I don’t like talking about myself.
I tend to tell myself to a trusted few.
If you have come this far, you might be interested in my writings and therefore I refer you to them.
If, on the other hand, you sincerely wish to know something more about me… I refer you to my writings.

I’ve often tried to introduce myself and I can’t. It’s nerve-wracking to write about me. And read about me even more. I feel like I’m trying to convince someone of my worth, and in doing so I feel almost disgusted because I want to be a writer and not a trader.

An effective trader insists on the merits of his product to the point of exasperation. These attitudes always remind me of two plastic Romanian sayings that I adore:

“Lauda de sine nu miroase a bine” or “Self-praise doesn’t smell good” and again “Ti-au murit laudatorii?” i.e. “Are your supporters dead?”

Why poetry?

Poetry has the gift of honesty. It was poetry who found me at a time when I was surrounded by disloyalty. A deep bond unites us and now I know that I will no longer be able to live without it.