IRINA LAZăR
Bucharest | Romania
about
Irina Lazăr, born in 27 january, 1976, lives in Bucharest, born in Vaslui, Romania. She published two poetry books (Fragment de joc, Fragment of Game – 2016), Grinta Publishing House, Cluj-Napoca, and Subliniază-mă cu roșu – Highlight Me with Red, 2019, Charmides Publishing House, Bistrița . Irina Lazăr is also a member of Romanian Cultural Association Direcția 9. She participated at numerous poetic recitals in last years, published poems in newspapers and magazines in Romania such as Luceafărul, Tribuna, Mozaic, Caiete Silvane, Hyperion and so on. Also won awards in Romania for her poetry book Highlight Me with Red at poetry festivals in Sighetu Marmației and Bistrița.
à propos
Irina Lazăr, née le 27 janvier 1976, vit à Bucarest, née à Vaslui, en Roumanie. Elle a publié deux livres de poésie (Fragment de joc, Fragment de jeu – 2016), éditions Grinta, Cluj-Napoca, et Subliniază-mă cu roșu – Souligne-moi en rouge, 2019, éditions Charmides, Bistrița. Irina Lazăr est également membre de l’association culturelle roumaine Direcția 9. Elle a participé à de nombreux récitals poétiques ces dernières années, a publié des poèmes dans des journaux et des magazines en Roumanie tels que Luceafărul, Tribuna, Mozaic, Caiete Silvane, Hyperion entre autres. Elle a également remporté des prix en Roumanie pour son livre de poésie Souligne-moi en rouge lors de festivals de poésie à Sighetu Marmației et Bistrița.
Pe strada x în care nu se găsea nici pic de poezie
o femeie își tatua pe față cenușiul zilnic
își cernea povești de dragoste printre tramvaie cu cai, adormea
la umbra unor ferestre murdare
o femeie nu putea să renască decât în nopțile fără lună
pentru că atunci se vedea mai bine pe sine
lipsită de orice zeități și de orice drum
nici pe casele din apropiere nu se zăreau semne
nici bărbații nu se apropiau
pe strada x bântuia haosul unei vieți viitoare
ca o pânză de păianjen ce se țesea încet
din niște coșmaruri nemărturisite
doar acolo, un diavol albastru bătea în tobe,
ridica argintăria până în tavan
dădea dovada unei prezențe neîntrerupte
spărgând farfuriile de pereți, ascultând muzică jazz.
X STREET
X Street
On X Street there was no sign of poetry
a woman used to tattoo her face with daily gray
she would sieve through her love stories in-between horse-drawn tramways
she went to sleep in the shade of grimed windows
a woman could only be reborn on moonless nights
when she could see herself more clearly
devoid of god-like figures and path-less
no signs from the neighbouring homes
no men would draw near
there was chaos on x street, intimations of a future existence,
like a slowly spinning cobweb
out of some unavowed nightmares
it was only there a blue devil would strike the drums,
lifting the silverware towards the ceiling
proving to be forever present
smashing the crockery against the walls, listening to jazz music.
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