Author: Téa Nicolae

🌸 poetess and scholar 🌸 a Devī-bhakta 🕊 🌙 I wore myself out, looking for myself. No one could have worked harder to break the code. I lost myself in myself and found a wine cellar. Nectar, I tell you. There were jars and jars, and no one to drink it. 🌙 Lallā

Hymn to the Bearer of Life by Téa Nicolae

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Hymn to the Bearer of Life

Humming for Grace,

my blood spills out of my veins

to sing Her lullaby.

Humming for Grace,

my tongue thirsts

to curl Her name.

Humming for Grace,

my bones humble themselves

for Her mouth.

Humming for Grace,

my flesh draws the map

of Her wisdom.

All there is

and all I am:

a lotus flower

at the feet of the Divine Enchantress.

As a drop of rain falls into the sea

and a grain of sand drips into the desert,

I am birthed from Her womb,

and to Her womb I return. Blessed be the Earth

that binds us as One.

💜 published in the anthology “in which poetry breathes life”, 2020.

🕊” i wrote this poem for my experimental poetry module in my final year as an undergrad, when our tutor (Polly Atkin!) invited us to view poetry as spellcraft. this exercise, along with my research into spiritual poetry at the time, inspired me to dedicate myself to constructing a lyrical, metaphysical female gaze – much needed in literature, imho.

🕊 the sales for the collection “in which poetry breathes life” were donated to WHO’s covid-19 response fund, and the compiled works explored poetry as an outlet to navigate through the uncertainties of 2020.

🕊 you can purchase the anthology here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Which-Poetry-Breathes-Life-NaPoWriMo/dp/B088N3WS58

🕊 “Spells are poems, poetry is spelling.” ~ from the introduction of the anthology of Occult poetry edited by Sarah Shin & Rebecca Tamás, entitled “Spells”.

x1x2

// Interview // The Emotional Value of Photography for Scan: Arts Culture // Catherine Rose in conversation with Téa Nicolae

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*it was such a pleasure to be interviewed by the wonderful Catherine Rose for Scan! i do not consider myself a photographer in any way, but photography holds a deeply emotional & expressive value for me. you can find the interview online here (&a small typo in my name heh!) 🌷🌞

 

Téa Nicolae is a third-year Film and Creative Writing student. She writes confessional, intimate and experimental poetry, and is greatly interested in Eastern philosophy, eco-spirituality and psychedelia. I spoke to Tea about the emotional, deeply personal and often nostalgic quality of polaroid photography.

So, Téa, what do you use to take your photographs?

I use my iPhone, a Fujifilm mini polaroid and a Nikon D3200. I’ve had my polaroid for about six years and my camera for nine, and they naturally hold a lot of sentimental value for me. It’s touching for me to think about how much time I’ve had them for and how many beautiful memories they froze for me. However, I find myself often avoiding using my camera. I use my phone and my polaroid instead, as I am very drawn to candid photography and I feel like the two capture ‘the moment’ more. I’ve noticed that people usually become tense when they see a professional camera and are more likely to ‘perform’ themselves instead of just being.

Your photography encompasses a really soft and nostalgic feel; as a writer, is the emotional quality of capturing images important to you?

As photography mainly represents a way of preserving memories for me, I find that my feelings often dictate whether I want to take a photo or not. If I am touched by intense emotion, be it negative or positive, I capture my surroundings. Even the photos of landscapes that I take instantaneously evoke what I experienced at that moment. Photos preserve my inner world, which greatly helps my writing process.

Your photography has a dream-like quality stylistically, with dust-flecks and pale filters, making your photographs feel like tiny evocative memories.

Thank you! To an extent, I do believe that nostalgia is the reason I take photos. I do not consider myself a ‘photographer’ by any means, but I deeply enjoy taking photos of everything that surrounds me: people that I love, animals that warm my heart, the beauty of places I find myself in. My polaroid photos are plastered on the frames of my mirrors. I started decorating my room like this the year that I left my home in Romania and moved here at university. My first month in the UK was overwhelming and I couldn’t help feeling lonely and homesick. However, waking up every morning to see the loving faces of my close friends and family smiling at me from the walls of my dorm greatly comforted me. Photos also help me express gratitude for the past and embrace the changes of the present.

What is your dream photography travel destination?

India, probably. I am fascinated by India’s rich culture and I have a deep respect for the wise, esoteric Hindu philosophy. I dream of visiting during Diwali, the Festival of Lights. The photos I’ve seen, from friends and online strangers, are astonishing. It would be such a wonder to be there, to capture the profoundness and intensity of this enchanting experience, to further share it with the world.

