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Ioan Rusu

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Remembers of the life time
by Ioan Rusu   

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Category: 

Poetry

Publisher:  Hyperion Publishing House Craiova, Romania ISBN-10:  973939535X Type: 
Pages: 

44

Copyright:  2001
Non-Fiction


Ploiesti, Romania




Poetry of Ioan Rusu



BIOGRAPHY

Ioan Rusu was born in 1963 in a peasants family, in Batca Doamnei village, nearby Piatra Neamt town, Romania.
Living in a communist regim, in childhood, he was oriented by his family to study in technical schools and his orientation for poetry was ignore.
After Romanian revolution, in December 1989, Ioan Rusu become more interested in publishing his work. In 1995 the poetry book “Remembers Of The Life Time” was registered at Copyright Office, Library Of Congress, Washington. From 1998, many poetry organization published this book on INTERNET.
In 2002, Ioan Rusu also published this book at Hyperion Publishing House, Craiova, Romania.

The poetry book “ Remembers Of The Life Time” can be find on INTERNET, site:
http://www.agonia.net/index.php/author/0006382/

http://www.poemhunter.com/p/t/poet.asp?poet=21702

or searching on google: Ioan Rusu Poetry



About: Remembers Of The Life Time

JACK BOWMAN
Artist, poet, performer and writer
http://members.tripod.com/~jackbowman/biograph.htm

I liked your poems... You have beautiful images . I read them two or three times… excellent poetry. Very rarely am I moved (emotional reaction) by words but yours did that.

ANN AUSTIN
Minerva Press, London
http://www.minerva-press.co.uk/

One of this poet’s particular skills lies in his absolute affinity with the various forms of poetic language. As a unit, the language of this collection is measured and precise, yet at the same time it has a free-flowing, inspirational quality to it, and the result of reading his collected work is a feeling of ennervation and stimulation on the part of the readers: no faculty is left untouched by this skillful and stylish ensemble of thought-provoking work, wich deals with a range of human issues.


LARRY JAFFE

Larry Jaffe is the Poet/Host at the Autry Museum of Western Heritage (www.autry-museum.org) and the International readings Coordinator for the Unitated Nations Dialogue among Civilization through Poetry program and creator and host of the Poetix Spoken Word reading series at the worl famous Rainbow on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood

It is indeed good to hear from you…
I very much enjoyed your poetry, especial “Communist view… “
I will be pleased and honored to receive your book


RICHARD VALLANCE
Honours B.A. French and Latin; Master of Library Science Information Science & Linguistics. Multilingual English- French speaking Canadian.
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?AuthorID=3642

Hi, there, Ioan. Well, I've had a chance to review your poetry Site and book, AND...
BOTH are LOVELY!
.... so much so in fact that I've decided to ADD your site to the list of my Friends' poetry sites on this page:
Say "Hello" to my Friends! Saluez mes amis. Bonjour !
http://poesieslaissezfaire.homestead.com/friendsamis.html







"Remembers of the life time", is a mirror of youth emotions, love, nature and crossing over the time. It is the life of a poet.

If you enjoy to read this poetry book, you can make a donation ( in Romanian currency: RON ).

Ioan Rusu
ABN-AMRO Bank Romania
CONT: RO12ABNA3000001000339831


Sincerely,
Ioan Rusu



Ploiesti, street Gh. Doja no.37, Block 45F1, Ap. 4
2000, Prahova County, Romania

Email : ioandanrusu@yahoo.com

Amazon
Back of the Room
Ioan Rusu poetry



Sometime,even if we die
We still remember…

* * * * * * * * * *

White birds never die.

Like flowers, they are eternal.

Always, I believe in flowers and white bird

Honey, come with me

showing to you,

only to you,

how marvel is the world of flowers

and white birds.

*
* *

This autumn is coming

like a fancy.

I'm cold

and I closed the door.

It's raining

and you never came.

Oh, everything is dead

in this autumn like a fancy.

*
* *

Alone in the city of stone

I live in the district of stone

on street of stone

in the house of stone.

