Exquisite Corpse - Issue 3
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Two Poems by Mircea Dinescu
Translated from the Romanian by Julian Semilian and Sanda Agalidi


A melody by Armstrong

In the evening when the orchestras start murdering
and seven thousand drunks sail off to America on seas of
the kangaroo from the pregnant virgin's nightmare
knocks on your door
pockets bursting with menacing letters.
You take to the street to mend your imagination
you are the invalid to whom everything is granted through
      pity or disgust,
like the extinct volcano
with its throat stuffed with newspapers and bottles
tonight surprise the tourists
and play them a tune on the lava trumpet
a melody by Armstrong


Where they trample by with their damp imagination
the lichen and reindeer bloom,
lamps swallow wicks in disgust
like wise men tongues before the tyrant,
but the gods born in the hum of the coffeehouse
vanish some night on south bound freight trains
sentenced without witness to a tangled and forced mythology
to seek the seed of the flute in who knows what swamps'
under the rains to hollow out their graves
so we can stumble upon an exit to the sea...
O, vulnerable gods, vulnerable gods,
death is a country without newspapers

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