Back in 2011 I saw the unfolding horror in Syria as Assads regime started to crush unarmed civilians, I wrote two poems on the site Poetry24.co.uk and I place them here hopefully make us all think of what is going on globally especially during this pandemic
Victoria Baltag is a filmmaker from Romania, who I met on LinkedIn and she has a very unique and powerful story to tell, that is very unsettling about Romania between 1949 and 1951 and the re education camps, she is now raising money for the postproduction with which I hope you will help her succeed .
“ The state entities in Romania refused to fund this project”.
Victoria Baltag, Master of Arts, University of Birmingham, PhD Film Studies, Queen University of Belfast and Postgraduate Teaching Assistant at UCL made a remarkable movie about one of the darkest pages from Romanian History. Pitesti Experiment. Generations of Romanians did not learn about this subject at schools, colleges, Universities. Censorship and hiding the dark moments from history left many Romanians clueless about the history of their country. Pitesti Experiment project needs support. Art in pandemic needs support. Our support. Media exposure, funds, event organization, all are ways to support. Every time this movie is promoted, every donation, every effort is a different manner to say“ I am sorry for how much you suffered”. This project is about the victims of Pitesti Experiment. Victims who for many are unknown, forgotten. Their story has to be told! Let’s help it!
I float down icy corridors. My face slips, blurs on skirting boards. Plastic tiles suck my shoes. In the GA Ward, the flickering mouth of television hisses at blankness. An igloo of brains, snow blocks on pillows; my eyes cast out to look for you. The German lady asks me for water. She’s never seen you here, she says. She’s got a tumour, a hail stone in her head, frozen on an x-ray in the hall. In the waiting room, sweat sneaks out my armpits, from behind bare knees, freezes like a smile. Sun flaunts its limbs along the wall – my body perves to lie with it, the mad yellow. You do not come; I go out double-doors – anti-bacterial soap melts in my hands. Sun gropes my body back to skin in the hospital…
Hard Luck’s getting married to his high school sweetie.
All participants in the ongoing crime attend,
history books babble and fall from their shelves.
Guess we’re on our own.
Improvise some future
we can readily hum.
The coast road is erratic
can’t keep its answers straight.
The goodbye room is full of nervous waiters
wondering what today’s special looks like.
All those animals Noah took aboard the ark
Hard Luck won’t get out of his rocking chair.
Maybe it’s a bit late.
The bones creak.
The groom and the bride
mumble something unintelligible about faith.
If only somebody around here would enunciate.
Listening to Tom Russell, Songs of the West
Over the Edge, and Then Some…
The luxury liner promises to stop sinking
as soon as you truly get clear.
The Children Of The Great Depression
offer a sleek new line of
alluring lunch pails.