Dream yourself a mosquito, find a way through, then bite yourself.

Dream yourself a mosquito, find a way through, then bite the sleeping figure.



I’d always choose insomnia

For it is better rated.

More wakeful time, more reason to arrange thy words.

To make your reader tremble,

To give him dreams of her.


She’s cool to touch

Like sleeping in the snow and waking,

But not quite.

To dream you go to sleep and I shall follow,

For only then we’ll be as one.


The Unwords (a poem by Nichita Stanescu)

[This is a poem originally written in Romanian by a genius called Nichita Stanescu; I suppose there is an English translation available somewhere, but since I’m a translator… English speakers out there, you’re welcome]

The Un-words

He reached towards me with a leaf like a hand with fingers

I reached towards him with a hand like a leaf with teeth

He reached towards me with a branch like an arm

I reached towards him with an arm like a branch

He leaned towards me his trunk like an apple-tree

I leaned towards him my shoulder like a knotty trunk

I could hear his sap quickening like blood pulsing

He could hear my blood slackening like sap climbing

I passed through him

He passed through me

I remained a tree, alone

He remained a human, alone