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Ștefan Dumitrescu - BRÂNCUŞI



 B R A N C U S I

Constantin Brancusi
Miss Pogany
Artist`s mother



Constantin Brâncuşi

Domnişoara Pogany

Mama artistului






In this introduction I will try to give a reliable overview of both the work and the writer Stefan Dumitrescu, today 62 years old, member of the Writers Union of Romania, one of the greatest European writers, with an impressive published and unpublished  literary work… By Stefan Dumitrescu, Romania would indeed have the chance to take the first Romanian Nobel Prize if the writer were not so envied and marginalized in his country … a typical Romanian disease  since the Romanians are the only nation that have the saying „Let  die the neighbour’s goat.” All of today’s leading writers of Romania know that Stefan Dumitrescu is the writer with the most important and rich literary work, but no one say a word about it… Instead this writer has been proposed  for many years for the Nobel Prize by Cultural Foundations,  Societies of writers, cultural personalities …

When I first read his books and manuscripts, I was, as Ana Blandiana, deeply impressed by the „shocking” talent of the young writer, by the depth and originality of his ideas put into his writings, by his thirst of knowledge, his obsession to enter as deep as possible into the „abysmal condition of the human phenomenon” (from this point of view Stefan Dumitrescu carries forward the Dostoyevskian request, to know the depth of the human soul, and of the „Romanian soul.” See his novel, „FM Dostoevsky commited suicide in Bucharest”, which is now released on the international online book market by an American publisher). The first books and manuscripts, that came to me by-ways in the 80s when the writer was very young, talked about an author who had not only an overflowing imagination with a deep and warm style, but who came in the literature with a blast and a new spirit, whose literary innovations, whose endeavor stood outside literature.

From this point of view the poet Ana Blandiana, who launched and published Stefan Dumitrescu much in the 1970s, was right to talk about an author who came with ” his risky released soul” in the space of literature. „I say that this launch is courageous and risky because it occurs outside the well-worn road of poetry, because Stefan Dumitrescu both versifies beautifully and with much talent in a known or surmised  lyricism but he creates his own frames, his  own reference systems „). Ana Blandiana is the writer who, in 1971, in the „Amphitheatre” Review, had the courage to impose Stefan Dumitrescu in the Romanian literature, and presented him to the public in a brilliant  way:

„A country with cosmic valleys in which birds blossom, whose sky is sustained by the choir of virgins, whose flags are the souls of ancestors gone to battle, a hallucinating country, a land full of songs and blinded by the light, is glorified by Stefan Dumitrescu in his recent lyrics, a strange poet, with his soul released risky, bridge over the liric gap, whose shore beyond can`t be known.  I say that this launch is courageous and risky because it occurs outside the well-worn  roads of poetry, because Stefan Dumitrescu both versifies beautifully and with much talent in a known or surmised  lyricism but he creates his own frames, his  own reference systems. Each of his poems is an opening into a world created by himself, a world in which birds walk armed and sing in the ruins of the flutes. Talent beyond any doubt, restless and constantly burning, author of essays reinterpreting myths and of poems rebuilding the universe, Stefan Dumitrescu is a tougher, more steeply, more subdued to suffering and anguish than the clear Dan Verona, but equally certain and True.”

Ana Blandiana, „Amphitheater” Review, no. 2, 1971.

The poet Ştefan Dumitrescu started being discovered by Miron Radu Paraschivescu, who published his first poems in 1967 in the magazine „Branches” (”Ramuri”), under the pseudonym, when he  was only 17 years old. In a warm and  encouraging letter,  Miron Radu Paraschivescu wrote him: „If you’re going on this way, my dear, you`ll go a great way”.  The poet Miron Radu Paraschivescu`s urge is seen today, nearly half a century, to have been a prophecy, a revelation!

However. Ana Blandiana is that who found and released him as a far-reaching writer who over 40 years would give an impressive work in the Romanian and European literature.

Two years later, in autumn 1973, because Stefan Dumitrescu was a hope of Romanian literature, Adrian Paunescu demands to open the famous and criticized the FLAME Literary Circle with the poet Stefan Dumitrescu. The young poet read at the first meeting of the FLAME Literary Circle an entire volume of poetry, entitled „Nicolae LABIŞ- COSMOGONIC PORTRAIT „, which strongly impressed  the public. On this occasion Adrian Paunescu said about Stefan Dumitrescu: „Stefan Dumitrescu is a chance of the Romanian literature. Stefan Dumitrescu is a great chance of the Romanian Literature „.

Literary critic Cioculescu Serban, who took part at that first meeting,  was impressed by the poetry of Stefan Dumitrescu, saying about him: „Stefan Dumitrescu is a very interesting poet and I will watch him with all my attention”

Serban Cioculescu, „FLAME” REVIEW, 1973

The writer and scientist Ioan Crisan saw Stefan Dumitrescu as a great writer since 1973. „Stefan Dumitrescu is a deep and serious writer. He`s one of those writers who gives content to a whole era”

IOAN CRISAN, writer, scientist, 1973.

Many of Stefan Dumitrescu`s manuscripts, because they had no chance to pass censorship, circulated in the years of communism „underhand”, privately. Therefore this writer’s books could not be published during the Communist period. After 1990 ‘s his books were to be printed one after another. Especially the writer was part of the Revival Group since 1976, a group that helped young people who were very gifted creators to make discoveries, to create theories, literary and scientific works, which later triggered in Romania a kind of cultural Renaissance, Renaissance to draw after it the entire Romanian society…Unfortunately the Romanian Intelligentsia and the Romanian people, Romanian society are too sick, too lacking in energy, are suicidal to be able to trigger a renaissance. We, Romanians, are good only to assassinate our values, to promote shabby fellows, nulities and thieves, and throw aside each other. It is a very effective way by which we commit suicide.

Discussion with ION CRISAN, writer, scientist, 1973.

As I said, since the early works of Stefan Dumtrescu, I realized that I am in front of a particular writer, not only very talented, burning like a flame, who comes in literature with tremendous strength, but has another „size”, another dimension, another caliber, he is on a European level, is the writer of European or worldwide breadth, like  Thomas Mann, Albert Camus, Garcia Marquez. How George Enescu is in music, for example, compared with other Romanian composers. His literary creation, whether there are volumes of poetry, prose, novels, short stories, or theater, „sounds” different, it does not sound at all localist, has a European timbre, has a European dimension. In fact in the presentation done by Ana Blandiana to Stefan Dumitrescu, she intuited, revealed that truth, when the writer was only 21, that: „Stefan Dumitrescu both versifies beautifully and with much talent in a lyricism known or surmised,  and creates his own frames, his own reference systems. Each of his poems is an opening into a world created by himself, a world in which birds walk armed and sing in the ruins of the flutes”and ” a soul released risky, a bridge over the lyric gap, whose shore beyond is unknown „.

Stefan Dumitrescu is really a bridge between classic and modern, a bridge over the gap between the national and universal spirit, between real and transcendental. We believe that we have defined him very well in a literary Chronicle, written in 1993, an excerpt from this Chronicle being on the fourth cover of the prose book „Ancestral Bottom „, 1993.  Here’s a „picture” as true as possible of the writer, as we saw him in 1993: „Poet, prose writer, playwright, essayist, literary critic, philosopher, political analyst, this man so good, with an expression of a ever wondering child, is one of the most ardent and restless consciousness of his age. When the Romanians will really know the true depth of Stefan Dumitrescu`s work, will be surprised that a writer of the same value like Thomas Mann, or Albert Camus, was unknown among them. At the end of this century, Ştefan Dumitrescu is the spearhead of the Romanian literature thrust deeply into universality. I would compare with Mircea Eliade, but,  being acquainted with much of his work, I know that Stefan Dumitrescu is like himself.

