THIS WEEK IN NYC 
 
 
MANHATTAN CHRONICLES POETRY
by Dinu Grigorescu
Fall Issue 2010
 
LOST IN TRANSLATION                                                     
                                TAMING THE WORDS 
 
In the circus of words

Open non stop---

Of beasts ---

The music is suave,

Concave,

The bald,

Soprano

(from Milano) 

A surreal atmosphere

Of a ball,

A carnival,

Sensational!

Of masque herds

and words –

And a clown brought

With great efforts from a western thought.

Uncorked words

Pop language birds.

 
 
The mammoth words show up,

The sisters from Labrador,

Chorus words devoid of splendor,

And the ones of the deaf-mute

The party language, sophisticated

“of the State”

It is overly applauded.                                                                                                                                 

                                     
I get angry and take a whip

And with thirst I once hit.

The hedgehog words

Of the whip.
 
Rarely are scared

 

 
The curses words show up

Senseless politic

Of coachmen from old carriages

From Neolithic.

 
The natural in language is dead –

With eternal regrets –

The word in gray thread  

Of a world of puppets.     

 
Trained to speak

In the bird language of

Parrots.

I get angry, so throw as bribe

A pound of dynamite.

The old trained hooks

Bizarre

Structures in a bell-jar

Detonate the old books.

 
A writer

Is a tamer

Of  all words

 

Creatures  frail and delicate

Like the sunset

Words paired and engaged

In the bed of the page.

I take them out of the cage

The stark-naked words

And I line them up

On little chairs.

First row is reserved

For the most unclothed.

I also bring a good shepherd,

A leopard,

With a cruel tooth

Defends the naked truth.

The brainless phrase

Would like to escape its’ own case

Devoid of truth wave,

Word is a grave.

 
I put all of them together, trying to be prudent

The words from the Orient

From Scandinavia

And Romania.
 

The tamer life’s is hard bound--

Dangers all around—

The dense reverse

Of any sense

Could kill you

The terror to flawlessly apply

Each dot on all your “I”.

Words with hair-do

 
Fixed with glue

Reply in high-volume

To silences in a costume.

The words I chose are banal,   

 Sentimental---

Yours and mine.

Director! To the shorties I put on stilts

To play pranks, tricks...

Leap mortal  

Over the banal!
 

The blue word removed from his shoes

The pair of laces

On the dome of the page hanged himself

At sunset.     

 
Some whisper hey,

Throw away the clothes you’ve worn during the day

A crossed T in her nightie.

 
My transparence is a boon

Under a full moon

I, the sentimental

With my merciless whip

I hit the banal

The terrible kid.

 
I bring a tiger from Bengal,

Phenomenal,

To the world of trivial.

 
And in the fur of his essence,

The extraordinary --

The words in a robe,

Experts in legislations—

They shirk and de-robe,

 Any complications.

 
A fist of rhymes

All mine,  

I’m always taming a cadence

With my whip in rags,

And with patience.  

   

      Dinu Grigorescu is a poet and playwright living in Bucharest.

                                           His collections of plays The WILD EAST and THE MERRY HELL, and his collections of poems, 
                                          Taming the Words and Aquarium with Sharks are available at the New York Public Library.