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Florin Lacatus
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I was born on April 7th, 1998, in the north of Romania, on the same day my country celebrated freedom.

 

I come from a modest family, but I was raised with love, faith, and strong values.

My mother has always been more than a mother: she has been my father, my friend, my courage, and my guiding light.

 

I began reading at the age of five, eager to learn about the world. I received a private education and was taught to help people without expecting anything in return.

 

I had the blessing to grow up in a cultural circle that encouraged my voice.

One of the people who believed in me was dr. Felician Pop, who opened the doors of literature and history for me.

At sixteen, I was already working with a local TV station and the County Museum of History. I also played a leading role in Alfazet, a beautiful cultural initiative that shaped my path.

 

At eighteen, I moved to England to continue my studies in healthcare, a road I chose because of my mother’s example. But life often changes direction, and I had to adapt.

Today I live in The Netherlands, where I work as an entrepreneur in professional hospitality services. No matter the job, I try to carry kindness with me.

If there is one regret I hold close to my heart, it is that I didn’t spend more time with my mother, who, at only 48, is now fighting her final battle with cancer.

Now That We Are Awake — A Reflection on Alexander Amete's Poetic Call to Conscience

Blog Posted by Florin Lacatus: 8/5/2025 5:27:00 PM

Alexander Amete's poem, "Now That We Are Awake", stands at the threshold of becoming a generational anthem. It understands the necessity of waking up, yet it hesitates to soil its hands in the mud where true poetry is born. I approach this poem not with the scalpel of cold critique, but with the slow, deliberate gesture of a man lighting a cigarette before answering a question that has no easy answer.

Amete's text is a call to conscience, a lamentation shaped like a sermon, striving to jolt a society lulled into a deadly slumber. The most painful awakenings happen not in the noise of slogans, but in the silence of a kitchen where the bread has grown mold.
 

Strengths: A Solid Foundation


 Amete's poem has several undeniable merits that lay a strong foundation.

Moral Urgency and Relevance: Amete writes with the urgency of a man who has heard the silence of his people become complicit. His voice is clear: "Now that we are awake" is not merely a Nigerian refrain, but a universal echo of those who discover too late that their destinies were traded like cheap merchandise.
 

A Commanding, Direct Voice: The poem addresses its audience with a prophetic tone, invoking collective responsibility. There is no evasive lyricism here. The questions are direct, almost juridical in their cadence. Yet, even the gravest truths need to stumble into a tavern to be believed.

 

The Walls Need Cracks: Where the Poem Must Descend

 

To truly resonate, the poem must move beyond its current form.

  • Abstract Rhetoric vs. the Poetry of Muddy Shoes: The poem's reliance on abstractions ("doom that looms," "firm and hurting grip") risks reducing its power to that of an editorial. The poet should trade his megaphone for a handful of dust.


?Encouragement: Don't just tell us about the "firm grip"; show us the calloused hands of a man who has planted cassava for thirty years, only to see his field swallowed by corporate machines. Don't lament the "mass exodus bandwagon"; describe the cracked heels of a young woman boarding a bus to nowhere. The poem's true force lies in its capacity to show how the macrocosm of betrayal is inscribed on the microcosm of human skin.
 

  • Irony: The Sword Amete Has Not Yet Drawn: The poem's tone is grave, but it lacks the cutting edge of irony. Irony isn't sarcasm; it is the sacred tremor when a people recognizes its own absurdity. Amete's lines need this sword.
     

Encouragement: Imagine a stanza where the people, in their naiveté, gift their oppressors an alarm clock, only to discover it rings in the oppressors' favor. Lines like "We sang lullabies to ourselves / while their bulldozers hummed in chorus" would inject the poem with the bitter smile of historical self-awareness.
 

  • From Collective "We" to the Singular "I" Who Bleeds: The poem consistently uses the collective "we," but awakening begins when a single voice admits: "I, too, slept." The poem lacks this confession.
     

Encouragement: Amete must dare to implicate himself. Perhaps a line where he recalls ignoring a protest or believing a campaign promise. This crack in the poet's armor will let the reader see the vulnerable heart beneath the rhetoric.
 

  • Rhythm and Breath: The Need for Silence Between Shouts: The poem's relentless flow of questions and appeals leaves no space for reflection. Introducing pauses would allow silence to speak as loudly as the words.


Encouragement: Isolate key lines. Let them resonate. For example:
 

"Today is the tomorrow we feared yesterday."

(Pause)

"And yet, our mouths are still agape."
 

Such ruptures in the poem's rhythm wouldn't weaken its urgency but would deepen its impact.
 

  • The Ending Must Not Conclude, But Germinate: The poem ends with a call to sincerity, but a poem must not close a door; it must plant a seed in the reader's pocket.
     

Encouragement: Conclude with a potent image: a child planting a sapling where an oil spill blackened the earth, or an old woman stitching a new flag from torn protest banners. The poem must leave the reader not with a summary, but with a vision.

 

A Poet at the Border of Anthem and Lament


Alexander Amete's poem breathes urgency, but it has yet to cough up the dust of the street. He is close, very close, to transforming his declaration into a living, breathing poem that stains and scars. Poetry, unlike manifestos, doesn't demand applause; it demands complicity. Amete's awakening must become personal, painful, and precise.

The poet's duty isn't to shout the truth, but to make sure the truth doesn't fall asleep again. So in this spirit, I offer this high critique not as a rebuke, but as an invitation. Amete must press his ear closer to the ground, where the heartbeats of his people are already humming their verses.

When he does, "Now That We Are Awake" will cease to be a poem and become a wound that refuses to heal, and thus, it will live.



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Date: 8/6/2025 5:15:00 AM
How did these forum critiques become blogs?
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Woody Avatar
Tom Woody
Date: 8/6/2025 5:46:00 AM
I guess as long as they're ok with it :)
Lacatus Avatar
Florin Lacatus
Date: 8/6/2025 5:38:00 AM
Some people post their poems in both “High Critique” and “Be Gentle” forums. It was clear they wanted to be seen, to stand in the light. At first, I wrote kind words, simple encouragements, to welcome them when they first came. But last night, I decided to write a few blogs too, to bring them more into the open, to give their voices more weight and space. So the quiet forums became places where poems don’t just wait for judgment, they live, they breathe, they shine in their own light.

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