The Poetry of Adela Paki

If I were in another frame of mind this introductory page would have looked different. But it will have to do.

My name is Adela Paki and I am from Romania. I know it is fashionable nowadays to say: "I am just an ordinary guy". Well, I am not an ordinary person. That is not that I am better, just different.

Given to adoption when I was 5 months old, I had a wonderfully common childhood, except for one episode. I learned to write and I started to write, copying children's stories and pretending I wrote them. By the age of 14-16 (I cannot remember exactly) I started to write original poems. But I decided, don't ask me why, to study history. So, here I am, a PhD in ancient history and archaeology, working at the National History Museum of Transylvania. A good career behind me but probably not for long. I feel the need of doing something else. When I was 19/20 I sent four of my poems to a literary magazine. They told me I have talent and published two of them. Since then, I write my journal and poems.

But for a very long time I did not keep them. They went to the waste paper basket. Too proud or too shy? Probably both. I am 40 now and much more humble. I like to read, think, write, walk and to discuss with my friends.

There are not many things I dislike but hypocrisy is the first. I don't have any ambition except for improving myself every day. I have one goal: to make my daughter understand why I did what I did. And one aim: to buy myself the small cottage in the country side that I so much dream about.

Recently, I spent five months at the Ohio State University on a fellowship and when I came back to my home country the poems wanted to write themselves in English. Again, don't ask me why. So, here we go with my poems:

Non-local correlations (Dedication to the memory of Francis Galton) A boundlessness that's short and small The old infinite swelling wild Fragments of space crumble and fall And even out-bursts are now mild. The quantum has no age or home Virtual's a number of the real It's time to shake out the old dome Of prejudice and break the seal. The carbon atom of my clay Was born in distant-ageing star The twos can cross each other's way The third can be both close and far. From long ago all far from us We hear riot radiation The blasting microwaves that toss An equal cosmic fore-foundation. We could not have been today In a world of other speeds Vagueness rolled the dice our way Changing the nothing into seeds. Measures How can a drop sustain the burden of the sea? How can a smile contain the burden of the glee? How can a grain just carry the burden of the harvest? How can a line just bear the burden of the artist? How can a star support the burden of the light? How can a sky endure the burden of the night? How can a snow flake bear the burden of the cold? How can the creed contain the burden of the fold? How can a clod enclose the burden of the earth? How can a cry reveal the burden of the birth? How can a flower take the burden of the green? How can a mind sustain the burden of the unseen? How can a hollow bear the burden of the wood? How can an aid contain the burden of the good? How can the flight enclose the burden of the dove? How can the world survey the burden of my love?

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