       Francesca Pini, litarary critic, 4th cover of the book : „Ancestral Bottom”, 1993

In the same year the writer Ion Zubaşcu noticed also that the writer Stefan Dumitrescu is part of that very rare typology of „total” writers, creators who manifest a wide space of creation, which open up new paths „in culture” and found  „schools” in their lifetime. Here’s what the editor Ion Zubaşcu wrote in the „Magazin” Review , in 1993, when the  was 43 years old: „In everything you do and think, you rather have the aura of a founder. I think you should gather around your disciples, by working directly on the live destinies through the students who would be able to continue your work, raising forts of the spirit or cities of mind just as durable as those created under the shade of the ancient olive trees. We are living  in times too petty and money-oriented to find a magazine open immediately to what you think. The only solution would be to ask a publishing house like Humanitas that might be interested in the scope of your visions. ”

ION ZUBAŞCU, writer, Express Magazine, no. 4, 1993

Very talented, as Ana Blandiana presented him (Stefan Dumitrescu first wrote poetry), as the literary columnist of „Reality” Magazine, Dumi Nedelcu, wrote : „Reading the lyrics of Stephen Dumitrescu,  remain somewhere between real and ideal, lecturing his novel „Delirium”, a sequel of M. Preda’s masterpiece, we are amazed by his talent and originality. This novel will soon be printed and we recommend it to all lovers of true literature „, Dumi Nedelcu, „Realitatea”  Magazine, Galatzi, June 2000).

An exciting text was written by Doru Motoc: Stefan Dumitrescu is first and foremost a great poet: „You wrote a book of love poetry absolutely exceptional (” MOUNT BURDENED WITH LOVE „, Marea Neagra Publishing House.”) . That’s all I read most beautiful and noble in recent years, when our poetry was suffocated by a wave of hogwash and abject pornography. The fact that you still keep the flag up gives me courage. But again and again I realize how right you were when you made ​​that fantastic diagnosis that we are an axiofag  people (distroying its own values). That’s right! We don`t appreciate our true values​​, we don`t help and promote them, we don`t know how to attract the world attention upon them, to make the world aware of them.  What a pity! ” 29.05. 2008  Doru Moţoc.

But Stefan Dumitrescu is a novelist with a terrible force, who investigates the inside continent of the human phenomenon, penetrating its depth, describing the folds of the human „ocean bottom” accurately and with a humanism that impresses. That’s why I compare him  in the text above with Thomas Mann, Albert Camus.

Here’s how the writer Alexandru Magereanu sees Stefan Dumitrescu after reading his novel „Delirium, Volume II”, the sequel to the novel „Delirium, Volume I, by Marin Preda as Marin Preda  would have written it (we sincerely believe that the novel „Delirium”, Volume II was inspired from other dimension by the spirit of Marin Preda, very rarely in literature) :

„Dear Stefan! I have read Moromete`s novel all in one breath. („Delirium, Volume II” sequel of „Delirium, Volume I” by Marin Preda) and I really liked how you wrote it. I say, leave aside all the concerns and go on and write novels! You have plenty of talent, do not waste it. Take advantage of it and give our Country and our literature everlasting works! Take advantage of the your age and life that gives you so many opportunities and you will remain unforgettable for readers, for the country. You`ve got a magnetic power in every word written! You have a special power to catch the essence of life! You`ve already had a valuable experience of writing! It won`t be hard to manage. So write, dear Stefan! ”

Alexander Magereanu, poet, Oradea, 80 years old

But Stefan Dumitrescu is a very talented playwright. He  is certainly one of the greatest world playwrights, giving more valuable plays than Camus, Sartre, Tennesse Williams or Arthur Miller. Here’s what impression Dumitrescu`s plays have made to some  theater people, who really wanted to help him acting his plays: Liviu Ciulei, the great Director, said in a letter to the author of „Laughter”: „I understand why thirty years ago Teatrul Mic (Little Theater) put the play ” Laughter ”  into the drawer. Of course the modern style of the play scared them – at that time– and they were thoughts about possible allusions and comparisons with that present ( communist age). Let us hope that God will give me strength to see this play on the stage of Bulandra Theater in Bucharest. ” (Liviu Ciulei).

The Romanian actor, Celestine Duca, settled in Paris, wanted to help Stefan Dumitrescu to stage „Laughter” in Paris : „I`ve read your play „Laughter” and I found it interesting, original and fun! I’m with you. I will help you break up the crust of indifference. I intend to give it to the Theatre of Poche, founded by Eugen Ionesco, where his plays were performed and by virtue of which he became a member of the French Academy (Académie française). I also think to give it to an actor, very well-known in France, who has mastered the art of laughing”. – Celestine Duca. July 16, 2000. Paris.

Ion Tobosaru, Professor of theater science, academician, spoke admiringly about Stefan Dumitrescu`s talent and theatre vocation: „His vocation to dramatic literature gets the colours of certainty.

“Laughter” by Ştefan Dumitrescu makes up a lasting opus regarding its structure and the problems that spur the interest and the expressive literary phrases. His talent is obvious, as well as his dramatic experience. Inventive, intelligent, thorough and allusive-document  and fiction, art of moral portrait and of intensity of conflict – man and drama create a structure which the literary guild has to enlighten, to submit it to a redeeming projection and effort. 

ION TOBOSARU – Professor, academician, aesthtetician. Text on the fourth cover of the book „Complete Dictionary of I. L. Caragiale`s drama”

Romanian-born Argentinian writer Alina Diaconu, who translated his poems and stories publishing them in Argentina, realized that she meets a great writer:

„I congratulate you, you are a great writer, I’m extremely glad knowing you this way”.

ALINA DIACONU, Romanian-Argentine writer, established in Argentina, 28, July, 2007 ..

I am very happy that at those over 70 years of mine I saw, a long time before others, in my young brother, Mr. Stefan Dumitrescu, a major European writer, a writer as great as, if not greater than many writers who got the Nobel Prize.  I remain, as in 1994, of the same belief that they are not many writers in the world to be „total writers”, who give valuable works in all genres of literature, and who are, as Mircea Eliade, the Romanian famous writer, scientists, too.  Here’s what I wrote about Stefan Dumitrescu in 1994, nearly 20 years ago:

„Stefan Dumitrescu is currently one of the Romanian writers with the largest and the most profound work. Type of the total  writer, and of the total man, Stefan Dumitrescu wrote novels which will have celebrity of Marquez’s novels, plays that will shake the consciousness for centuries from now, essays with an impressive horizon of synthesis, a „History of Romanian dramaturgy” as well as poems for children of an infinite tenderness. In this volume, a volume of impressive poetry screaming his slove for Basarabia, and also his consciousness of  deep „wound” of national being, Stefan Dumitrescu reminds us in the most painful way,  that we are Romanians, that we are ONE BEING with the mourning Feeling and Consciousness!”

Francesca Pini, lecturer, 1994.

Few people know that Stefan Dumitrescu, one of the important members of the Futurology Office in Bucharest, is the one who discovered the Third major Type of Intelligence (the writer is Licentiate of the Faculty of Philosophy, Bucharest, 1973, his specialities being Psychology, Pedagogy, Sociology , Economics, Futurology, fields in which he gave valuable works) which he called „Positive Intelligence and Negative Intelligence”. Stefan Dumitrescu is the author of a paramount work that revolutionizes Economics, entitled „XXI CENTURY NEW ECONOMIC SCIENCE OR PSYCHO-ECONOMICS” describing the discovery of the economic system of the future, called  the „SOCIO-ECONOMIC SYSTEM OF EVOLUTION” . It`s an economic system that knows no unemployment and economic crisis, which will likely save human civilization from this terrible crisis, artificial and natural at the same time, which we are living now.

