Teodora Coman







Never alone


How fortunate to work inside standardized spaces

and yet, togeher with your silence and good manners

you are but an attachment


that is not the case with misfortune

it is always using you

with the illusion

that you can stand up a fight

for a great cause


but could inertness be a kind of resistance

when the wind doesn’t blow?

could stretched arms mean a freedom instinct

because of a mere resemblance with the roof pitches

with all the cold sweat dripping off

in the most crucial moments?


misfortune never comes up alone

it is always pushing you

to the front.




Love is not Franzen’s Corrections


I haven’t been able to put down more than four texts about love

though love is partially referred to

between flaws, compromises and self denials

but the relathionship with my soulmate is so advanced, that I can easily

move on to the fifth full love text, for now I have what I didn t have before: the demanded experience.

17 years since we met each other, 12 of marriage.

the new world made out of our habits

switched on to the automatic pilot

we didn’t realize when it did happen, when the myth of the sacred flame

gave in its ignition in front of convenience

If I had my youth back again, I prefer existing

rather than doing.

what matters mostly at this stage of life

is the equal assignment of householding tasks

and a sort of pudicity, insofar as being yourself

has always been an unbearable truth

after all, it was not the truth that attracted us

but that wild sheer beauty, uncorrupted by any expectation.

I don’t mean to complain about the flatness of our present life, neither to praise it

from a Patterson’s perspective

simply because we are not brilliant minds disguised in common jobs.

my point is that there’s no more jealousy

no more fear of leaving the house or coming back too late

no more trouble for the way you dress, you speak, you act:

we don’t have to impress each other any more, so the word impression has vanished for good

with its inner degree of fallacy.

but here, within this poem I’m just writing, we can truly be ourselves

and fight together against injustice

and sign the petitions against governmental corruption

and perform social actions

to counteract the weakness we were wise enough not to correct

but to accept.

the initial dazzling glow that brought us together

can now be firmly looked at, without tear drop or metaphysical eloquence,

like a sun with perfectly defined circular shape

within its splendid sunset

in a weary universe that has no power

to threaten us

here, where love has eyes and is not blind.




CounterCV: : „Never notice yourself. As in life, you don’t.”


What a loser can be someone who doesn’t know what is aiming at in life! – that’s what some people with perfect CVs scornfully say while looking at me.

it takes only a few minutes to prove that anyone or anything knows more about me than myself

during an ordinary day

starting with the cameras set in public places that could provide a huge amount of data about my gestures and facial expression, future unfabricated answers to all possible questions in case of a crime (but would I ever be able to commit such an act of (t)error?)

how do I look when my head aches, or the cash dispenser does not work, or I hesitate in front of the supermarket shelves fighting against my appetite?

how do I look in the eyes of my students, do my body language and explanations conceal my shyness?

these are just few examples of situations we can not have access to ourselves and need an intermedium, whether man or object, to become more self-aware in the identity issue

the same happens even in my own house: the computer announces me when the products added at Favourites box are running out

it also shows me what I might like, based on the recorded clicks on my previous visualizations.

Youtube and Deezer spare myself the trouble of searching my favourite songs

by mixing similar genres whose terms I could never retain. they spare my mind, too.

not knowing much about myself fits me like a glove, I can enjoy the element of surprise in my tedious life

I am being offered so many things with such insistence

that goes beyond any parental attendance.












Teodora Coman (born in 1976 in Sibiu, Romania) published two poetry books: Cârtița de mansardă (The Attic Mole) in 2012 and Foloase necuvenite (Unworthy benefits) in 2017, which came out from Max Blecher Press.


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