Editura Universitara The dice were rolled

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Publisher: Editura Universitara

Author: Costel Macovei

ISBN: 978-606-28-1286-7

DOI: 10.5682/9786062812867

Publisher year: 2021

Edition: I

Pages: 260

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COSTEL MACOVEI

Foreword / 5

The cycle of memories - from grandparents' house / 9
... today house / 9
... today the cross / 11
... today the nail / 12
... today scale / 14
... today the court / 16
... smoke today / 18
... today key hole / 20
... today the window / 22
... astazi gogoasa / 23
... today icon / 25
... today the big room / 27
... today the speaker / 29
... today the bed / 32
... today the chair / 33
... today the sign / 34
... today the wiper / 36
... today lada / 38
... today meal / 39
... nothing today / 40
... today the blider / 42

Song cycle: Songs / 43
Song of lure / 43
Song of sunset / 44
Curse song / 45
Knife song / 46
Hill and valley song / 47
Emoticon song / 48
Rolling hay song / 49
Grotto song / 50
Hard song / 51
Love song / 52
Lunatec song / 53
Song of luck / 54
Stile song / 55
Song of perdition / 56
Star song / 57
Cursed song / 58
Warp song / 59
Door song / 60
Dream song / 61
Obscene song / 62

The cycle of love - the loves of the point / 63
moment 0 / 63
the beginning / 65
cumulus / 67
overflowing / 68
birth / 70
living / 71
pain / 72
knowledge / 73
fury / 74
winding / 75

The cycle of life - At the shore with flowers / 76
Prologue / 76
Screaming / 78
cursing, cursing / 79
lapping through the grass / 80
the bathtub of tears / 81
sleepless nights / 83
the silence of the depths / 84
scattered snow / 85
hour / 86
… And I have been blind so far… / 87
Forgetting / 89

Initiation cycle - Initiation in the word / 90
the birth of the question / 90
always questions / 91
confident / 92
the inevitable / 93
concentrate / 94
indemnity / 95
analysis / 96
alternative / 97
decisions / 98
final / 99
the end / 100
chemistry of loneliness / 101

Work cycle - Guide / 102
letter of intent / 102
curriculum vitae / 103
first job / 105
poetry of words / 107
a man, a mask / 108
teasing / 110
deepening vs. uplifting / 111
the shadow of the bell that / 112
the night the dead speak / 113
the place from which I will no longer answer / 114

The living silver cycle - Spells, enchantments, scorns / 115
Werewolf / 115
Parascovenie / 116
Bocet / 118
werewolf, devil… / 119
dragon… / 120
the witch / 122
disenchantment / 124
rite of passage / 126

Repetition cycle - Imaginative exercises / 128
(1) / 128
(2) / 130
(3) / 131
(4) / 133
(5) / 135
(6) / 137

The musical cycle… unfinished sonatas for the distance between bed and death / 138
unfinished sonata for the distance between a dream and a dead life / 138
unfinished sonata for the showing death / 140
unfinished sonata for a body I will never kiss / 142
unfinished sonata for a verse I will write maybe once / 143

The cycle: nostalgia for yesterday and today / 144
We are born alone / 144
The monastery made of wood / 146
Wait for me to answer your question / 147
The woman in the blue dress / 148
We are from another world / 149
The day I ran away / 150
Loneliness as a sheaf of light / 151
Two to say / 152
Mysteries learned ... forgotten / 153
One last thought / 154
The story of a tear / 155
Which is easier: to love or to hate? / 156
The day I found myself (came too late) / 157
After the curtain / 159
With fine fingers ... death / 160
My sister from beyond / 161
Bullets for dead butterflies / 162
Window to the front yard / 163
Clear ... / 164
Stars in the sky ... / 165
Autumn urn / 166
Rape / 167
Woman, the punishment of my days ... / 168

Three… per face / 170
Disorder / 170
about useless / 171
wandering/ 172
Rows, rows, the bull's eye / 173
lessons / 174
exhortations / 175
Concerto for flute, harp & orchestra / 176
Water complaint / 177
Inscription on an egg / 178
About success and winners / 179
The master does not repeat anything / 180

The cycle - Dreams with sails / 181
… Split / 181
Consultation / 182
instead of good evening / 183
in exile / 185
reise, raise / 186
fifty fifty / 187
foolish/ 188
opinion / 189
the story of a note / 191
stray / 192
reflection / 193
crumbs… / 195
forgetfulness spores / 196
floating state / 198
futurology / 199
veils ... of darkness / 201
dreams / 202
leavened dreams / 204