Few people know that Stefan Dumitrescu is the one who discovered  „Ways by which countries can emerge from the current economic crisis VERY EASILY  IN A SHORT PERIOD OF TIME, without being diminished wages and pensions, without being increased taxes and with no Unemployment” (This paper was published in serial in the” Destiny ” Review of the Romanian Writers’ Society of Canada)

These Dumitrescu`s findings could  save from suffering, from stress and humiliation billions  of people … Maybe someone interests them …

Other author’s works, which could become global best-seller, and would do a lot of good to people, are:  „Theory of Revolution of Good” and „Psychotherapy and Education through Good!

Stefan Dumitrescu resembles Mircea Eliade, as I said, that is he is the author of a precious literary value, very complex, covering a wide range of topics, ideas, myths, which he interprets in a unified, original vision, but he is also the creator of a scientific work, in the field of social science, an extraordinary, pioneering work, which opens up new horizons in human knowledge.. Stefan Dumitrescu is by excellence a far-reaching mind of synthesis, so we find that literary and scientific works intertwine, they enrich one another. By his entire work Stefan Dumitrescu joins the universal triad Mircea Eliade, Eugène Ionesco (the author of an original drama of great value) and Emil Cioran. Dumitrescu is an essayist of substance, with an astonishing power of analysis and of re-interpretation. It`s no doubt that being published by Great Western Publishing  Houses, Stefan Dumitrescu will impress the readers and  will gain their sympathy and love.

I have already said that Stefan Dumitrescu has been proposed for many years to award the Nobel Prize by Cultural Foundations, such as Romanian Aid Cultural Foundation, „Country” Foundation , by Societies of writers, such as Society of Romanian Writers of Basarabia, several cultural figures, Publishing houses, Magazines. We present below the proposal to the Nobel Prize Committee in Stockhlom sent by the Romanian Writers’ Society of Moldavia, that impressed us with its essentiality and objectivity.


Det Norske


Henrik Ibsens gate 51,

N-0255 OSLO

+47 22 12 93 10    FAX



Thr Romanian Writers Society of The Republic of Basarabia, whose target is to promote and develop the literary process, consolidation and rebirth of the Romanian spirituality in Moldova, the  patriotic education on the basis of the national historical traditions, linguistic education of all the generations, to cultivate among the members of this association the particular Romanian  soul and nature, its ancient traditions, proposes the writer Stefan Dumitrescu to the Committee for Awarding the Nobel Prize for Literature in Stockholm.

The reason of our proposal : nowadays the writer Stefan Dumitrescu is a writer with a vast and deep literary work. We are very much impressed by the depth of his thoughts about the destiny of hunam beings, his  infinite  love for His Majesty :  Man

A total writer and a total man, he is a remarkable personality in our contemporary literature, creating immortal universal value works.

We wish him good luck and great success in his nobel way to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature!  May God bless him!!!




20 September 2010

str. Albisoara 84/5 ap. 13

MD-2005,  Chişinău, Republic of. Moldova

I honestly believe that these words explain, define and grasp the essence of Stefan Dumitrescu:

„STEFAN Dumitrescu is one of those writers who has come into literature with a tremendous strength. His books, whether novels, short stories, essays, plays or poetry, are most shocking, stunning, revealing the drama,  pain, abysmal depth of human psychology, absurdity and paradox of human nature. But all these works have in them a thrill of a deep tenderness, a delicacy , a bright beauty. This dimension of his creation is seen mainly in his very rich  literature for children: tales, stories and poetry for children”.

Francesca PINI, literary critic, 1995. (text on the fourth cover of the novel ” You will be air,too,” published by ANAMAROL Publishing House, Bucharest, 2007)





The play „Brancusi” by Stefan Dumitrescu is a spectacular and successful attempt to provide by the means of drama,  in ana rtistic and philosophical show on stage, the personality of the great sculptor Constantin Brancusi and his work of genius, in a broad overview, a metaphor-parable, a reditative essay that helps the reader or the viewer to enter the depth of the great sculptor`s work and to understand in a coherent, suggestive and philosophical vision,  the great artistic and epistemological approach of Brancusi. Stefan Dumitrescu`s attempt to include in a depth and solid grounded overview the whole work and life of Constantin Brâncişi is certainly a bold approach, we believe that few writers would dare to do and complete it … After reading or seeing this drama ssay, „Brancusi” by Stefan Dumitrescu, we feel that we understand the Titan from Hobita better, more clearly and deeply … In the vision of the playwright Stefan Dumitrescu, Brancusi seems even greater, and deeper, and more human, closer spiritually to us .

We, finally think that we are in front of a play rarely seen in the theater history that inspiringly approaches and develops an amazing broad theme, in which Brancusi’s work and life intertwine, giving birth to a wonderful life and philosoohical story, heroic and sublime at the same time.

This play is all that has been written deepest, most essential and comprehensive about the great personality of Constantin Brancusi and his entire Work.


B  R  A  N  C  U  S  I





A workshop of sculpture. We can see inside pieces of unhewn marble, others carved in an initial form. Brancusi’s workshop also suggests first the image of a rustic interior. Between the  stage and the workshop we can see a window, a kind of glass wall through which the sculptor and objects forming the interior of this room can be  seen , which can suggest incomunicability or sky. Or that what is happening on stage is going into other dimension. Throughout the performance we will see the sculptor seated or standing, and carving. Or moving around the  workshop, or resting, or smoking, and his thoughts and ideas, its inside language will be heard in the room as coming from a speaker, or multiple speakers, giving the impression that the artist’s voice, which will be heard slowly, sadly, as if coming from another world, comes from somewhere very far away. From everywhere in the universe.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (sits on a chair in front of a stone touching it) Stone! (whispering) Stone! (For a moment we think we hear the sea waves hitting the shore) To take the stone and give it a form as a being, a bird, for instance, means you take it from there in the past, most back away in time. There for billions of years, where it has been expecting tirelessly… and it has the power to wait forever. And bring it in today’s moment. (we can hear his deep breath) What clearly I see this thing. To bring stone from there, in the past, billions of years back up to  the present moment. (laughs kindly, as for him, how old people do) Should I get scared and fearful of my power! (Somewhat scared) But didn`t this power  twist me, distorted me?  (Small break, far away it seems to hear the sad and wild screams of seagulls)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Sometimes I feel it  greater than me. It, this power. And then as if it would mock me. But I learned it. (put his ear on the rock and is listening to it carefuly for a while) I thought I heard something, but it’s less what I want to know. Only my palm and touch can tell me more … (deep breath, throttled voice) Stone does not speak, it tells by itself, by its substance, by the order in which atoms were placed and made the stone veins. And that’s a good thing … Being able to speak by youself, and nothing else. (After a while of thinking, we hear the sad and desolated sea waves) This is the most beautiful kind of silence I’ve ever heard, or the most beautiful way of thinking.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: To express yourself through sound, through something else than you, that speaks about a weakness of yours. (sadly silent) And through what can you express yourself? Through sound, which  is a declined shadow, a form  fallen into chaos,  a disintegration of substance and form? (short pause) That’s why I like rock. (thoughts run softly, silent for a while, sighs)

