Rhea Cristina


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Some poetries of







This is the clean washed-out feeling.
This is my cross stabbed in the young 
unknown body.
One part wants to die, the other wants to live.
Like ravenous wolves for the flames.
We are two in one almost quiescent.
If we breathe too deeply, we can hear 
each other’s pains.
To which Cross shall I obey?
Two dead people in tears will 
speak soon.
Two people cheered up by their own heart
are selling the Light of the night
to my unknown wound.



Where Love and Death Do Not Exist


Where love and death do not exist
there I am.
Heartily obeyed,
waiting for God.
Loving the painless sense of the chasm. 
Trying not to be 
on one side or the other at the same time.
The flames are speaking to the inner Cross
in my absence.
They are calling me to the feast, to my own feast.
When the Feeling that I was born in 
fades away
an ineffable pain 
will begin.



I am


I am
the most sorrowful feeling that I am.
I desperately love
the death that 
lets me live.



The Birth


the feeding wound
of the cell talks to me
in the days and nights 
after you.
Close one to
the other,
the senses of our blood arouse
savagely rustling.
We learn the birth.





Every day I can tell you, my love,
the autumn is thrilling.
Never why
you startle by 
the Moment’s ticking.





Half of death, half of love.
Untouched by the lust, your blood is learning 
the prayer of me.
You have never told me
your hate of the roots
covered in the snow
in the evenings when you glance
at my shoulders
blaming yourself
for my shivering.





Beyond me
I’ve been there where blind people
are stirring up the Heavens. 
The shriekl of death has savagely grown
murkily draining the wells.
I begged the earth to 
protect it from the Cross, which
was ascending in me, driving it mad. 
The blind people are weeping unseen. The Heavens are sighing softer. At dusk
I cover myself with myself. The death is keeping its eye on me like a chandelier above. My people will
let the big windows opened from the Light, in
our hidden fear. The eye turned backwards is teaching me. I can see the Heavens 
getting cruelly lit.
Birth from my birth. God from the true God.
I defend and I obey.











Rhea Cristina – Unde dragostea si moartea nu exista/ Where Love and Death Do Not Exist/Où l’amour et la mort n’existent pas, poezie (poetry book), MUZEUL LITERATURII ROMANEPublishing House, Bucharest, 2006


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Trilingual edition in Romanian, English and French.


Translation by 


Georgia Puckett, Cambridge University 


The illustration from the first cover is a reproduction of »The Last Supper", a painting by Nicu Darastean  (www.darastean.com).

The book’s preface was written by Ana Blandiana (a famous Romanian poetess – member of „Stephane Mallarme“ Poetry Academy, member of The European Poetry Academy and member of The World Poetry Academy) and Irina Mavrodin, a famous Romanian essayist and translator (honoured with the title of „Chevalier des arts et des letters“, granted by the French state).
More information about this book.



Copyright 2006 Rhea Cristina




Rhea Cristina is a young poet and a journalist living in Bucharest, Romania.

BA degree in Journalism – Bucharest University.

Lecturer Political Science  Department, "Dimitrie Cantemir" Christian University, Bucharest, Romania, http://politice.ucdc.ro.

7 published books in the field of Literature and Journalism.  She has emerged as an important member of the new generation. 


Awarded by the KULTURKONTAKT AUSTRIA  – “WRITERS IN RESIDENCE” RESIDENCY (VIENNA, AUSTRIA) when she took an interesting workshop at the Theresianum High School.

Accepted for graduate studies in the Master’s degree program at the Indiana University School of Journalism (USA).

A member of The Romanian Writers Union.




Blog: http://cristina-rhea.blogspot.com.

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