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Surrealism, as Luca knew it, fed from those waters, however dark they were in a traumatic era. It was the one medium that Luca adopted, and which lent to his efforts an over-arching valor. His suicide attempts were the riposte not only to the murderous world he faced but also a way to divest himself of any predisposition, valorous or not. Isn’t that the price of poetry, a price that all poets pay in their own, unique ways to ever gain a kind of strength, lucidity, and liberty that they also wrest from the world, and reveal again in words, phrases, metaphors? So, as I read through Inventor of Love again, having already written a review of it, I emerged shaken but not for the evident reason: its brilliance and convulsive beauty. Yes, I thought, there are references to the street, the city and its crowds, the dissonant brutality of society and power then but far too few to claim as a leitmotif. It was as if Luca wrote to save himself from dealing with all of that — and why not, who in his right mind would desire anything other than escape. Yet he also wrote by virtue of refusing it, and in that refusal embraced, finally, the negation of that negation, with all his powers poised to aid him: poetic delirium, impassioned despair, erotomania, the magic of objects found and created, chance encounters, paranoia, persecution mania, as he called it, vertiginous sex, imaginary sadism, and rich, desperate love — this ever present extremity to forge anew in his solitude, shared and not, which he conducts as if it contained an orchestra for himself, for her, for anyone who cares to engage it in the texts he left as witness. And then there is this, striking for its simplicity in an otherwise multivalent universe, this Luca-verse that was his own: Separated from my friends who are scattered about the globe like an exigent leprosy, separated from them by multiple countries and an ocean serving as a conduit over which people make war with one another, I wake up alone each morning in my room, and it is not by accident that my room’s windows open directly out onto the military tribunal where each night I hear the sobs of the confined and the convicted, alone in my

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Profile for Contra Mundum Press

Gherasim Luca Centenary Issue  

Essays and reflections in English and French on Romanian surrealist Gherasim Luca, including Luca's own texts and art. Also featuring rumi...

Gherasim Luca Centenary Issue  

Essays and reflections in English and French on Romanian surrealist Gherasim Luca, including Luca's own texts and art. Also featuring rumi...

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