His poetic output and his political outlook were both nominally influenced by his peasant background; in practice, however, he gave literary expression to the suburban environment (or mahala), and adored the modernist poetry of Tudor Arghezi.

Turning to fascism, Crevedia sympathized with the Iron Guard, and, in the late 1930s, contributed to the press campaigns vilifying ideological enemies, while also putting out novels, reportage pieces, and anthologies.

[1] After completing primary school in his native village,[1] his own high-school education was interrupted by World War I. Niculae was mobilized as a telephone operator at the mayor's office in Crevedia Mare.

[8] As revealed by his private notebooks, Niculae witnessed his father's humiliation by a young platoon leader, as well as his marching into the infantry counterattack of Bălăriile (part of the larger Battle of Bucharest).

[15] Complaining that teaching and studying made him a "misfit",[1] Crevedia took up professional journalism, writing for Curentul, Epoca and Mișcarea; other magazines that ran his work include Rampa, Vremea, and Revista Fundațiilor Regale.

[23] A journalist colleague, Teodor Al. Munteanu, sees young Crevedia as absorbed by peasant issues, adding: "of course, he jumped in to help without delving any deeper, into the real causalities, but rather for daily concerns, for the bare minimum.

In his definition, this meant both "ardent" Romanian nationalism and calls for "social justice", with particular emphasis on "the peasant issue": "The [peasantry] is rotten with illness, still ignorant, morally ruined, and political parties have turned it into bedlam.

[22] As recounted by Munteanu, the young man was unusually sensitive and "ungentlemanly" in his contributions, carrying on disputes in which he "hit below the belt"; in one case, he responded to a literary reviewer at Curentul by drawing attention to his unkempt appearance.

[21] Crevedia also penned panegyrics to the Guard's Captain Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, an "extraordinary organizer" and "profound thinker who reflects on the current issues facing our nation.

[10][15] A flight enthusiast, Crevedia continued to travel throughout Europe,[1] and announced by 1937 that he was planning to publish a travelogue of his trips through the Balkans, a theatrical version of Bacalaureatul lui Puiu, and an anthology of Bulgarian poetry, alongside a new novel, Mămăligă—referencing the folk dish.

[2] In a February letter to Antonescu's new Director of Theaters, Liviu Rebreanu, he declared that "other than [my having] nationalist ideas [...] which are presently a policy of the state, I never engaged in any sort of politics [emphasis in the original].

In November 1941, months after Operation Barbarossa and the reestablishment of Romanian rule in Bessarabia, he was a contributor to Viața Basarabiei of Chișinău—that issue celebrated the new territorial expansions, proposing the full annexation of Transnistria Governorate.

[64] A report by poet Ion Caraion, who was at the time employed by the official newspaper Timpul, and also networking with the anti-fascist underground, Crevedia was sent in from Bulgaria to negotiate with him and some other of his colleagues, "late in 1943".

[16][65][66] Barbu himself dismissed reports of his Gendarme status as produced by "some cretin", and noted that, during the period discussed by Caraion, he was in Bucharest, feeding soup to Jewish forced laborers (because, as he put it: "people of the suburbs have not been, and never will be, antisemitic").

"[68] In July 1945, the Petru Groza government assessed his case and ruled: "From [Crevedia's] articles in Porunca Vremii one can discern a fully antisemitic campaign with incitement and exhortation of the most violent actions.

[70] Following the establishment of Romanian communist regime in 1948, Crevedia found himself shunned from mainstream literature, and continued to write, secretly, poems which explicitly contradicted the guidelines of socialist realism.

[71] As noted by Ciachir, "the regime was aware that Barbu was the natural son of Nicolae Crevedia (Cristev [sic]), the nationalist writer and newspaperman, a former editor at Porunca Vremii and a godson of Nichifor Crainic's."

[3] As noted by critic Ovid Crohmălniceanu, the enterprise, publishing propaganda aimed at the Romanian diaspora, was set up by former political prisoners Crainic and George Ivașcu, with Securitate agents as supervisors.

According to Crohmălniceanu, Crevedia and others, supposed to show the world that freedom of speech existed behind the Iron Curtain, were not in fact "old defenders of democracy", but "had rather filled [with their names] the old fascist press.

"[76] Following relative liberalization and national communism under Nicolae Ceaușescu, Crevedia returned to the public eye with Luceafărul articles on his meetings with Gib Mihăescu (1965)[77] and Ion Barbu (1966).

[3][21] In 1976, his son made his debut as a poetry critic, tentatively discussing Crevedia as a member of the interwar avant-garde and the postwar neo-modernists—on par with both Sașa Pană and Marin Sorescu; this verdict was received with astonishment by other commentators.

[87] From early on, Crevedia created a reputation as a haughty, blustering countryside poet and as a prose writer inclined toward the licentious; gradually, his lyricism became purer and more temperate, in line with an authentic peasant traditionalism.

[92] Some modernist chroniclers were instead welcoming: Pompiliu Constantinescu thought that Bulgări și stele had a "vigorous poetic strength";[93] Octav Șuluțiu assessed that Maria was a "profoundly Romanian", "unitary and organic" work of art.

[95] When dealing specifically with the poetic universe of Bucharest suburbia, his lyrical work was infused with influences from Tudor Arghezi, who, Călinescu argues, was a "prototype", particularly with his Mildew Flowers cycle.

[97] Also supporting the hypothesis that Crevedia's work was largely shaped by Mildew Flowers, critic Șerban Cioculescu saw additional echoes from Sergei Yesenin, particularly in the "daring crudeness" of their shared vocabulary.

He acknowledged that the prose fragment Dragoste veche ("Old Fling") could generate scandal with its sexualized content, but still praised Crevedia for managing to accurately depict a young woman's stubborn "sensual ignorance".

[90] Dragoste cu termen redus, a comedic novel, shows the myopic cadet Vasile Țâgăran faking an illness to escape the dullness of military life, only to fall in love with his nurse, Aurora, and finding out that his unrequited affection is much more unbearable.

"[106] As noted by Lovinescu, both Bacalaureatul lui Puiu and Dragoste cu termen redus were complicit to the point of being "vulgar", and overdone: "Comedic situations are exploited mercilessly, persistently, gleefully, amplified and unchecked.

"[28] Agreeing with Crevedia's politics, but also with his ideal of the "intellectual woman", Bâtiu concluded: "In this literary era of ours, when so many indecent and pornographic books are shamelessly published by authors of dubious origins, these Love Weeds settle in as a gentle breeze".

[114] However, his record in cultural memory remained largely untapped: in 1983, poet Nicolae Stoian had complained that Crevedia, like his younger colleague Mihu Dragomir, had been "relegated into oblivion.