Te

excerpt All his anxiety, that apoplectic fit, was proof he did not know Clara. That was precisely the state of their relationship at the time. In order to know and understand and accept her manner of thinking, the style of her infinitesimal psychic reactions – allowing

A young man learning of how Les Fleurs du Mal was condemned for obscenity during Napoleon III's uptight times can only be left speechless if he has happened to read Baudelaire. For the young generations of today, the poet's depiction of lesbian delights appears

Although it stirred the prefacing enthusiasm of enlightened spirits and brought about the awarding of quite honoring prizes, the talent of some is shadowed by the pornographic character of the books which should be put on sale in sex shops. The fact that they represent the

In 2004 there was an impressive amount of literary productions by young authors. At the time I called them, too harshly, I'm afraid, 'Catchers in the Cannabis'. It seems that the first person narrative is still in fashion. The language they use is violent,

A pessimist, faultfinding outlook on the phenomenon would classify the explosion of eroticism as a literary evil, on the grounds of, let's say, the obsession that does not free, but condemns to imprisonment: an imprisonment with respect to the requirement of total expression,

The air is bracing where your high breasts rise. Around their peaks I breathe with greater ease. Yet I descend, beloved, by degrees,Cheap bastard that I am, towards your thighs.  Your carnal hip is naked and asleep,So lily-like it makes my halo blush. I long to kiss it,

(Playing the double bass nostalgically, Johnny Raducanu) Remember the religious day of old when you and I, Shut in our yellow submarine, would sail all on our own, Our progress aimless, peaceful, with pavements for a sky,Along old sewers teeming with butterflies forlorn.

Delight – the bum I cherish, once more, as in the past,You are proffering to me like some delicious treat. As you raise up your skirt high, and lean into the street, Out of the open window, while munching on a crust. And since you're sort of bashful at what I'm

To an Eminescian blonde Would that your ass split in two comely spheres,Would that your cunt cleft in four luscious lips –A chariot made of silk are you, and sheer,Wheels dipped in fragrant oil from tip to tip.  Your mug be cast behind the sugar barsOf your gold hair

Many of the young writers or aspirants to literature consider eroticism as a sure way to quick recognition. This type of literature is quite difficult to write, because between eroticism, pornography and a public toilet the differences are minimal, but essential, and unless

In the cited cases, apart from the banality of sex, apart from the huge alcoholic-narcotic papier-mâché setting, apart from cussing and vomit, there seem to be no more 'facts of life'. This is where evil lies. There lies literary naught. Idei în dialog, February

Today, writers no longer bring up sex to shock bourgeois taste, as avant-garde authors used to a hundred years ago. Sex is regarded as a natural, even banal, thing, a fact of life like any other. Dilema veche, December 2004 by Cezar Paul-Bădescu