Ion Caraion

Ion Caraion’s Followers (3)

member photo
member photo
member photo

Ion Caraion


Born
in Rușavăț, Buzău County, Romania
May 24, 1923

Died
July 21, 1986

Genre


Ion Caraion (pen name of Stelian Diaconescu) was a Romanian poet, essayist and translator.

Ion Caraion (pseudonimul literar al lui Stelian Diaconescu) a fost un scriitor, poet și traducător român.

Average rating: 3.93 · 486 ratings · 38 reviews · 42 distinct works
Dragostea e pseudonimul morții

4.25 avg rating — 12 ratings — published 1980
Rate this book
Clear rating
Bacovia sfirsitul continuu

3.89 avg rating — 9 ratings — published 1976
Rate this book
Clear rating
The Error of Being

4.17 avg rating — 6 ratings — published 1994
Rate this book
Clear rating
Cimitirul din stele

4.20 avg rating — 5 ratings — published 1995
Rate this book
Clear rating
Dimineata nimanui

4.50 avg rating — 4 ratings — published 1967
Rate this book
Clear rating
Panopticum

4.50 avg rating — 4 ratings — published 1943
Rate this book
Clear rating
Ion Caraion: Poems

by
it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 3 ratings — published 1981 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
Postume

3.75 avg rating — 4 ratings — published 1995
Rate this book
Clear rating
Polen căzut pe nicio fericire

3.75 avg rating — 4 ratings — published 2024
Rate this book
Clear rating
Oamenii Poeme rostite la Ra...

4.33 avg rating — 3 ratings2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
More books by Ion Caraion…
Quotes by Ion Caraion  (?)
Quotes are added by the Goodreads community and are not verified by Goodreads. (Learn more)

“Din fiecare lipsea câte o parte
fiecare avea o parte în plus
Și le era tuturora frică
de frica de a nu pierde mai mult sau
de a se reîntâlni - sufletește străini - cu cioburile lipsă”
Ion Caraion, Dimineata nimanui
tags: frică

“După ce devii mut
se întâmplă silabe într-adevăr cu adevărat”
Ion Caraion, Dimineata nimanui

“Dehors à la lumière des branches

Éclatant sous leur propre sagesse, les cosses s'ouvraient.
La feuille tombait, grisée, fatiguant l'air.
Un oiseau se débattit au-dessus du mûrier.
Comme un saint Georges au cirque, en automne,
revenu du futur de mon corps,
je dessinai l'au-delà.
Les jours martelaient le silence comme un oreiller.
Forgeron et gardien du feu,
je regarde la montagne, cathédrale
aux blanches torchères de mélèze,
sous laquelle, en pleurs, s'est assise Eurydice.

Après minuit, quand les clowns philosophent,
je scrute la montagne.

(p. 32)”
Ion Caraion, La neige qui jamais ne neige et autres poèmes