Mihai Posada









motto: “tiny patches of timbered country are still with us

and so are crusts of bread not a few;

with us reinforced concrete sits upright in the fence

as the cares for tomorrow do.”


rigorously doled out

one ladle for each soup plate: exactly

the selfsame image

reduplicating (the sky) in it

pale moon and cold stars

phosphorous, a whole wall of T.V. screens


the selfsame image any window whatever

within the wall spanning half-meridian

half a century


do not jostle against one another

destitution will last out for everybody






For the poet Eugène van Itterbeek


“From beyond the walls one can hear

A godlike choir full of mystery”

Radu Stanca


the town in which I pine away has grey eyes

immortalized in the photograph

in poems

expressive like asphalt

may we no longer have

to be come

what may

the other is madame bovary

I am another one


*) in English in the original






in the mown hay

under the milky way

slowly falling asleep






Immunity protected of all lands

get up and go!

 (Intransigent Notes)


show up

the cassette player is in bloom

as is the leavened dough

which keeps a vigil while the song goes on

the nightingales keep mum

in everybody’s interest

the publishers’ too

the nightingales are now asleep

an original

large batch of visiting cards

has been printed

on leaden sheets with mourning

frames – show up

the nightingales have all gone mad

and the crucified


in tutelary splendor shines

show up…






To the poet Mircea Ivănescu


rock erected upon rock

on a mountain’s summit

a billow turned into stone

whose every single block

seemed to have designed it

according to a certain kind of logic


similar to that of poetry: steep stairs three hundred and odd steps leading to the clouds below the handrail having become even more important than the stone stair for some time they have tried out a slide (under the clouds) devised in the manner of water troughs which turn a spring into a disciplined stream thereby humanizing it anyway very few were brave enough to walk back and up the stone stairs they say someone who managed to reach the topmost landing did not find any trace of the structure anymore in spite of his having desperately cast glances far and wide and  that he further felt


something like a look lightly flung

over his shoulder or simply

fancied one:

a stony stare

on which the poor creature verily stood

awestricken, still as a stone






landmarks of Roman rock

shingle stuffed inside peasant’s twilled cloth

over the sheperds’ big-river everglade

the grasses keep watch


Annunciation’s green providing shadow forever sprouts in the eternal spring like the dew dressing the wound of the bruised immortal young men: the steel from the South jangled by the sons of the Capitoline she-wolf and the flint of the North under the howling of the dragon-wolf



a flash of lightning without end

has been scorching us ever since


the shooting out of a race risen from the hot pursuit over woodlands and mountains over valleys and plains up to the wholesome Danube Delta

wilting away during the fall like the page of the Book propped up against the hearth

wholesome eternally futile sacrifice with its reward stolen from the lyrical folk

the perverted imagination of a lugubrious Stoker


: horror as a collect call !


we’re making love in front of the new


glowing naked under the snow of the



uncompensated for the cultural slanders unblemished or only naïve children of the giaour vampire we celebrate the Gospels in bowls made of plain clay and hearts of gold – some flotsam against the moral bank under watchful stars tolle et lege we said and reached the quinquenium aureum which flew away as the drifting snows of yester year and brushed over the immaculate flaxen high peaks of the Transylvanian Alps


from an active sleep

the deplorable second hand * condition of a tardy interval

poetry for all * nothing new

always under the sun the coca cola the auroral

cancer of the law in us

the native reusable poem

good night dear friends


*) in English in the original






To the posthumous uprightness of Corneliu C. – In Memoriam


granting our daily deathlessness

and the torment of our face-to-face encounter

down there in the cemetery on the fringe of the town

gray-haired at the edge of the world

prematurely treading with death

holding their head in their hands

to prevent it from vanishing into the blue

the orphaned parents go and keep a vigil


over their peace that feeds our anxiety


the sun lies smashed in the snow / gently fallen over bowed heads / to be a parent cringing with pain / hardly still being at all amen! / from the Book opened under a curse / the words bend and groan / wrestling through the scourge they wish to heal / disoriented minds into which no other thought can pierce / as water does not pierce into oil / “Whatever you do, do it sooner!” / one after another the wicks of the rushlights / catch fire / a modern nightmare infant-gorging Moloch / a sophisticated Herod (there were no yellow skinned around / nor red skinned of the kind that kill slowly) oh / what a terrifying sight: at least they’ve killed them quickly! / they shudder to near extinction / those anguished prostrated little flames in bulk / …for a white instant the infants, / with lit candles in hand, are kneeling and singing  / and the heavens open up / to take in their glorious unblemished song / and the souls in the flare of the hateful lead / devastating / on the white steps of the Cathedral


these are no metaphors no art  this is a pool of

human blood


martyrs with no identity / witnesses to the light / almost stifled amongst Your followers / kindling a vision scorching the film-tape burning the retina / without nationality without history without guilt / in the ignited memory


Your blinding angels




From the volume Anagnoze & Apocrife (Anagnoses & Apocrypha),

Macarie Publishers, Târgovişte, 1999,

Caiete internaţionale de poezie/ International Notebook of Poetry, Norcross,

 GA, USA, Nr. 3 / 2002, pp. 293-296.




Translated from the Romanian by Heathrow O’Hare











Mihai  Posada


Born in the Transylvanian town of  SIBIU, Romania, on September 2, 1953.

Early and sustained literary activity.

Attends the Art School of Sibiu (a post-secondary institution).Wins prizes for his drawings, watercolours, black-and-white work, and oil paintings.

Mihai Posada participated in many literary contests and events, being awarded several prizes. His previous poetry volumes: The Elegies of Semyaza and Anagnoses & Apocrypha were published, respectively, in 1993 and 1999; and Acasă (2007)

Studied Journalism at the University of his native town. On the Editorial Board of Tribuna, the daily of Sibiu, as Secretary.

Ph. D. in 2005 from the „Lucian Blaga” University of Sibiu.

Author of a detailed study on the oeuvre of a living polymath: Laurenţiu Oprea – un spirit viu în Cetatea Transilvaniei (Laurenţiu Oprea – a Genius at Work in the Fortress of Transylvania), 2005; also the author of an extensive critical monograph: Opera publicistică a lui Mircea Eliade (Mircea Eliade’s Interwar Journalism), 2006.

Articles similaires