Poems by Oana Rusu Tomai
GATHERER OF SILENCE
They call me gatherer of silence,
neither of gold or souls or wisdom,
meek owner of all that
passes through the fingers
of what decaying
was only faintly being
and now is starting steadily
the state of being not.
At length, I hear the horn sound
of a meaning coming through
the unrelieved world
of eternal fog,
it is here and simultaneously passed by,
behind it, artful threads of dust
are non-existing but gently fall apart.
Green pulsating new heart
I add a branch to living roots
I retire to dream of light
when sun is at its strongest
I stay home bound
near the train station
to hear the rattle
to see the passing faces
I make room for my ever birthing
within the balance of my fullness
the roundness of my stepping forward
when my heel is slipping
my arm is falling aside
I lose the time of day
concurring seconds keep adding
to the grand cycle of time moving
Joy! Of a kind not invented by anyone but me
my plate cracked irreversibly
I’m an apple with a unique worm
I- making a palace of flesh
I- carving at myself without the slightest plan
cradled in my own arms
and being a naughty nurse to myself
feeding non-sense syllables
that make me crack up with laughter
I beg my own pardon
Sir, my own.
LACK OF FESTIVAL
Being without feeling is feeling
Crying is made for the mute
Embraces involve limp arms and snowy distances
Silence is often talk
Stillness is the dance she danced when she lost her shoes
The air is warm and noisy
Owing it all to the preparation for the lack of festival.
The dust of living grows impatient
and pools immoderately to form mornings
alight with lives both short and humble
calling a ruthless time, a place-less lore
birds plunge and plunging hunt fish meteors,
torn algae, scraps of wild and chills of hunger
go lightning fast to melt into sun heavy stupor.
Words are often inhospitable
A pale universe like the snake’s vision
Relying on heat to know what’s been spoken
Not all live guided by speech
Some are relentlessly following scents
The world’s fabric might be silk
And for a chosen few
It is the scent of silk
Or the wool thread that noiselessly grazes the skin.
We salute a soldier’s salute
and patiently stand
to honor the lives we know
We carry portraits strewn with roses,
smiles that still retain
the budding red and dimple
of a youthful cheek
We lie down onto the hardened earth
We curl around the lives we know
and breathe a hot breath
onto dear eyes and heart and bones
We are tenacious to hold onto
the last chill
as if it were warm.
DAYS OF LONGING
Summer fixes nothing and loses everything
The mutiny of silence
Heavily unspoken words
Stubbornness of never telling
How we encounter splendors, tears and unsavory lights
Between slabs of concrete
A shimmering of dashed hopes
The unsteady reappearing of neon city lights.
There is no home
No froth to fill our glasses
No go over our imaginable
Our sobs are forgotten
Golden threads link hour to hour
A solemn joy gurgles in our moments
Days of regret have passed
Days of longing are yet to come and pass.
Did you notice how a thing
left to itself starts to sing
a melody low and faint
like a trembling, fine cobweb?
I so love to watch the world
through perfectly symmetric cords
wisely, beautifully shaped,
like a starry night cobweb
Who such wondrous work can break
who can venture to divide
such united master art
like the seashore waves cobweb?
Solely your name, a good reason
and my wish as large as a good
white piece of paper
Whatever was suffered a transformation
such as in spring
when things are but barely
and then full bloom
In its nature an atmosphere
Geese flying over the lake
and I, down, deep down in the bowels of earth
I am not reaching out to you,
the geese taught me a good lesson
they cry over me in a language I do not know
The distant, the foreign, the white
the ones that were letters first,
when words were mere cold or hunger
and sometimes, very rarely, affection
I write with them to you
and not with what much later
words did for a language.
This is my position!
Everyone is on the grass!
I’d say red five!
Ok! Spread out!
It’s a big black thing on the other side of the fence!
Red five in the middle!
I found two squirrels: a blue jay and a black cat!
Back into position!