Here, everyone is of stone

with heart of stone.

Oh, God!

I'm so alone

in the city of stone.

*
* *

It's autumn and I'm thinking

alone in a strange town

that nobody knows me.

Maybe is better so,

wondering on streets,

alone, in a strange town.

*
* *

Now, I never look away.

The autumn urge me forward.

Leaves free from wind

run in the woods.

Oh, leaves, leaves!...

Take me with you...

*
* *

What a winter!

It's so cold!

What disappointment!

Having nothing in your pocket,

only listening the wind

in the night

and lonely, lonely,

thinking somewhere faraway...

Dream and be happy!

Forget that tomorrow

you have another day of living ...

*
* *

Now, when roses are blossoming

in the sunshine,

Honey, let's go in the gardens.

Let's go

when we are young like roses.

Look!

the delicacy of pales

shows us the way of love...

Maybe tomorrow, like them,

we make old.

Honey, let's love roses now,

in the garden of life.

*
* *

The gold of your fingers

is a metal

like any other metal.

The gold does not take off

your old age

and loneliness.


Gold is a metal

like any other metal.

*
* *

In the evenings

I open the window

to see the charm of the night.

But I'm too tired.

In the mornings

I open the window

to see the charm of the daybreak.

But I'm too tired.



Every day only work...

And so we make old.


*
* *



Communist view.

I cross alone the starve town in the night.

Ghosts at windows look the gray of the sky.

Cold and nobody is in the streets.

My footsteps ring on sidewalk

and the shadow lean more and more.

The death with her mowing

comes in the town.

*
* *

Look how this winter

is gone in the fields!

Sunday evening

and you didn't come.



Free under a cold sky

our years are gone

and all this story

seems to be very old.

*
* *

This autumn I'm thinking

to the loneliness of the seas,

shore solitude,

cold sand

and my ice - heart.



Oh, God, I am feeling like Ovidiu

exiled at the Black Sea.

*
* *

The swinging of the reed in the wind

it's so hard, as human despair.


The loneliness of the reed

it's our loneliness.

*
* *

The shivering of your shadow

is as the shivering of the moon over seas

in the blue nights.

I tremble for you,

I'm afraid that the Wind

will take you with him

over the sheen of the seas.

*
* *

When the dawn is coming,

I'm thinking to you.

In the thick of oak woods

still are solitary deer pairs

and I'm dreaming to Arcadia.


Come my darling,

until the last white bird

will die!...

*
* *

The autumn is coming

see me crying.

I don't know

but there are years

run away...

On paths, in their shivering,

leaves are going for ever

and I wish

in the thick of the woods

lonely to die...

*
* *

Every morning

the sun rises in peace

over the mountains

over the seas...


The herbs call me

from the depth of the woods...

On the wild paths

I'm looking in my heart.

My soul is shivering...




Only the sun

rises in peace

every morning...

*
* *

The autumn with her leaves

I hear from the distance.

There are the signs

of our crossing ...



I wish nothing to know!...

Birds pierce in the sky

and, my wild soul remains

with the deer in the woods.

*
* *

Waiting for you

the autumn was coming

and I am maybe the shadow of a tree

or a path

near the forest and the lake.

*
* *

When out is raining

I am more alone.



I dream a house

somewhere at the countryside

with trees and gardens.


Thoughts, thoughts!...

When out is raining

I am more alone.

*
* *

I'm plunged in the silence of steppe,

in the loneliness of seas.

In the night, on wild shores

I'm listening the sound of the moon.



Thrilling of waves and lights

travel by the wind in the horizon.

The sadness of poet Ovidiu

is reflected in the bottom of the sea.

*
* *

As we aid the flowers

let's aid the poet,

as we aid white birds

let's aid the poet,

because the poet is so frail

as flowers and white birds.

*
* *

White nights are going

on fields, on steppe.

Moon is shivering over seas

and somewhere in the mountains snow.



Lonely, on paths I will go

in the depth of the woods

in cold

crying near the deer

with ice soul.