CONSTANTIN BRANCUSI (looking into the distance, with an expression of pity on his face) Thanks God I’m a sculptor. (his breath sounds weakly) Actually why should I thank Him? (after a while, on the road a creaking car is passing away) It had to be so, it had to happen this way … It is better to take things as they are, as if this is the way they should be. The material I work with is very petrified matter, condensed. It is billions of years old, and this is as if your hand would stretch far into the past (speaks rarely, slowly) and you have stretched with it, your soul would stretch, it would travel in time to take some material out there in the depths of time. Where this rock gathered inside so much silence as it is like a sponge. (bitter smile) And yet, although it gathered such a long time, it would still gather billion years more. (we can hear the bells of a church far away sunk into the ground) What`s the mystery of this being? When the chisel cuts in stone, it cuts concentrated,  essential time, the time that becomes like glass, clear, blue. It diminishes the chisel edge and brokes it into pieces, if you don`t know how to get close to it. (silence for a moment)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI (lost in thoughts) Yeah … If not, I would like to be a poet, for material with which I work is nothing but a shadow of matter in chaos. (thinking silently) I would like to carve in animated, living  matter. (as if he expects to pass the time) I know it, I felt that pain, though at first it was pride and joy, that dead matter takes the animated form as if it were alive, often giving the impression of more vivid than a face of a living being who has deceived you and forever will deceive all that you gave birth to life. Consciousness of lies, of deception has burned like a spark in my mind until now. A thing that a poet never lives, because he knows from the outset that from the words he can hardly make a mere copy. What he wants is a compilation of images that would be possible only. So many times I wanted to break all I had chopped, but the idea that from  inert stone, billions of years old, I can make a face that gives you the idea of life, is too much, so I defeated my pain and I couldn`t break them. (he`s tired, sad) Now over the years I have  reconciled with this thought. (silent. He gets up and walks thoughtfully through the workshop. Moves few things from one place to another. Looking out the window absent -mindedly).

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI (has a faucal voice, as if he were a different character) I wanted to carve the mountains at my place in the Carpathians. It still remains a secret thought, maybe I’ll ever succeed. When I die, I will die with the thought that I will do this in the other world where I`ll go. (Suddenly he keeps silent. It sounds the melancholic and sad murmur of a mountain water) I look at the world from above, like I always stand on top of a mountain where I see the world in the distance  … I think of the sculptor`s mission and toil. (His voice suddenly becomes blurred, impersonal) To carve the world, to sculpt the earth’s crust and give the earth a human form. And it just flies with the image of man in the universe. But I think especially in sculpting the world as world. To take the world and carve it after your  thoughts  and your wish. And make it a beautiful divine world. Before which God Himself, if He were the Creator of this world, to wonder and to revolt. (loudly) To be sorry that He didn`t do it so beautifully. To be ashamed and hurt Himself in universe that He made such an ugly world. (after a while.The  sad cries of seagulls are heard far away)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : No, I  never thought about it … This could be just a secret plan of the artist and in the genius mind can arise such a great idea. (Deep breath, as if sighing) What an evil thought… But what a great thought! Genius, at a time when he  has the consciousness of his value, of his huge power in the world, can fancy the foolish and evil thought to surpass God. Or maybe some genius people can even fancy to humble God, and humble His nature. Here, I would like to exceed Nature and  exceed God … and get up above them … But my rise above them should be a pure, beautiful lift, full of purity and not humiliation: it should have no moral significance. And this gesture to God and to nature  means nothing but the highest esteem of them … And the crowning of their labours and faith to tend to them. (nostalgic, sad smile)  Satisfaction to have achieved them would overwelm me. This joy would crush me, and this tendency towards them is nothing but a deep and calm  happiness. An eternal happiness. (silence for a while. We can hear thunders, at first slowly, a sign of the approaching storm)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (slowly, as if telling stories or speaking to himself) Time goes by … and we come into the world, and one thought leads us, for only there is this something you came into the world and you stay in it  to do … And your coming is not pure coming, because at some point you forget that greatness of what you are… that man is a thousand times greater than the greatness of the thing you have done in the world. And you forget that, and at some point you think you only have to do things in art. (After a while, walking among objects in the workshop. Thunders are heard closer now) And then you forget yourself and you’re wrong. You seem not to be the one you were before and the one you would be, you seem to be that object. Maybe an artist is one who is not what he is for a long time , but he sees himself as if he were the object of his art. At the same time saving the one who you are, and imagining a greatness which is called idolatry, is the great sin against matter. (sits. Watching  a statue for a long time). And against God.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (the screams of seagulls can be heard wildly, tragically, very close) I fell into both mistakes … Now I’m fine, so must be an artist. He must be both things at once. (an lightning crosses the sky) Well, how can you answer that question, why we, people, have come in time? (a long smoldering thunder is heard, , earth-shaking. The sculptor seems not to hear it) It is easy to answer, as a philosopher, to this question, it`s much more difficult to answer as an artist. (deep breath, gathering his energies) Supposing God exists, and He created us. But after He created us? If He were Himself obliged to answer this question, why He created us, He would not know what to say. (he is sad. Now quite clearly is heard the sound of a creaking fountain, , then a dog barking, as if we are in a Romanian village.) Well, I saw and felt it. He who created us would not know what to say. Or this is great, but terribly frightening. (initially blocked, then increasingly louder is heard the rumble coming from inside the earth. The statues and objects in the room are seen staggering, playing)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: There was another earthquake. The Romanian land shook again. Lay the foundations which were not well prepared from the start. A nation is like a cathedral. The Romanian people is like the Arges Monastery. What stands during the day, crumbles at night. That was from the beginning. What the Dacians had built, collapsed when the Romans came. Then what built the protoromanians had built, the old Romanians, our ancestors, collapsed every time when came Vandals, Huns, Avars. Then came the Hungarians, Turks, Russians, Austrians, Germans … (sighs) And finally we’ll come to destroy what we have built. (looking forward as blind people do) The Cathedral, which is the Romanian people, requires a too great sacrifice (tragically) that we could never give it. Therefore the cathedral of Romanian people will never be finished, and what we build during the day, will crumble at night … (far away, from the depths of forests, we hear the church bells tolling)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Hey, hey, hey, my thought went hither and thither … what was I thinking?. (Deep breath) At the same time we did not come into the world, and we didn`t make  ourselves, and we didn`t want anything in time and in  universe. Although this thing would be the greatest if it had happened. (short pause) Okay, if  it hadn`t been happened. (bitter laugh) Ha he he he! It’s good that we did not come by our own will in time. If you think about it, philosophy would not know what to answer. That is it could not. The only one which could answer that question would be art. (after a while) and which of the arts? (after a while) Have I chosen the art I`m  toiling in? I have not chosen it … But it’s good that so it happened. I might answer that question … 
CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: A poet could not answer this question … the matter, material with which he works with is the word, or the word was born in time. How old is it in time? Several thousand years. Since the stone, the  material I work with has billions of years. Mine is linked to the universe, it`s lost in the universe far into the depths of the universe. What is the poet`s material? That smoke, trembling talk, a moan like a hot fume. For whatelse is the word than vapor coming out of your mouth and immediately lost? The word does not bind the stone, it doesn`t bind the universe like matter. I just do a precise similarity, a likeness. Between the word and its substrate layer,  it was forgotten the layer, the word is a kind of anything else, it is the substrate  dead with a level,  but further towards total extinction. Living matter, I wonder, coming here, is it also somewhat a kind of degradation of the material, of the stellar matter? (s a long moment of silence falls upon the scene)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: How can we answer this question? If a philosopher can`t answer that question? (meditating) He asks and gives answer to the question whether the spirit, consciousness preceded the matter. Is the spirit prior or not to the material existence? But if the philosopher was an artist, he wouldn`t ask this question. An artist would ask about something, he would question: does the existence love him? Does he love existence or not? A question a thousand times prettier though more naive and more enlightened. Over many thousands of years, if not hundreds, philosophy will look different. And we will seem naive philosophers who were divided into two, and that all their lives they sought to answer the question, who existed before, me or matter (rare, out of print) I don`t wonder why I love the matter, I just love it, I find that I love it and that`s all. Something within me tells it is good to love it.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: And I love it, and this love I put into my work. That`s all. But that was our misfortune or maybe our chance … An artist, an artist is like an ax, he is the cutting edge and  the iron but the handle is the philosopher. There is no pure artist, as I thought and I worked my mind. The philosopher is in me, too, I tried to get rid of it, but I couldn`t (sigh) and it is good that I couldn`t. (starts laughing)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (laughs as old people do) Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! But neither he, the philosopher, can`t be  alone. Cannot. Then what is the philosopher than an artist without grace? He is without grace, but this loss of grace makes him good, for it brings him down to earth, and he sees the world differently, more simply, and clumsily , and so he is more useful. No philosopher so far hasn`t said he loves matter, but poets have said it. (spits in his hand) And yet it is stranger than we thought this sort of men called poets. Plato felt it more when he wanted to drive them out of the city, than we suspect to. (short pause) Materialists have not answered the question that the matter would be primordial, for they would love more matter than spirit. The moment they gave this answer, they all loved themselves more than anything else. (laughs heartily) Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (enjoys himself laughing like old people do) What I found is really great! When that philosopher comes to me, I`ll tell it to him! It may also be here a perversion. They, because they love themselves, they wanted the truth to be on their side. They affirmed the truth without loving it  more than they loved themdelves. Who`s the materialist who says he loves matter? I love matter! There would be no use if philosophers were divided into two, those who love matter and those who hate matter! (after a while. As we found in a Romanian village, in autumn, on the hills surrounding a pipe sounds singing a sad mourning doina)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: And yet, what do I love matter for? When I realize that it`s greater and better to hate it? (Deep breath) and actually I hate it. Because if I love it with my soul and see in those red veins of the stone endless oceans of hot rock, stellar matter, all the universe as an ocean of red lava, I actually hate it. To take the matter from its frozen form, and leave it as it was. (short pause) If I loved it I would leave it as it is, and I would put in front of it like Buddha, and I admire it all my  life. (coughs a few times) And then wouldn`t be one thing, a human act grater in the world than to admire matter, which is actually an exalted hymn of matter … and before death I would be at peace, for  I reached the ideal, and I fulfilled my mission of poor human worm in this world. (the screams of seagulls sound very close, clearly, heartbreaking)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: But I do not leave the matter as it is, take it and pour it in other forms, as I love the shape, the being and bowl in which I am going to pour the matter. Then I try to put it in the second and third form. As I like. How I would love it. And placed it in the second form, that is in the born artwork, I enjoy myself and I’m happy as a child. (short pause) Joy is two times greater, because I know that this form is different from the first form, the one  left by God. Perhaps it isn`t matter any more. And I do not know if the second form isn`t a degradation of the first form, as sound is no substance, no matter, but its degradation. It is a shadow, a degradation of its substrate. Matter has no form first, or has, of cosmic lava flowing forever  … and so, I give it a form. (short pause) This form is also bigger than the first form in the eternity of time or not? I like it, and it says something to people, but in the first form, matter tells us much more than the form carved by me, only we humans do not know how to read, how to hear what the first form tells us. (a thunder is lost in the distance)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (sighing) And then I have a heartbreaking longing, a nostalgia for the first form … Because the first creation is destruction first, destruction of the form in which God left the rock, the material, and only then is creation. I always have a longing and a  nostalgia for the material I’ve killed to put it in another form. (emotional, pathetic, although he seems exhausted)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: This nostalgia is nice because it still binds me to matter. It makes me  remember it and think and wonder if I didn`t create above it. Only then, when I had created a form above the first form of creation, we would have done a good thing …. Above the greatness of primordial matter. Yes, only then I am forgiven by matter. By God. And only then I have the right to enjoy my creation! (Goes and sits in front of other statues. Creaking of a passing car on the way sounds amazingly concrete)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Where are they gathering, where do  these ideas come in my mind flowing clearly like a  water thread? (deep breath, like a crying) It means that they take shape there in me, deep in me, as the spring, and then flow out. Many of them flow through me without going through my mind. Means that only when I don`t create, they come into mind. Now I understand why philosophers see the idea, ideas, and they have just ideas in mind. (long silence. Far away are heardthe  bells of a sheep flock grazing on hills)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (as if he is thirsty of talking to him forever) Did I get wise? Did I get there, where knowledge reveals the world like a sea? Where did serenity and largeness appear in me? (after a moment) I, a convinced materialist, and a matter lover, I love the idealists. (deep breath,) Is it so? So it is, of course! Well, I love them because they are poets. Real poets. And they kept with the spirit. They loved the spirit above themselves … (sadly, pensively) because they could not accept that matter is superior to spirit and appeared before it. (sound of sea waves can be heard very clearly) Of course not, and matter came before, but loving spirit rather more than matter, and because of this „selfishness” – can not accept the primacy of matter- says a lot. And then they are visionaries, because if the spirit, in whatever form it may be, never appeared before the matter, well, after a period of evolution, whatever it is, consciousness begins to play a larger role, fundamentally, than the matter. (loudly, vibrating) It  means that the spirit eventually rises above matter and this is most important. Over a thousand years, or maybe longer, laws of the universe will be changed by the man`s will, that is by the spirit. Unless somewhere in the universe, now  the will of a rational being  subjects matter. And after a longer time of evolution, consciousness, the spirit, will produce, will create matter. And then, won`t we see that the idealists were right? But materialists are right now, they tell the truth. (screams of the seagulls make us believe that we are on the shore of a deserted, empty sea)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (loudly, as if he`s scared) Truth! I think this is the truth. (Hops like a rabbit in front of guns)… If the spirit, conscience, will come again to create matter, and even produce it, then the transition from the primary stellar material to the living matter and hence to consciousness, and perhaps to another higher form of consciousness, is no more degradation or a loss in chaos, but on the contrary,  it`s Evolution. (laughing happily) He he he he!

