Lucian Blaga, 1919
When Serpent gave Eve the apple, he talked
with a voice that sounded
From within leaves like a silver bell.
But it also happened he whispered then
something in her ear too
softly, untellable softly,
something not told even in scriptures.
Not even God heard what exactly he whispered
Though he was listening too
And Eve didn't want to tell Adam also.
Ever since, the woman hides under her eyelid a secret
and moves her eyebrow like telling
she knows something
we all don't,
and nobody knows,
not even God.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Thursday, June 23, 2016
The She Cricket
Lucian Blaga, 1964
Heavy all, the time, the step.
Heavy start and heavy stop.
Heavy dust and heavy air,
Hard on shoulder, hard to bear.
But the heaviest of all
Is the end of path, the fall.
Just to bring peace to my heart
Chirps she cricket in the the hearth:
Lighter than a life so harsh
It's the ash only the ash.
Heavy all, the time, the step.
Heavy start and heavy stop.
Heavy dust and heavy air,
Hard on shoulder, hard to bear.
But the heaviest of all
Is the end of path, the fall.
Just to bring peace to my heart
Chirps she cricket in the the hearth:
Lighter than a life so harsh
It's the ash only the ash.
Friday, June 17, 2016
Song In The Night
Lucian Blaga, 1961
Rocks in my way, always rocks.
No one shows me in the dark.
Up to you there’s not one rock
That still wants to be a rung.
There are rocks and only rocks.
On my wishful path at night,
Hard to please so hard to please
Is the God of rocks tonight.
Long is my way, hour’s high.
Praying God and keep on praying,
Moon to help me in the night
So i get to you my darling.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Too Late In Paris
by Adrian Păunescu
When i traveled to Paris was late, and too old,
didn't have either luck, either call, either guts,
where i am, i wake up full of wish to take hold
and with painful legs stick myself to the grounds.
Not for me, not a bit of the post modern Hades
me in caves, just right now, i would only find room,
on a stone in a river i wish to set bed,
any travel to Paris seems now a no-won.
Are three quarters in ground those of my generation,
what to do me right here without any of them,
gloriously disabled, near you i should hasten,
and absurdly is calling the madness on drums.
When i traveled to Paris was late and too old
memory has been cleaned, there's a void in it
had been better to taste it when it was forbidden
but today i can't raise from the place where i sit.
And i miss of Brâncuşi, most of all, of Brâncuşi,
if i wasn't too late, just because of a bet,
could have roamed by his windows, or slept at his doors,
for his work could have been just a rock.
I was sentenced to be just Romanian, always,
so good night to the city of eternal light,
when i traveled to Paris was late and too old,
let's go home there's no reason to linger in sight,
too expensive for me to die here on the site.
When i traveled to Paris was late, and too old,
didn't have either luck, either call, either guts,
where i am, i wake up full of wish to take hold
and with painful legs stick myself to the grounds.
Not for me, not a bit of the post modern Hades
me in caves, just right now, i would only find room,
on a stone in a river i wish to set bed,
any travel to Paris seems now a no-won.
Are three quarters in ground those of my generation,
what to do me right here without any of them,
gloriously disabled, near you i should hasten,
and absurdly is calling the madness on drums.
When i traveled to Paris was late and too old
memory has been cleaned, there's a void in it
had been better to taste it when it was forbidden
but today i can't raise from the place where i sit.
And i miss of Brâncuşi, most of all, of Brâncuşi,
if i wasn't too late, just because of a bet,
could have roamed by his windows, or slept at his doors,
for his work could have been just a rock.
I was sentenced to be just Romanian, always,
so good night to the city of eternal light,
when i traveled to Paris was late and too old,
let's go home there's no reason to linger in sight,
too expensive for me to die here on the site.
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Adrian Sârbu, omul care a furat revoluția
Astăzi nu am putut sta liniștit dreq acasă și m-am dus la ocean. Cred că a fost cea mai nașpa ieșire la ocean din viața mea. Am condus în total 4 ore, 187 de mile, 300 km și am stat acolo doar o oră. 81 Farenheit, 27 C e destul de cald și a fost singura ocazie când vântul bătea dinspre uscat. Pe un lac lângă ocean la Tillamook Bay erau trei cu caiace și am impresia că dinspre ei venea un praf căci la un moment dat m-am simțit foarte iritat.
Când am plecat și am ajuns la bifurcația dintre 26 și 6, traficul era blocat spre Seaside. Am mers vreo 15 minute în direcția aceea după care m-am întors și am luat-o spre Tillamook. Se conducea haotic. Doi motocicliști m-au depășit în mare viteză pe un pod îngust. Numai faze din astea. Când am ajuns și m-am dat jos din mașină mi-a picat fisa. De câteva zile mă tot întrebam și azi m-am prins. Marian Munteanu e Adrian Sârbu.
Nu a fost Iliescu, Roman era real, dar regizorul a fost el, Adrian Sârbu. Stânga, cu capul în mijlocul hărții. Producătorul, Ronald Lauder, fiul lui Estee Lauder, patronul MediaPro, fost ambasador al SUA în Austria în 86-87.
În iunie și-a aranjat altfel barba și părul și s-a făcut Marian Munteanu.
Nasul, pare altfel fiindcă e dintr-un unghi "de dedesubt". În prima poză are capul înclinat iar unghiul e "de deasupra".
"Dacă mai era nevoie, reamintim că Marian Munteanua stat în comă timp de patru zile în 1990".
În comă 4 zile, data de pe poza AFP este 15/06.
http://www.reportervirtual.ro/2015/03/intrebarea-anului-la-realitatea-tv-realizator-catre-marian-munteanu-ati-fost-batut-in-piata-universitatii.html
https://www.google.com/search?q=rimmel&source=lnms&tbm=isch