*
* *

It's autumn and maybe tomorrow

I will die on streets

and nobody take care.



It will be there

many leaves

and it will be raining everywhere.



It's autumn and maybe tomorrow.

*
* *

The spring is coming

much as a sign

remember us

that everything

is crossing...


Yes, the spring

is much as a sign.

*
* *

The way of Golgotha is so long

as long is our life.

We beat nails in our souls

one to each other

every day.


Only those who pray in the churches

poor and ill

know where is going

the way of Golgotha.

*
* *

I wait in quiet my end

near the garden of roses.

I know that my soul

will be a bird

flying in the sky

and I also know

that nothing will come back

and happiness

is the irreversible trifle

of our crossing...

I wait in quiet my end

near the garden of roses.

*
* *

The autumn of my mind

was going as leaves over seas.

Will come the coldness,

hard and wild

and I am the leafless oak

in the depth of the winter.

*
* *

In this world

we come alone

and alone we die,

we don't know why

and there are no reasons

to be sad.

*
* *

With an ice aye

I'm looking over woods

when winter comes.

Leaves, as bloody tears

are crying an paths.

Lonely, trees are shivering

under a cold sky.

Somewhere, in the mountains

I see a deer pairs

with ice hearts,

but I know that their warmly love

will cross over this cold winter.

*
* *

Sometimes,

I close my eyes

and I see

the sky and the sea,

the shore

and you,

walk lonely...



Late remembers

from a forget summer.

*
* *

If you are never listening

the music of violins

in blue nights,

a part of your soul is dead.


If you never wrote a poem

on the moving sand

near the sea and the sky,

a part of your soul is dead.


If you never stop

to listen the song of the birds

in the garden of life,

a part of your soul is death.


If you never think

at the loneliness of old age,

a part of your soul is death.


I stay at the window

and I'm looking over the world :

I see only a few people...

*
* *

Stones are never talking.

They are silent in their happiness.

Lonely,

I wish to be a stone

looking the sky and the seas,

forget the shore

where are my roots.

*
* *

From the window of my room

I'm looking to the factories area.

The trees seem to have no sense

as our life.

The autumn is coming

to take her leaves...

*
* *

I was looking in the mirror

to see my face.

What disappointment!

There isn't even a shadow...

*
* *

This autumn is coming

because I'm more tired

and old.

In the autumn

the flowers have no sense.

*
* *

The autumn is coming
alone on streets.

Cold and rain.

With white hair,
older and older,
as the leaves will die
so will die the poet.

It will come the winter
hard and wild.

But after the death
of my body,
I still hope,
in all my soul,
that the spring
will come again.


Excerpt

This book is registred at Copyright Office, Library of Congress, Washington. (Registration: TXu-793-679 )

This book was published by Hyperion Publishing House, Craiova, Romania in July, 2002 ( ISBN 973-9395-35-X )




Professional Reviews

Reviewed by Irene Watson for Reader Views
“Remembers of The Life Time” is a compilation of poetry by a
Romanian poet, Ioan Rusu. Since freedom of the press is not a long-held
value in Romania, it wasn’t until recently that Rusu was able to publish
his book.

The p*ssion and the dream of becoming a poet comes through in Rusu’s
writing. His poetry takes the reader through a gamut of emotions:

Communist View.
I cross along the starve
town in the night.
Ghosts at windows look the
gray of the sky.
Cold and nobody is in the streets.
My footsteps ring on sidewalk
and the shadow lean more and more.
The death with her mowing comes in the town.

And:

The autumn is coming
see me crying.
I don’t know but there are years run away…
On paths, in their shivering,
leaves are going for ever and I wish
in the thick of the woods
lonely to die…


Rusu’s words ring his truth, living in a world of a dark future. The depth
of his poetic license pulls on the heart strings of the reader. The pieces
are moving and make us contemplate the freedom we have living in this
country.

Posted by: Irene watson at May 13, 2006 05:53 AM

http://www.readerviews.com/ReviewRusuRemembers.html



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