{"id":2472,"date":"2018-04-17T23:12:34","date_gmt":"2018-04-17T23:12:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/?p=2472"},"modified":"2018-04-17T23:12:34","modified_gmt":"2018-04-17T23:12:34","slug":"angi-melania-cristea-poezie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/angi-melania-cristea-poezie\/","title":{"rendered":"Angi Melania Cristea\/Poezie"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"alignnone  wp-image-2473\" src=\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"619\" height=\"1204\" srcset=\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o.jpg 1036w, http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o-154x300.jpg 154w, http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o-768x1494.jpg 768w, http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o-526x1024.jpg 526w, http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o-700x1361.jpg 700w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 619px) 100vw, 619px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>Poeta Angi Melania Cristea este laureat\u0103 de dou\u0103 ori la Festivalul Interna ional de Poezie de la Triuggio\u021b (Italia) , de in\u0103toare\u021b a premiului pentru Creativitate acordat de Casa Naji Naaman i\u0219 a Premiului Balcanica \u00een cadrul Festivalului Europoesia (Br\u0103ila, 2017)<\/em><\/p>\n<p><strong>Micro-univers<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Poe\u021bii stau dintotdeauna \u00een miezul cuv\u00e2ntului \u0219i beau absint \u00eentin\u0219i pe canapeaua portocalie.<br \/>\nTrag \u00eensingurarea din \u021big\u0103ri electronice, apoi spun Nu! dezordinii mentale.<br \/>\nEi par c\u0103 vin din Arcadia,<br \/>\ndar noi \u0219tim c\u0103 le-am v\u0103zut aievea osatura fragil\u0103 ce se poate fractura la o simpl\u0103 respira\u021bie&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>Am atins clavicula unui poet contemporan \u0219i<br \/>\ni-am sim\u021bit aerul comico-tragic<br \/>\ndin felul \u00een care \u00ee\u0219i \u00eengrije\u0219te unghiile<br \/>\nincarnate, roase de proprii canini,<br \/>\nunghii cu care a zg\u00e2riat facturile pl\u0103tite prioripost.<\/p>\n<p>C\u00e2ndva, poe\u021bii lumilor viitoare, vor fr\u00e2nge scheletul vie\u021bii mirobolant,<br \/>\n\u00een vreme ce timpul g\u00e2ndirii va fi \u00een reflux.<br \/>\nAtunci nimeni nu va mai \u00eentreba despre \u00eent\u00eeiul om care a fragmentat harta limbajului<br \/>\n\u00een micro-universuri.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Iglu<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>P\u0103s\u0103rile care invadeaz\u0103 cerul cu aripi fosforescente, ele sunt<br \/>\nsuave ale clipelor, fisuri \u00eentr-un timp de ipsos.<br \/>\nLe v\u0103d atelele printre stele stinse \u0219i rog planeta celor o mie de singur\u0103t\u0103\u021bi s\u0103 nu-\u0219i \u00eentind\u0103 tentaculele spre cercul lor, curcubeu prins de scara norilor.<\/p>\n<p>Am a\u0219ezat pe portativul mor\u021bii zile \u00eendoliate, nop\u021bi desferecate&#8230;caii nelini\u0219tilor pagi.. .<br \/>\ndar tot \u00eemi ie\u0219i \u0219i \u00eemi intri \u00een piept, pas\u0103re<br \/>\na destinului cuib\u0103rit\u0103 pe un cactus.