –

and, from the dissection table, from amongst scalpels,

he rises one and a half-winged ; if he sections

the magnetism, the lines of force trace his Antarctic

where, when you take out an arrow and shoot at random,

the penguins put on purple aprons – it’s a sign that

Motherland’s Poet merges into the Word with his gold neurons ;

when he hangs skylarks on his glances,

the eyes of the world learn how to spread beams ;

even if his hearing is wrapped in nightingales,

he can still distinguish the number imprinted on the hours

of the sun… Mr. Cantemir, when the Phoenix bird burns to

death, you come across Motherland’s Poet crucified

in its shadow, a new Christ wearing the crown

of ember thorns, of blazing elytra…

Please, Encyclopaedicus, saw

the newly dug up

statue of the Ponto-Danubian Wise Man

from top to toe

and you’ll find Motherland’s Poet in the heart’s auricle,

reading the crystal book of the Thinker’s Wife… !

Tear the ventral skies open – and his smile

will greet you in the mirror of the bayonet… !

When he writes, Mr. Cantemir, with his quill

pulled out from his wing, out of the bluish-grey abyss,

the language of each and all lips is cutting its wisdom tooth…

This very morning I took a look at the cumuli

of the testaments and caught sight of Motherland’s Poet,

brisker than the angels, holding dewy gladioli

for the stars in the eyes of the Wallachian language.

Mr. Cantemir, Motherland’s Poet repeals

the dictatorship of the sterile round of applause

and guides along the weather satellite of Edenequitterra.


16th October 1983

English version by Gabriela PACHIA