SCAN interview

the featured photos:

Processed with RNI Films. Preset ‘Agfa Precisa 100’
Processed with RNI Films. Preset ‘Agfacolor 40’s Warm’
Processed with RNI Films. Preset ‘Agfa Precisa 100’
Processed with RNI Films. Preset ‘Agfa Optima 200’

*the four vertical ones were taken while visiting Rome with my high-school friends. i was in a lot of pain at the time and i was torn between immersing myself in Rome’s beauty, trying to connect with my friends and honouring the process. to me, the photos therefore commemorate that angsty bitter-sweetness. the hands featured are my dear friend’s Rada. the horizontal photo taken at sunset in an empty parking lot immortalises my friend, Lia and the end of high school. 🌷🌞

Tea-Nicolae-Ivy
speaking of Scan, my bunny, Ivy, was featured in their Pets in Quarantine article! hihi 🙂

Ānanda by Téa Nicolae

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*poem published in ‘get well soon’, online zine put together by Dan Power, compiled with poems of shared experience from self-isolation. i’m very honoured to be included in this collection! 🌸 the poems are soothing and they will hopefully warm many in these uncertain times 💛

i allow myself
to feel joy,
peeling carrots
with my grandmother,
stroking my nose
against my doe rabbit’s
i allow myself
to feel beauty,
adorning my neck
with rose quartz necklaces,
gazing at the night sky
sliding itself into dawn
i allow myself
to feel stillness,
laying my naked skin
in fresh lavender sheets,
placing hands on my belly,
counting eleven deep breaths
i allow myself
to feel grief,
embellishing my knees
with tears, planting kisses
on the blisters
that bejewel my skin
i allow myself
to twinkle alive,
tulle pressed
to my damp thighs,
dancing with my
hands above my head

i
allow
life
to flow
through
me

 

*ānanda is a sanskrit word that means ‘joy’, ‘bliss’ and ‘divine happiness’. 🌼 the poem was inspired by Hareesh’s words: ‘There exists the possibility for joy (ānanda) in any and every experience. By joy (ānanda) I do not mean ‘extreme happiness’, but rather a kind of deep loving acceptance of any given present-moment reality’. 🌼

*from the zine’s foreword:

‘Self-isolation is a weird contradiction – we’re separated from the world, and across the world we’re sharing an experience. When the curtains are drawn, the outside world stays outside. What this collection hopes to do is to throw those curtains open, to wave through the window. We’re sharing our experiences to prove that we’re not alone, that all of this means something.’

 

ananda

☼ i breathe, i accept my grief by téa nicolae

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*here’s an optimistic poem of mine to soothe the social distancing process. ❤  along with three other poems, it was published in Scan Arts & Culture, in the section ‘Four Incantations for Loss, Joy and Love’. 

 

i wake up at dawn

and i find happiness

in slicing an apple

and munching on it

 

breathe

i accept my grief

 

i find beauty

in standing barefoot in the middle of the kitchen,

feeling breadcrumbs stick

to my pinky toe

 

i breathe

i accept my grief

 

i learn there is joy in cutting tomatoes,

in making a bowl of soup,

in having my stomach full

 

breathe

i accept my grief

 

i uncover the childish glee of

having the tip of my tongue burnt

and gratitude runs between my fingers like water

being alive is warm

there is kindness

in tuning in

 

and i breathe

i accept

my

grief. ☼

when the last tree burns by téa nicolae

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 *poem published in the 27th issue of Balkan Beats, which centres on everything green and sustainable  ♥

when the last tree burns

 

and the last drop of water falls

when the soil dries and crumbles

and the Earth’s womb shrivels

when loss swells in the air

and death curls in the dust

there will be no one left to murmur

forgive us, Mother,

for defiling you.

i wrap my sadness in sequins by téa nicolae

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*poem published in Cake Magazine.

i wrap my sadness in sequins.

i pour my sadness in fake eyelashes,

in glitter nails

in green hair dye

and i take my sadness out for a dance.

flash lights,

spilled drinks,

heels that crush your toes.

i lock hands with my sadness

and sway on sticky dance floors.

my sadness holds up her pocket mirror

in grimy club bathrooms

and she puts on three layers of red lipstick

while i rub off mine.

i ask my sadness to pull up my torn zipper

while, pupils enlarged,

i hum stevie nicks adoringly.

i throw a clumsy arm over my sadness

and guide her to another club.

i grind on empty party anthems

and, when boys try to kiss me,

i brush them off

because i’m loyal to my sadness.

at the end of the night

i crawl to mc donald’s with my sadness

one veggie burger large fries one large fanta oh and can i have some ketchup please

i stuff my face with my sadness

and we hail a cab in silence.

home

my sadness whispers gutted love declarations to me

and then tucks me in my bed gently.

i wrap my sadness in sequins
poem published in Cake Magazine 💙✨ i wrote it in my first year of uni for one of my seminars and it’s my favourite poem from that time. when i sat down to write it, my intention was to write about club culture and the glitz and the glammy, sticky sadness that came with it (for me) and this came out! 💙
Processed with RNI Films. Preset 'Agfa Optima 200'
Kayla Jenkins made such a lovely illustration for my poem! 🥰

my hips are bruised in my dreams by téa nicolae

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*poem published in Eunoia Review

 

my hips are bruised in my dreams

and i wake up itching,

pressing my fingers onto my thighs,

covering my purple skin.

 

my hips swell in my dreams

and tentacles circle my feet,

wrapping around my toes when i walk

and i stumble and fall on my face.

when i wake up,

my cheeks ache.

 

my wrists have blisters in my dreams

and there is ash under my fingernails.

when i wake up,

my hands are swollen.