<br \/>\nInima mi se dilat\u0103 c\u00e2t o singur\u0103tate spart\u0103<br \/>\nde propria noastr\u0103 zidire, fiin\u021ba.<\/p>\n<p>Acum \u0219i aici zboar\u0103, via\u021b\u0103 sticloas\u0103 printre p\u0103s\u0103ri-cobre<br \/>\nce \u00ee\u0219i mu\u0219c\u0103 coada l\u0103sat\u0103 peste amurg.<br \/>\nVa veni ziua c\u00e2nd tinere\u021bea \u00ee\u0219i va chema p\u0103s\u0103rile lipite pe cer cu adeziv \u0219i nu vei mai putea fura zborul sufletelor \u00eenaripate,<br \/>\naer inoxidabil, dragoste care abure\u0219ti propriul meu iglu!<\/p>\n<p><strong>P-o-e-m 111<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Cel mai frumos poem nu are coapse<br \/>\nAre \u00eengeri care se \u00eenal\u021b\u0103 cu t\u00e2mple argintii preafrumo\u0219i<br \/>\nPrecum \u00een pove\u0219tile bifate cu x din libr\u0103rii<br \/>\nPentru care se fac precomenzi<br \/>\n\u0218i se v\u00e2nd \u00eenc\u0103\/ foarte bine<\/p>\n<p>Nu \u0219tiu ace\u0219ti cump\u0103r\u0103tori c\u0103 poemele-vid<br \/>\nSunt goale de sentimente \u0219i fiecare cuv\u00e2nt din cofrajul lor se de\u0219ir\u0103 iar poetul-care-mai-zboar\u0103-cu-norii scrie \u00een graffiti mesajul lumii de dincolo de zona zero non politically<br \/>\nAcul kilometrajului derapeaz\u0103 pare \u00eenghi\u021bit de<br \/>\nMolozul cuvintelor poetul s-a ascuns \u00eentr -un pet \u0219i numai noi \u0103\u0219tia num\u0103ram clipele care fumeaz\u0103 iarb\u0103<\/p>\n<p>Timpul \u00eenc\u0103 miroase a scris? P\u0103s\u0103ri-himere<br \/>\nNe sparg geamurile cu zboruri \u00een zig-zag<br \/>\n\u0219i se a\u0219az\u0103 pe rafturi ca ni\u0219te relicve ale erei<br \/>\nC\u00e2nd poemele mu\u0219cau cu din\u021bi de filde\u0219 urechea poetului ce nu s-a sinucis<\/p>\n<p>Cel mai frumos poem este despre cum nu se scrie<br \/>\nPoezie t\u00e2mpit\u0103 \u0219i despre funicularul \u00een care poe\u021bii se urc\u0103<br \/>\ncu Dumnezeu&#8230;poe\u021bii \u00eentregesc lumina<br \/>\nBat toaca \u00een schitul unde pustnici scuip\u0103<br \/>\npl\u0103m\u00e2nii ro\u0219ii ai scrisului-jertf\u0103<\/p>\n<p><strong>Nop\u021bi filiforme<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u00een noaptea asta stelele privesc autostrada<br \/>\npopulat\u0103 de singur\u0103t\u0103\u021bi<br \/>\nfiecare cu ro\u0219ia manta a s\u00e2ngelui str\u00e2ns\u0103 la piept<br \/>\n\u0219tiu c\u0103 am aruncat pe cer timpul sufocat de ani imperiali<br \/>\ndar ascund \u00een palme lumi la scaden\u021b\u0103 neputin\u021be calamit\u0103\u021bi<br \/>\nfacturi nepl\u0103tite ale vie\u021bii \u00een zadar<\/p>\n<p>d\u0103-mi luna<br \/>\nrotundul ei fixat ca un girofar \u00eemi p\u0103trunde<br \/>\n\u00een pl\u0103m\u00e2nii usca\u021bi<br \/>\n\u0219i te strig din umbra arborelui-poem<br \/>\ncu t\u0103lpile linse de pietre<br \/>\nval spre uscat sare amar\u0103 a clipele mele<\/p>\n<p><strong>Timp ubicuu<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>iarna asta z\u0103pada acoper\u0103 ochii cailor orbi<br \/>\naburi \u00eemi urc\u0103 \u00een piept \u0219i m\u0103 scutur de timpul viu<br \/>\ncare continu\u0103 s\u0103 se \u00eenf\u0103\u0219oare