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (amused) Something tells me it is so. No wonder they, philosophers say of consciousness that it is the highest form of evolution of matter. (sank into thoughts) But let`s compare primordial stellar matter. In the first phase the Universe was made of stellar matter. It can continue to be so billion years. In the second phase we imagine that all matter is a sort of universal brain. Could it, this brain, continue to exist by itself, only by what it is? No, it couldn`t, it would soon succumb. The Ocean of living, thinking  matter, highly organized , would die immediately. It would become what it was at first, dead matter. (Deep breath) Now can we say, I wonder, that living matter, consciousness is superior to stellar material? (after a while, scratching his neck. Somewhere nearby on the  hills  a sad horn song sounds)

CONSTANTIN BRÂNCUŞI: Well, damn it, if it would be so … (confused) But the conscious and thoughtful matter reflects the other matter, dead matter, doesn`t it? … (Still sad, looking ahead, as if he remembers something that terrifies him)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: But the latter does not reflect  the first one, it can`t know it, nor reflect it, but simply kills it if it came in contact with it. Hm …? And at the same time matter also reflects matter, to the extent that any object, any phenomenon, any substance, reflects itself first, and then reflects the world. Or matter, matter itself reflecting itself, it is clear that it reflects matter, it means the Whole. Yes, it is so. (after a while of thinking when his gaze remains empty. slowly stroking his beard tingly)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Oh, God, that scares me! Cannot you say that everything has a purpose. The human being has been learned, and that came deeply into his heart, that everything he does has a meaning, a purpose. That world, history are flowing in one direction. Human being and his world is something that makes a sense, a sense, that is a purpose which is perpetuated infinitely. The moment he would wake up in a meaningless world, man would simply go mad. He would scream! (He takes his hands to his mouth as if shouting over a gap) That scream … (seized with fear, groaning in pain) I saw that cry, and then I carved Endless Column, and I showed people that scream of the human being to the world, and to a meaningless universe. The idea that the crying, man always removes it when he faces the  prospect of existing in a meaningless universe, therefore to exist senselessly. (At this point you start to hear at first weakly, then increasingly louder the horn of an ambulane)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : would solve a lot of things. I think this is the reason why Man has invented Him. Or why God invented everything and made ​​the man to solve a lot of problems. (Smiles sadly) Hm … God’s invention was a colossal work, and it served man. For me now the universe without God  seems deserted. (silent for a moment) Universe would better not exist because it looked like a deserted house where no one lived and will never live in it. You have an endless and awful feeling of emptiness. The feeling of emptiness wakes up within a kind of sharp curiosity. A purple pain in the stomach. (After a while) Hm! How strange! When have I realized this curiosity? Then, the idea of ​​your uniqueness, and hence a kind of greatness of Your majesty. (laughs slightly)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Beautiful expression. A kind of greatness of human greatness. (deep breath, cough as lung patients do) But then comes fear. The emptiness becomes your existence in a future life. And lo and behold, it`s me, coming and  knowing to enjoy the peace and the desert, and I amscared. I’m scared now of the empty universe. (after a while) God would have given me the feeling of a living inhabited universe, which for me, for us humans, is welcome. It gives us a hardener feeling, we live the condition of togetherness and a strange dust warmth.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (nostalgic) However, it is not true. Only to the extent that we are weak, we believe  it`s good that the universe is inhabited by God. As far as we are weak … (coughs a few times) we need this feeling of togertherness with someone, for the fear that it takes away, and the warmth that it gives us. At the same time it does wrong to us,  or it does more harm. It teaches us weak, slaves. While feeling of desert stirs us, the emptiness absorbes, captivates us. We feel weak and afraid, we’re also one who is facing a mountain. A desert is actually a mountain. (laughs slightly) Heh heh heh heh …. Good, good, Costache … (resumes after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: But if this beautiful condition lived by the human before the empty universe is for nothing? What world can be imagined more absurd than this! (breathing in as if he faints, suddenly scared) If the stellar matter, after billions of years, becomes a brain, then the whole universe is a brain, and then succumbs, becoming again stellar matter in a moment, then it also tends to, climbs the mountain of evolution, of time and becomes the brain again, and so ad infinitum …? (with an expression of pain on his face) Oh God, what a great and terrible spectacle! What fate has man got in this absurd and great universe, which is like an hourglass, which empties

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (thinks, sighs) After empting, it overturns… to be filled again. And it is the hourglass that I put in Endless Column, I  mean I put it in the human scream. Hourglass fills his mouth like a punch and doesn`t let him cry, it shuts his mouth not to rise the scream from the depths of his soul. But what happens? Hourglass itself turns into a crying. This is crazy!

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (a dog howling deathly, then it goes slowly) When I saw what I have made, I shuddered myself. Man screaming in the Universe through the hourglass of the universe. Or through his ability to be, through the form of this possibility. Repeated hourglass, which is the history of the universe, itself becomes for the man, turns itself into the flute for man`s sake. (short pause) Flute, the instrument by which man screams his despair in front of his universe, his alarm sign and his struggle sign. (suddenly amused) He he he he! Nice thing! (he smiles to himself. His face expression is that of shed light)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : That’s what I say to man by my column that stands there on the field of Targu Jiu, far away! (sounds like mourning of a bell from another world)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: What hurts me is that man does not understand, because you have to understand again and again … If he understood, it wouldn`t be too early nor too late … (meditating) And maybe it is good that it is too early and that man is too weak, too stupid, too unevolved. After a long time … (thinking, sighs) After a long time he will realize that he can not prevent the hourglass of the universe, and then he ‘ll be able to do it. And in the end, but very late, perhaps too late, he will be able to do this! (excitedly, as if crying) But not too late and the universe hourglass won`t overthrow again. (Starts laughing all of a sudden sadly in as old his sleeves men) And the brain of the universe won`t become again stellar material. (thinks, he`s very sad. Somewhere close,  sounds the creaking of a fountain)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : How many times has the universe become a universal brain so far? I mean, how many times has the hourglass of the universe overthrown before? A thousand times? Logically it  would have returned an infinity of times. And infinity of times, that matter which  became a universal brain hasn`t got the idea that at last it would extinct. Will become again the stellar matter. (takes a deep breath and we can hear his heart beating tired and scared)  Could this Brain be horrified by the idea of death, and of stellar matter and could He revolt ? And after having revolted, would He have taken all measures that this infinite turning back of the hourglass to have been finished? It would start a continuous ascent of that Brain-matter, a forever evolution. (dejected) Hm! How far can you go thinking … (silence for a while. Then becomes pale. Tottering, he  gives a slap in his head. Yells with all his might)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (dramatically, frightening)

Aaaaaaaaaa! (rising his face, screaming) Gooooooood! My Gooooood! (his legs tremble. Crawling to the bed, he sits pale on it. His hands shake )

Constantin Brancusi: God, my God! How terrible it is! How couldn`t I think of it brfore? (breathing hard, exhausted) I have to get over it.. If I resist and pass over it means I`m tough. And I’m lucky … (now he`s quiet. Stares into vacancy like a blind man)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (a domestic barking of a dog some houses away) Maybe it’s better that I experienced this revelation. That showed me how terrible can it be … Because I have to go back through my art to warn man. To tell man the truth. To announce humanity this terrible idea … (after a while. Far away  you can hear the lamentation of a mourner as in villages in Oltenia)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: How didn`t I come up with this idea so far?

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (groaning in pain) It’s like it would have been hidden for me so many years. I felt, I had this feeling that it was hidden for me . And now I see. It was like a lightning in the night which illuminates the sky, blinding you. Like me, the interval between of stellar matter and the universal brain,  during the time passed forever, when the hourglass overturned, it`s an infinite number of times, between an overturn and another, there was someone like me. (Tired) Who realized that hourglass would topple and he

warned people. He told the men the great truth, or to that brain which  hadn`t become a universal brain yet. (as if crying, terrified) He warned about the hourglass overthrow, the possibility of death, the specter of a return to stellar matter. (louder) And he said, revolt against the hourglass! (shouting) Stop it! (Scared, panting) And they even tried it, but they could not. (Screaming) They couldn`t! They couldn`t! (after a moment) My Goood, how hard it is !

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : And maybe every time this happens. (his frightenig face) Every time between stellar

Matter and the universal brain appeared someone having this idea. But every time the hourglass overturned. (meditating a few minutes)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Will it reverse this time, too? (short pause) Hmmm, I`ll be thinking about this for a long time. Maybe all my life. I`m sorry I  cannot think about it beyond, in  the other world. It`s bad there isn`t any world beyond as saying the faith of our ancestors in Gorj. (sad) I would be thinking all the time in the world beyond, only of that I would have thought, it wouldn`t be a greater happiness … (shaking, he looks like a fool) It can`t be a greater happiness than this! And I would think of this idea until the hourglass of the universe overturned  and the lava of the stellar matter flew and melted my petrified members. (Grieved) But I would bring it to an end. (Falls into a long moment of meditation)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (gesture with his arm) However, in the long run the overthrow of the hourglass will be stopped. The universe beating as a heart, by contracting it will stop this reflex movement, and will no longer contract, turning into stellar material. (his face lights up easily) It will grow infinitely. (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Oh, God!, what a great idea! (stands up, lively. His face lights up again, infusing the light that we can see in today’s photos) No way, at last the hourglass will no longer reverse! Even though thousands of beings like me so far in the past eternity thought this idea between two reversals of the hourglass. (agitated breathing) Or just for this, that until now thousands, of infinite human beings have thought the idea , that`s why in the end it will be possible! (laughing like dotards) Heh heh heh heh heh heh … (a thunder crosses the sky announcing a near storm)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Yes, that’s why! This huge idea required infinite sacrifices. It’s a too big achievement that it can`t be done easily. (after a while of thinking)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Yes, yes, what would happen if it could be possible just in my life time? During this time when the hourglass has a very long time to topple? (silent for a moment when silence is awfully heavy)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Yes, exactly, what would happen if just in this time there is the last hourglass that no longer topple again?  (As if all his powesr are back) I`ll cut the Endless Column, I’ll cut it! And there won`t be the Endless Column anymore. (rubs his  hands happily)

S C E N E   I I

Same setting as in the first scene. On a side door enters a woman in the sculptor`s workshop. It seems to be

MIIS POGANY  : He who was working around, welcomes her with a smile. He asks her to sit. Then he sits. Miss Pogany seems sad, or rather a shadow of her.

