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V. Leac (n. 1973), artist and poet, lives and works between Arad and Bucharest. He has published poetry books, most of them in several revised editions, a few of them renegated; he is a founding member of the literary group Celebrul Animal and of the Ca și Cum magazine. In 2012, together with Bianca Baila, he set up in Timișoara the MOI/Museum of Interior Order. He tok part in the Awaiting Spaces 2013 platform with the project Sugar Factory Oven. Curator of the W.A.D. (The Dependent Artist’s Weekend) event in Arad in 2014. Director of The Village Drones l, 2014; The Village Drones ll, 2015; Descriptive Trajectories with Intruder, for Expanded Space, 2016.
“I have always wanted to write poems for two or three slightly offbeat astronauts, barely having a pulse; drifting throught space, without a certain destination. I want you to imagine the smile of that astronaut, sitting there, at a table by the porthole; sipping his drink – what might that be? After reading you feel like the poem rises on tiptoes; kisses your cheek; then runs away; it stops at a distance; turns around and laughs in your face, like a cunning child whom you feel knows the secret of happiness.”

S. TELLING A STORY
this much-beloved thing
which almost all of us had
and which we seldom part with
seems so plain
but on a closer look it doesn’t seem so
you smell it dearly you caress it like a bottle
going from one hand to another
healing sometimes other times poisoning
always a place of refuge

were i a similar thing
every so often carried by the wind
or just forgotten in a common place
perhaps not even worth
that much attention
sometimes you fall asleep and wake up beside it
it asks for nothing and then you can relinquish
let’s suppose there is nothing after life
save this thing

S. VA SPUNE O POVESTE
acest obiect mult îndrăgit
pe care aproape toţi l-am avut
şi de care rareori ne despărţim
pare atît de simplu
dar studiat cu atenţie nu pare
îl miroşi cu drag îl mîngîi ca pe-o sticlă
trece dintr-o mînă în alta
uneori vindecă alteori otrăveşte
întotdeauna un loc de refugiu

dacă aş fi un obiect asemănător
purtat uneori de vînt
sau pur şi simplu uitat într-un loc banal
poate că nici nu merită atît de mult
să vorbim despre el
uneori adormi şi te trezeşti alături
nu cere nimic iar atunci poţi renunţa
să presupunem că după viaţă nu există nimic
doar acest obiect