salamandr\u0103 ce fierbe pe piatra filosofal\u0103<\/p>\n<p>\u00eemi miroase a geruri care topesc stalagmite<br \/>\nle transform\u0103 \u00een filigran<br \/>\napoi se a\u0219az\u0103 la mas\u0103 cu propria mea ingenuitate<br \/>\n\u00ee\u021bi arunc singur\u0103t\u0103\u021bile la cutia milei<\/p>\n<p>\u00eendr\u0103gosti\u021bii inspir\u0103 dragostea cu aerul ei oxidat<br \/>\niar eu scriu cu umbra m\u00e2inii tale pe ghea\u021ba<br \/>\nartificial\u0103 zig-zagurile mor\u021bii<br \/>\ngura mea roste\u0219te cuv\u00e2ntul perfid cu care<br \/>\nau cucerit femeile trec\u0103tori<\/p>\n<p>via\u021ba este o iarn\u0103 dezghe\u021bat\u0103 \u00eentre mii de poeme albe<\/p>\n<p><strong>Busole<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Taci&#8230;cuvintele tale nu \u00ee\u0219i au rostul<br \/>\nparc\u0103 ar fi rupte din raiul de nop\u021bi<br \/>\nc\u00e2nd mantia stelelor sta pe umerii mei<br \/>\naprins\u0103 de propria mea incandescen\u021b\u0103<br \/>\nde infinitatea de vie\u021bi debusolate<br \/>\np\u0103ianjeni\u0219ul ascuns \u00een col\u021b de univers<\/p>\n<p>silabe g\u00e2tuite vocale obturate<br \/>\n\u021bip\u0103 \u00een vocea cu care na\u0219ti c\u0103i lactee<br \/>\nlini\u0219tea sparge deziluzii paharele solda\u021bilor de piatr\u0103<br \/>\n\u0219i se a\u0219az\u0103 l\u00e2ng\u0103 vie\u021bi devalorizate<br \/>\nprecum o p\u00e2nz\u0103 a cerurilor peste coame de cai ne\u021bes\u0103late<\/p>\n<p><strong>Traseul<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>via\u021ba la parametrii normali<br \/>\nare un lung traseu<br \/>\nnu zguduie mentalul colectiv<br \/>\ndoar se pliaz\u0103 pe ventriculul st\u00e2ng<\/p>\n<p>iubiri filiforme trec prin tine<br \/>\nca printr-un cap de pajur\u0103<br \/>\nmecanismul lor subtil are un resort<br \/>\n\u00eenfipt \u00een sol<br \/>\ncine manevreaz\u0103 sentimentele<br \/>\naura lor diform\u0103 ?<\/p>\n<p>focuri \u00eenalte \u00eemi joac\u0103 pe sternul<br \/>\ndin care albul se scurge grunjos<br \/>\nm\u0103 aplec \u00een pia\u021ba public\u0103 s\u0103 culeg<br \/>\npenele paia\u021belor<br \/>\ndin care voi f\u0103uri guri de canal calde<\/p>\n<p>aburii dragostei tale \u00eemi alunec\u0103 pe pielea<br \/>\ntranslucid\u0103<br \/>\n\u0219i ca un caligula deghizat \u00een melc<br \/>\n\u00eemi v\u0103d vie\u021bile r\u0103nite pe asfalt<\/p>\n<p>a\u0219ez pe rana ad\u00e2ncimilor fier-beton<br \/>\napoi picioarele cu care ai c\u0103lcat norii de vat\u0103<br \/>\nlumea mea anormal\u0103 miroase a timp jupuit<br \/>\na somn \u00eentins firesc peste creierul meu<br \/>\ncare \u00ee\u021bi r\u0103suce\u0219te arcul de triumf<\/p>\n<p>via\u021ba asta ca toate vie\u021bile se developeaz\u0103 u\u0219or<\/p>\n<p><strong>Ziua 1<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>are dezbateri zbateri toate riscurile<br \/>\n\u0219i epidemiile<br \/>\nnu este vaccinat\u0103 dar macin\u0103 stele pitice<br \/>\napoi scrie pe harta miocardului cataclisme<br \/>\npe 5 euro<\/p>\n<p>\u00een ziua 1 \u00eemi mutilez t\u0103lpile c\u00e2t s\u0103 \u00eencap\u0103<br \/>\n\u00een sandalele verii<br \/>\nsau \u00ee\u021bi v\u00e2nd ramuri de cai\u0219i<br \/>\nnuzi prin z\u0103pezi fluier\u0103toare<br \/>\nparc\u0103 prigoriile vie\u021bilor mele<br \/>\nfieb \u00een lanul de porumbi<br \/>\napoi c\u00e2nt\u0103 \u00een pantofii pentru moarte<br \/>\n\u00een timp ce singur\u0103tatea bate pagini<br \/>\ncu litere ventriloce<\/p>\n<p>de la mine apele curg degradate<br \/>\npot arunca cu secunde<br \/>\ncu prea vii sau mor\u021bi<br \/>\n\u00eentreb\u00e2ndu-m\u0103 doar<br \/>\npo\u021bi s\u0103 fii<br \/>\ndang\u0103t facere<br \/>\nviking \u0219i elf<br \/>\nrarmur\u0103 de meri\u0219or<\/p>\n<p><strong>Cataclism<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u00ee\u021bi scriu din cerul cu vitralii topite<br \/>\nde unde \u00eengerii alunec\u0103 sfii\u021bi<br \/>\nlas\u0103 fricile s\u0103 te cuprind\u0103<br \/>\n\u0219i roste\u0219te ave cu fa\u021ba lui Dumnezeu \u00een palme<br \/>\npoate vei z\u0103ri \u00eentunericul cu coama lui verde<\/p>\n<p>c\u00e2mpiile cu gust de l\u0103m\u00e2i se vor scutura<br \/>\nde inima ta antifonat\u0103<br \/>\nparc\u0103 ieri tuna \u00een livada secat\u0103<br \/>\niar noi ne beam cafeaua ca semizeii descul\u021bi<br \/>\nla a lumii larm\u0103 asurzitoare<br \/>\nce mai taci cu glasul t\u0103u de ape de mare?<\/p>\n<p>printre ale nop\u021bii genuni \u00ee\u021bi aud genunchii cu rotule calde<br \/>\nvom c\u0103dea iar\u0103\u0219i din prea\u00eenaltul cuv\u00e2nt<br \/>\n\u00een lanul de caprifoi<br \/>\nscrie-mi pe urme de pietre<br \/>\nce \u00ee\u021bi nasc \u00eentre palmele arse de v\u00e2nt<\/p>\n<p>va veni ziua cea ridat\u0103<br \/>\n\u021bipar argintiu ce se ascunde \u00eentre coapsele tale<br \/>\niar eu nu-\u021bi voi mai trimite scrisori-nibelungi<br \/>\ndoar ioni pozitivi \u0219i cataclisme<br \/>\nale astrelor de buzunare<\/p>\n<p><strong>Delir<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>frunze din coastele zilei<br \/>\ncad de pe acoperi\u0219ul caselor<br \/>\nsufletul t\u0103u aprinde lumini<br \/>\ndanseaz\u0103 cu \u00eengerii nop\u021bii<br \/>\nrotind galaxiile mor\u021bii<\/p>\n<p>\u00eentre noi cerul ro\u0219iatic \u00eembr\u0103\u021bi\u0219eaz\u0103<br \/>\numbre de v\u00e2nt<br \/>\n\u00ee\u021bi scriu cuvinte de borangic iar luna se rostogole\u0219te<br \/>\nprin delirul toamnelor<\/p>\n<p>m\u0103 strecor precum \u0219erpi de ap\u0103 \u00een singur\u0103tatea \u0219uier\u0103toare<br \/>\n\u00ee\u021bi beau metaforele t\u0103cerea fluidul clipelor putrede apoi m\u0103 a\u0219ez l\u00e2ng\u0103 nucul<br \/>\ndin care se prelinge ploaia ca din umbrela lui Dumnezeu<\/p>\n<p>stau de paz\u0103 inimii tale mai cur\u00e2nd mai aproape mai sp\u0103lat\u0103 de ploi de cuv\u00e2nt<br \/>\ndragoste cu o mie de pori cu picioare descul\u021be<br \/>\nprin ierburile vii caracati\u021be ale timpului mut<\/p>\n<p><strong>Pasaj<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>bucurestiul inspir\u0103 din pl\u0103m\u00e2nii atrofia\u021bi<br \/>\npe artere lumini ro\u0219ii proiecteaz\u0103 scurt-metraje ale vie\u021bilor platinate<br \/>\nplimb c\u00e2inele singur\u0103t\u0103\u021bii \u00eentr-o les\u0103 fluorescent\u0103 \u0219i tac p\u00e2n\u0103 la os<br \/>\na\u0219 planta cu gheare