MIIS POGANY  :  (immaterial melancholy) Glad to find  you, Costache …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (thinking) Welcome. I thought about you a lot these days … I missed my mother and my family, far from there, in a village of Oltenia, where they are. When they think of me, I feel them. And for a while they are thinking, at a time I feel that wind of longing reaching up to me. Who knows what happened ? (crying) Lest that my mother died. (screams of  seagulls can be heard clearer now)

MIIS POGANY  :  (smiling, like smoke) I think you sensed that I come.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI:  (his face lighting up slowly) Who knows …. But it’s good you came. I`ve missed talking to a woman. To have a woman to talk to. (short pause, thinking) You, women, as artists, although you do not know it, communicate with the source, with the source of the world and life. (turning his head and looking at her) Or you are a little the source of the world … And we, when we watered from you, we watered from the source of world and life. And we feel better and we get well again… (you can hear the waves deserted, indifferently)

MIIS POGANY  :  (remembering) That’s right, Costache, I`ve been missing you, too. (now you can hear the murmur of a mountain stream)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (meditating) I understand … (rare, tired) Woman, in the life of the great spirits, played, should have played a very big role … (stops to breath) Firstly she feels the genius, she feels the genius` great soul. Now I don`t understand if they all feel that , or only some of them.

MIIS POGANY  :  (sad) Not all of them. Only some.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Is it so? If I think about it …it`s natural.  What kind of feeling is it, I wonder?

MIIS POGANY  :  (streching his hand) You see, woman gives birth to genius …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (stretching his hand as if he wants to touch something) I remember Ioana. Ioana from Craiova. It`s like I see her. How much I loved her, my Lord … and I`m still loving her.. She felt the fate I have in this world, and I went, I made it through the world like a blind man on the plains, led by my instinct. I asked her to marry me and she refused me … (smiles to a lure) The washerwoman`s daughter.

MIIS POGANY : Can you see her, Costache? You are looking through the air as if you can see her … and she would be alive and would move coming towards you.

CONSTANTIN BRANCUSI: (thinking) So it is…

MIIS POGANY  :: This hurts me  a little.. If I hadn`t known that I am there within you, and you call me to watch me…

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Yes, I call you … I called you in stone and I`m watchin you outside myself. Her … I took her out of me. I couldn`t. She also would be worth it.

MIIS POGANY  :  (sad) What about me, Costache?

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I watered my soul from the life of world through you. You were the jug I drank from. And I honoured you  properly and I put your image on the world`s sky. For thousands and thousands of years and for thousands and thousands of people you are the WOMAN…. All women of the world are aligned as solders behind you … And you represent them. You are their prophet … the symbol of feminine mystery. . (a creaking car passes along the road)

MIIS POGANY  :  (sad, mysterious) Yes, Costache …. it is so … (the same car creaking that has been passing on the road since the beginning of the world)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: But how do you feel the genius? It is unknown to me. How do you feel, how did you feel it? (After a while) When you used to came, I perceived you as a butterfly turning around the candle…

MIIS POGANY  : That’s right … I was a butterfly coming out of darkness burning my wings to your candle flame … Yes, I was happy. And I was well. (after a while) You see Costache … we,  women, we also create the world. They both create the world… man and woman. But it`s the woman who has been keeping the world in her womb. And the history. (After a while, sighing) There, in her womb, there is the genesis of the world. (as if she laments) And she knows that. Feels this. If she doesn`t know by her mind, there, in her subconscious, she knows that. Her unconscious or subconscious knows that, it knows that there in her womb, the world is created and emerges… That’s why she feels the man, she predicts his genius. Isn`t she the one who created him? And of all those she gave birth, she encounters him (trembling, excited) she meets the one who has divine grace… She feels this. For he is different from what she knew before… (evocative) She hadn`t put grace in that body, the divine gift  given by God, , and now here he is, she can see him, she feels that divine fragrance. Something that is strange, unknown to her. It`s foreign to her substance, to her banality and normality, to her human earthy substance. Therefore she claims to serve him, and worship this man full of grace. But on the other hand she runs out of his way. (short pause) Your Ioana must have been a churchy, pios girl, Costache, as she ran away  from you, because it happened to me quite different.. In my curiosity to touch the grace, to feel the grace that God had put in you, and tends to him were greater than fear … And I came to you, I have tended to your grace. As you water from a  woman, you drink her soul, bent like a watershed, so I was, as I had raised under the Divine in heaven. See what I mean?

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (lost, deserted) Yes, I see, I see…

MIIS POGANY  :  (as if mourning) The woman is a wound of matter, Costache … a tear.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : The man alone is a  half. (sad) Half a wound, half a tear, half longing … So the woman alone is still only half. One is the earth, its vault which is located in the plain ground, another is the other half of the sphere, vault of heaven. Both of thwm seek wholeness. It’s not by chance that procreation, ie creation of man, is possible only when man and woman are one, that is they are a whole, a sphere. (as if reminding) Then the  potency of  the whole is the highest, and it is capable of procreation, of creation of the world. But the state of the whole can not last forever, just for a moment, and in that moment occurs procreation. (tired) Then the two halves of  Wholeness get apart, and each one, alone, leads its life thinking to the other half.. And I saw it, and I showed it to people. (Clear sounds of a plaintive song of a bird in the wilderness)

MIIS POGANY  : Yes, Costache, I know …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Yes, the question is whether the human being as a whole … Here, when the halves stick and the whole is moulded, let it be so, a whole, forever.

MIIS POGANY  : Do you  think of woman and man, Costache?


MIIS POGANY  : It would die.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I know it would die. But why does it die, here’s the secret! (silence) I do not think of androgynous, androgynous is just foreshadowing for the whole, or as they say, it is a failed attempt to be one …it is only a  humiliated abortion of th whole. (tragic) It’s like you want to touch the sky with your hand, and realize that you fail. (tired, panting for breath) And then I started and I`ve made the whole. But alas, after finishing it, there wasn`t any greater suffering than mine! It was a whole. but it was made of stone! It was a whole, but it was dead. (as hallucinating) Which was not true because the whole is alive! But my whole was entirely stone. But I froze! When I saw that it gives you the illusion of being alive. And so it seemed to be alive, and for thousands of people it is alive, but I had known before that it is not. (with tight fists) And then I got the idea, to smash it with the sledge-hammer. I was frantic and I was also happy, and I was frightened by my madness because I had to enjoy my great deed, and prostrate myself before it. (far away you can hear the sound of a hunting horn)

MIIS POGANY  : (rarely) Yes, Costache, the artist must be wise in front of his work. Lack of wisdom unbalances most of them. I saw a poet in the French provincial town who lost his mind before a poetry book. (short pause) Others change otherwise. You have remained the same, Costache. An Oltenian peasant, the carver, who confuses art with earth, with the hill where he climbs to the top digging. (nightingales singing bursts in a bush under the window)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: I have my difficult moments, of anguish, of pain, when I lose myself before stone, sometimes I feel I am afraid, I am afraid of getting crazy, but I get over it. (after a while) When I get over it, I feel well … But our word diverts…from the halves that must become the whole, and when they become so, if they stayed longer in this state,  the whole would perish … I mean if the whole stops for a moment, it perpetuates life,  and if it remained after that moment, it would die. (Intrigued, scared) Why?