 

on cold nights

when i’m afraid to go to sleep

i light three candles

and hug my knees.

i promise myself

that one day

i won’t dream of bruises

 

one day

my dreams will be amber

and i’ll wake up with warmth

in my stomach.

 

 

my hips are bruised in my dreams
❤

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i dream that my teeth fall out at night by téa nicolae

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*a shortened version of this poem was shortlisted for the Literary Lancashire Award and published in the LLA Anthology 2019, extremely grateful and so, so tearful ❤

 

dear A,

i dream that my teeth fall out at night

and i swallow them,

one by one.

my teeth scratch the insides of my throat

and i choke on them.

i wake up crying,

cover my mouth and scream into my fingers,

pushing my hands into my forehead,

as if i’m trying to pull my mind out of my head.

it’s been one month since your funeral.

 

dear A,

i am crying all the time now.

i cry for you in the shower

i cry for you in front of my untouched breakfast

i cry for you in toilets in metro stations

i cry for you gracelessly doing my make-up

i cry for you when i wash my hair with blueberry shampoos

i cry for you when i read your messages, the 67th time.

i cry and i long for you,

i cry and i long for you.

 

dear A,

some days

i cry less and i eat apples

some days

i wear red and buy you flowers.

some days

my mind blocks my pain

and i am better.

some days

my friends make me laugh

and i find comfort in being alive.

 

i dread those days.

those days my head swims in guilt

and my shame thumps in my ears.

those days i feel myself forgetting you

and i wish i could glue your eyes to my mind.

 

when those days end,

i break my mind with photos of you

and i dream of melting.

 

dear A,

i’m soaking in loss and i’m chanting buddhist mantras

 

dear A,

they say that i should surrender my grief

they say that we are bound together,

even if i heal

but how can it be

when you only exist through my pain

 

dear A,

i am willing to suffer each day for you

so you do not to die again.

 

LLA Award
from the LLA Anthology 2019

 

i untangle my youth by téa nicolae

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*poem published and illustrated in tastzine. it was my first time having my poetry illustrated and i was over the moon ❤

 

i untangle my youth

in wild cities that make me squirm

thirstily clinging to fruit flavoured wine

and burning my tongue with round-shaped pills

 

i feel the party to my core

i dance violently

contorting my limbs

to trivial dance anthems

i throw myself against my friends’ bodies

hungry for empty affection

 

when i shut my eyes

i float

as the bass, the drums, the music

flow through my veins

and strengthen my bones

 

at closing time

we leave the dance floor holding hands

whispering untold truths

with damp cheeks

i tremble in my oversized coat

but i relish the warmth in our laced fingers

 

5:11 in the morning

we dance on the westminster bridge

spiralling in sequins,

i stretch my arms and roll my head

and the stars are closer

i twirl and i wish

i could cradle them in my hand

 

the ferris wheel glows and my friends sparkle

and i want to glue their faces to my mind

 

my best friend turns to me

sweaty,

with a glimmer in his eyes and chewing on a cigarette

“i wish my mother could be this happy”,

he says with adoration

and

i cry.

i untangle my youth
“This beautiful and vivid poem is by Tea Nicolae. It’s about being young and wild, and partying, and enjoying yourself just out of being yourself, right there right now.”

layla curled her hair when she was sad

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today i read out a poem about a dear friend’s struggle with an eating disorder at the feminist x writers collab open mic, which raised money for SEED, a charity dedicated to providing the necessary support and guidance for people who suffer from eating disorders.

it was very humbling to watch my friend fight and overcome her pain. her bravery is inspiring, raw and real.  my writing doesn’t do her story justice, but i hope it will help inspire others and it will shed light on how real eating disorders are and how heartbreaking it is that they can be dismissed so lightly.
to my friend: i’m so grateful you are in my life. all my love and light to you. you shine ✨

 

 

layla curled her hair when she was sad

 

layla curled her hair when she was sad

and picked at her food with clumsy fingers

“one more bite”

i used to urge,

and she would shake her head with a smile.

 

layla counted the calories in her food when she was sad.

“i think i’ve lost weight again”, she would say,

looking at her feet.

i counted how many crisps she’d had in my head

as she pushed her food with her fork.

 

layla wrote poems when was sad.

when she read me a poem she wrote about food,

i tried not to break in front of her.

i wished she could see how kind,

warm

and brave she was.

i wished she craved to fill herself

with the gentleness she carried for others.

 

layla cried when she was sad

and i held her tightly.

“why do i treat myself so horribly”

she whispered in my hair.

 

when layla was told that she would end up in hospital

if she lost any more weight

she vowed to be as kind to herself

as she was to others.

 

she struggled for four months

to fight her mind and her belly

and she cried and hurt

as i stared helplessly.

but when she picked herself up

she held her head high,

like a warrior.

 

today layla curls her hair when she feels grateful

and she sends me photos of clean plates.

she tells me she feels hunger with bright eyes

“i’ve never felt hungry before.

now i crave hot-boiled potatoes.”

 

“i felt full

because i fed my brain the wrong things.”

she tells me softly

as pride floods my heart.

 

openmic
reading out at the feminist x writers open mic