Writer Between Worlds

Soulful writing about humans and places

Category: De-ale vieţii

River Revival

Trying to stay in shape during social distancing. A river, a grove, a few less trodden paths on a sun-flooded morning. Glimpses of real beauty. And a little piece of heaven. Copyright A. Sepi 2020. All rights reserved
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Hold them in your hands

Dear friends, My poems have now become a thing. A something you can buy and hold in your hands. You can turn them into paper airplanes and give my words wings, you can write comfort food recipes on their back, or you can put them on your bookshelf for the benefit of generations to come…
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Ballad

We’re so fucking great Masters of our fate We’ll conquer the stars We’ll colonize Mars Make a million bucks Drive SUV trucks We’ll upgrade our lives We’ll get trophy wives Your pocket’s your Savior Be snide to thy neighbor C’mon, be a winner The pauper’s the sinner Forget all the ancients Make…
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The Days

Remember these days these brief days when we walked in groups of one we gave thanks to the ones who toiled and our lives touched each other even though our hands didn’t. Remember these days these brief days when daddy was no longer at work (yay!) because people mattered more than production: we discovered…
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Covid-Spring

the heavy, menacing tread of the lone jogger, the scented solitude of the wild cherry blossom down by the water. a silence overpowering, thunderous. undaunted gulls shrieking about trivial things, ripping through it – ear-piercing, alive. two-dimensional human shapes in the distance revealing the magnitude of the landscape: floodplains and clouds huddling over…
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Kala Alm*

Panta începe abrupt. Mușchii se opintesc. Se contractă, se întind. Înaintez anevoios în sus: dreptul, stângul, dreptul, stângul… La fiecare pas, talpa bocancului scârțâie, alunecă puțin în spate în zăpada moale, aproape zloată. Lanternele rămân stinse. În albastrul de cobalt al nopții, doar stelele licăresc, neverosimil de multe. Când lăsăm în urmă ultima casă, ne…
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(Post)modern obsessions

Have you noticed how the following themes keep popping up, almost obsessively, in contemporary discourse – in the media, in the public sphere and increasingly in ourselves? This obsession with sex – and complete devaluation of love and tenderness and commitment. This obsession with doing – and complete devaluation of being. This obsession with the…
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Behold the searing wind*

It is upon us. Its blistering tongues lurk behind the levee, They pounce like savage beasts Mercilessly they wheeze Blowing the tumbleweeds against my doorstep. A goodbye kiss, crackling dry. Deserted yards, howling. The yellow earth swelling and swirling, It is in my eyes, my nostrils, my teeth. Every time I spit, I…
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Out of Words

I have given life to two children I have exhaled all my words I am all written out of poems. My Japanese ink paintings are modest They’ve long been made into paper airplanes. Here I stand like a leafless tree basking in the nonchalance of autumn. I draw my vigour from the earth I squint…
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The Calm Place

I. Name five things you can see, the app said. I counted drapes, floors, slippers… I couldn’t name the truth. I knew I had it somewhere, but I didn’t want To slide open the drawers of memory again (the place was so tidy). Name four you can hear, it menaced. I strained but heard nothing,…
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The Darkest Hour

“În vremurile aspre și triste, oamenii liberi pot să se consoleze întotdeauna cu lecția de bază a istoriei, și anume că tiraniile nu pot dăinui decât printre neamurile slugarnice.” Winston Churchill, în Humes, J.C. – Vorbele de duh ale lui Winston Churchill, ed. Humanitas, București, 2008.
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Amiaza pe strada Rotbuchen

Privesc peretele bătrân invadat de iederă roșie ca de fierbințeala jenată a unei iubiri posesive, geloase, târzii. (Săgeata unei nostalgii, pogorâtă din senin în coșul pieptului, tulbură apa în care pluteau, inerte, cuvintele.) Nemișcată, clădirea mă fixează cu ochii ei dreptunghiulari, muți, din sticlă. Vântul mușcă din blana aprinsă de pe obrazul casei. Pomeții bărboși, frământați de…
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