The book is a marvellous demonstration of mathematical poetry, where feelings are reduced to the absurd, the soul responds in metaphorical equations and the abstract assumes a body through geometrically thinking letters. The lyric persona asks itself what life is, and the answer is as surprising as all the answers stemming from philosophical reflections about the sense of mankind’s existence. Thus, life hangs somewhere between God’s creation and the curse of individuals.
Love is seen as occupying an abstract sphere beyond the natural and any human feeling, as a theory of separation aiming to preserve the primordial of the memory and the essence of what might have been if it had been something else.
Two preferred topics, raised to the level of obsession and esoteric knowledge, are the creation of mankind and giving birth, both seen as the privilege, the hidden duty and the absolute secret of ‘woman’, the queen of life and death.
Despite the poetry speaking about the mathematics of the soul, in which the soul is perceived as something highly abstract, it does, in fact, become extremely concrete, taking different shapes, assuming different bodies: it has wings with which to fly and be crushed down, it has hands with which to write and to be cut off, it plays and cries like a child, it is hungry and thirsty, it is the wind and the rain, it is a wagon with horses, it is the sun and the moon, but it never forgets that it is immortal.
The poem ‘Descălecare’ [Dismounting] is an allegory of a twisted love, torn between absorption and rejection, metaphorically seen as a crooked horse to which the soul has given birth in pain outside the door of the ‘woman’ (see p. 51).
The poem ‘Sfârșit de noiembrie’ [End of November] is a reflection on identity, an introspective reflection on what the deep ego means: the endless and timeless return to the beginning and to the end of time, to the flight of thoughts and to the wind of writing but, above all, to the thick forests of self-perception and the ethnic identity symbolised by the ‘dusty wagons’ and the ‘winged horses shoed with words’ (p. 55).
The poem ‘Gânduri de noapte’ [‘Night thoughts’] is a curse against a life full of pain and fears but still illuminated by the moonlight, the metaphor of poetry (p. 59).