de lilieci colonii de emo\u021bii<br \/>\n\u00een fisurile din autostrad\u0103<\/p>\n<p>locul unde vine moartea pe scen\u0103 este cald cu g\u00e2tul r\u0103sucit<br \/>\nun soare spart \u00een a\u0219chii curge din ferestre iar tu cobori la aviatorilor \u0219i treci<br \/>\npe sub pasaj timpul inert<\/p>\n<p>fluidul de oameni se revars\u0103 \u00een culori alb- negre<br \/>\ncentura ora\u0219ului pare un pansament gastric aplicat pe un ochi ciclopic<br \/>\ndr\u0103mui respira\u021biile pentru ultimul festin c\u00e2nd m\u0103 voi ierbi m\u0103 voi \u00een\u021belep\u021bi<br \/>\nvoi neiubi lava ora\u0219ului din care cresc blocuri anorexice<\/p>\n<p><strong>Obelisc<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>poezia mea pendaleaz\u0103 printre atei<br \/>\ncu micile ei grimase pare c\u0103 se eschiveaz\u0103<br \/>\nde la un trai unde regula de trei simple<br \/>\nreduce cuvintele galbene le pliaz\u0103 precum ni\u0219te frunze \u00eentr-o edi\u021bie special\u0103<\/p>\n<p>nu s-au n\u0103scut anii de t\u0103cere dar por\u021bia mea de<br \/>\nizolare d\u0103ruie poeme-surde astfel \u00eenc\u00e2t po\u021bi<br \/>\nm\u0103sura sunete \u00eenalte doar cu urechea-embrion<br \/>\nnoi suntem popula\u021bi de euri decorticate de expresii ale divinit\u0103\u021bii extrapolate<\/p>\n<p>ziceri \u0219i faceri cad din obeliscul maturit\u0103\u021bii<br \/>\neu \u00eemi scriu corpul cu toamne bolnave de anevrism \u0219i \u00ee\u021bi dau s\u0103 gu\u0219ti mierea fierbinte<br \/>\na unui asfalt imaginar unde te a\u0219ez cu picioarele \u00eencruci\u0219ate ca pe un trepied m\u00e2njit cu vopsea crud\u0103<br \/>\ndoar inima mea la zenit poate ha\u0219ura norii<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"alignnone  wp-image-2473\" src=\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"619\" height=\"1204\" srcset=\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o.jpg 1036w, http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o-154x300.jpg 154w, http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o-768x1494.jpg 768w, http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o-526x1024.jpg 526w, http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/30624270_10213685439705104_1483961116877914112_o-700x1361.jpg 700w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 619px) 100vw, 619px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>Poeta Angi Melania Cristea e&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[30],"tags":[],"coauthors":[75],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4rsGx-DS","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2472"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2472"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2472\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2474,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2472\/revisions\/2474"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2472"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2472"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2472"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=2472"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}