Translated from the Romanian and the Swedish by Brenda Walker
So he is a poet
Said mother-in-law with surprise
And a philosopher, smiled father-in-law
A foreigner
Whispered the neighbours
Poetry is nonsense
You can’t make your living by it
My wife reminded me
What do they live on, these poets
Asked the labour exchange
On vitamins
Where do they get them
They pick them
From words
From books
From the air
From the earth
Bark
Shouted the policeman
Poets love to bark at the moon
I don’t bark
I only cry like a wolf sometimes.