The cycle of death - crumbs / 205
the temptation of death / 205
I knew/ 206
the death of the dream hope / 207
from the leaves it is embodied ... / 208
the visit of the old lady / 209
death as a long absence / 210
call your horn in the wilderness / 211
death always has sweet lips / 212
death like a wounded seagull / 213
the useless feeling of death / 214
death as a final solution / 215
maybe tomorrow will be ... / 216

The final cycle / 217
no luck / 217
about love at the perfect time / 218
unbearable service / 219
story / 220
… And I fell… / 223
Geometric / 224
stoning of the word / 225
word and hand in the desert / 226
what should I wear death? / 227
like a heart at noon / 228
portrait / 229
not to make your word carved / 230
so let's see / 231
inheritance / 232
childhood / 233
constare / 234
gourmet / 235
from dried eggs / 236
don't ask me / 237
the fire would burn you / 238
Lord, have mercy on our end / 239
it's time to turn on the light of life / 240
when life is a nightmare / 241
acceptance is release / 242
stars caught in the windows / 243
the dream collector / 244
sweet venom / 245
a meeting / 246
added value / 247
the illusion of building and the unconscious courage of destruction / 248
to want / 249
the rainbow in the soul / 250
when the sky ends in the doorway of your house / 251

 

Creed
Show me the marks left by the world,
The traveler.
Open my ears with clever words,
The speaker.
Open the gate of my knowledge,
Wise man.
Because only together, we chisel reality.
You are the hand, I am the tool
And together we are
The will.


October 4, 1958
in Istrati's Braila - the transition to life
through Malis lui Labis - the playfulness of the holidays
in the Bucharest of big dreams - training
and in Constanta - adastarea

I'm writing! But who am I? A soul, a name, a life ...

I know that today it is time that decides: what you do, how you look, what you say and how you say it. If you still find time and consider it appropriate to read me, I can only consider myself happy. The same time makes me look for you. … It is good "a form of time lived to give". I also know that at the top of the mountain, the vigorous firs show to the young people that the wind is not friendly only to those who have the courage to face it. "Try my roots and the strength of my torso" is the whisper and the thrill of trembling, because I have sheltered many souls over time. I tried to untangle the blades of grass, but their rustle urges me to dream, to forget. “Enjoy the beauty of the dewdrops but do not look for the root; rot nourishes and gives life, but it cannot be beautiful ”. I dared to offer some fragments of the "must of the dying leaves", waiting for the sword to cut or bless.
If I were to write down on paper all the places where I stopped and sat down, I think I would either have so much to say that it would bring praise or I would tremble under the wind of doubts, forgetting even my name.
The word, as I said before, is my great love of writing with other great loves that kept me alive. Writing is a blessed habit from which I did not shy away because I wanted to know all his feelings. There were moments when doubt knocked me down but like the blade of grass I found the strength to come out again into the light. Like Hansel, I left behind crumbs of bread and if I can't find the way now, it's a sign that those crumbs helped, soothing, relieving, caressing. My words were nailed through online sites and circles, sometimes being well received, other times full of heavy silences. Part of the blame belongs to me because I did not find words of relief and encouragement in my brain for those around me who were waiting for my thoughts and urges.
A man cannot break with the past, nor can he hide it "for nothing is hidden that will not be revealed, and nothing hidden that will not become known," but when his past is like that of many others then he is lost crowd. I read with purpose or anapoda, I loved the book and I knew I had something to say. The schools followed one after the other, bringing new and new readings, freely chosen or compulsory, but the greatest joy was living if I could say so in the library of life. With all the student arm, being a chimney sweep, I devoured indiscriminately but under the guidance of hundreds of volumes. But as appetite comes eating and leaves if he wants, I remained an insatiable gourmet. Later, my job allowed me to continue consuming the right words, slowly learning the taste of e-books. My computer was my companion and apprentice, enduring all the hardships without a hitch. I wrote with joy, with pain, with my soul in my mouth or leisurely as I was given to feel and live. But considering that the long word is the poverty of man, let us give to Caesar what is Caesar's and Poetry all that is hers.
And if I still arrived like Caesar at the banks of the poetic Rubicon, I dare say "those jacta est". And because the dice were thrown, let's set fire to the ships so that they have no way to return except "under the shield". Living in the sign of the word. By the word.

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