MIIS POGANY  :  (dreamily) Do you realize that if man and woman hugged in the rut state, and if they lost and couldn`t detach, they would  die exhausted. Then they would die of starvation, then would die of tiredness, then of thirst.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (thinking) That’s right … But that’s not what I`m thinking about. It`s something else. Think of creation  and whole. Whole is not to blame, but part. Parts are so composed … This is a drama. And then I do not understand how to do, how to carve the halves? Halves are made to live as halves, not  as a whole.

MIIS POGANY  : Half is a half not because it is a half, but because it lacks that condition to be the whole. At the same time, this is a metaphor of nature, man lives only as a half, and not all as a whole … For always missing the other half, for tending to something eternal. That is why God made ​​man, who is His half. (stops sadly) The moment he becomes the whole, when he reaches the state of a whole, he disappears. What does it mean ? So it happens  to the genius. Why can`t the whole survive? Because when it becomes a whole, it disappears from another one, or it feels unnatural to God. (after a while living enlighted)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: I think I found it. The moment it becomes the whole, it becomes One, or One is only one from the beginning. There can`t be two Ones in the universe, and then at the very same moment it dies, it splits in half. (forgetting Miss Pogany)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (refreshed and happy at the same time) Hm, but what if it survived? It, that would become one? It means that the other, the Great One becomes a half. Wait! It, the Great One, becomes a half, because now it lacks something. It lacks the two halves that have become One. Lacking something it is not the whole, it becomes a half just in that moment. And he Great One collapses into chaos. (after a few moments of deep reflection) Does the overthrow of hourglass, the downfall into chaos of the universal Brain, its turning into stellar material occurs because of what is happening? (after a while) Oh, God, maybe I  can clear up the hourglass enigma, and the falling into chaos of the Great ALL! (screams of sea gulls remove sadly)

MIIS POGANY  : Costache, Costache, you`ve forgotten me …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (hearing nothing) And then it is a kind of a riot of the Small Whole against the great All, of One agianst the great One. The Great One becames a half at that moment. But it, the great One becoming half, can no more find its half to regain One. Therefore, it will fall into chaos. (short pause) But why only it, the Great One, can resist procreating, because the great One is an eternal procreation, subject to it, its essence is an eternal

MIIS POGANY  :  (which stoods like a ghost and goes away) Costache Costache, you`ve forgotten me, Costache … You`re lost in your thoughts and in the mists of time …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (who has not heard her) Why does the Great All survive? (restlessly wandering through  his workshop.We can hardly recognize him)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (screaming) Why does the Great All survive? (after a while falling on his knees, quieter) But does the Great All, the universal Brain, falling into chaos, becoming stellar matter, start procreating again? (after a while of thinking)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (confused) If everything becomes Universal Brain, and its structures, the infinity of its elements reach ideal positions, then the All, the Whole is no longer capable of creation, it crumbles taking it from the beginning, from the Star matter? (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : But is that brain, that being universal, is it a real being? I, a tormented spirit, lost in the early period, between two twists of the hourglass, who can I love more, the universal brain or the stellar matter? The end or the beginning, the full hourglass or the empty hourglass? (after a long moment of silence) Lord, my spirit is at the crossroad again I do not know which way is right. Only my instinct or my intuition leads me! (after a few moments of reflection) No, no! A genius is like a stretched elastic, he `s like a ray springing up into darkness, he is not at a crossroad as I am. (keeps silent. A silence that makes you hear the breaking sea waves.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (we can read despair on his face) So what am I, what is happening to me in the world, in the universe, in the imensity of time? (short pause) Could I ever solve  the mystery  that is torturing me ? (after a while) Am I not a genius or have I gone beyond genius? (meditating) If I think thoroughly, I must have passed this state. Genius is the state of an awful tending towards the subject of poetry, towards to subject of discovery. Genius means clairvoyance and tending. Genius is a terrible lightning which illuminates and burns. But I am a shepherd in the mountains of Oltenia, going with a lamp in hand … (sad, as if crying) but I’ve gone beyond genius. My genius was off, or have I survive it? In cold areas where I entered and crossed, it would be out as it really  was. (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Is that really?  Is genius a disease?  As up to 3O years old I’ve been sick! Creation disease, the illness, the pain to create … is it worse than the disease of love? (bitter smile) I remember this disease of love. Disease of woman is different, hey tigger each other. It`s the disease of the other half. They are similar diseases, diseases of reunification. Diseases of the half suffering from the other half! (silent)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: It has to be so … What else are my escapes… when I was a kid, then a lad, I ran

away from home … When I was child, my escpae to the dye house in Targu-Jiu, my escape to Slatina and from there to Craiova…. And then my flight to the world. (deep breath, as if he faints) Hadn`t I been a genius … I wouldn`t have run away. It was that longing within me, but it was a  going through desert and at random. It was a going to the target I knew there inside me. Thinking better, my childhood and youth resembles that of Rimbaud, the child prodigy of poetry. (silent, mumbling) What could it be there in the soul of thet being? Correspondence between soul and poetry is indisputable,  when the instinct of poetry is awaken, it drags you as a stallion goes. (afflicted) Then when clear-sightedness came to me, it was over. There were the brakes. The other instinct, the instinct of preservation lit everything. It intuited the great journey,  what a hard mission I had to accomplish, and then it stoped the burning and silence appeared…. And I knew all my my life since its start. (silent moments)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: Look, I have never thought about it again. There is something else, another being, above genius. (Muttering) I`ll write this in stone, too. The self-preservation instinct of a genius is shaded and false, destroyed by another instinct, instinct of knowledge, of creation, which drags him wildly. (after a while) But where is this from, why does this happen? (thinking) From there that the genius` view is a ray in the night of the universe … since the sight of being that goes beyond genius,   is the sphere of everything, of  all … (frightened, tormented) My Goooood, how could I get to this truth? Vision is the scope of the All. I can see everything, I can see the All. (after a while) I think this comes from my homeland, the country and the land of my people. (Surely, sadly) There must it come from, from the ground imbibed with the soul and blood of our ancestors. (after a moment)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (the seagulls screaming can be heard very close, painfully) At first everything was gurgling  in me. The ray of vision was gurgling. As the light of a candle would burn too strong and would melt the poor candle too fast. (deep breath, groans, as if crying) That earth, that earth which is culture, not stone or geological substance. (groaning) Lord, when the plough tills in the Romanian realm, it plows into the dense soul deposited with each dead, and was stamped  down like the ground in porch. The Romanian peasant, when he eats  bread, he eats soul. And in the beginning it was so much soul that it bubbled through me like the wind bubbling through the flute. (remembering) I could die. That wind blows me away like a snowflake. He blew me to Targu Jiu, to Craiova, and it guided me like a  ship sailing to Paris. And  here the great enlightment occured. (deep breath) The sight, that ray came to an end, and dried on the shpere of the All until it became itself a Sphere. Since then I  knew what and how I had to say. (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : The self-preservation instinct is like a lamp with deep roots in the ancestral land, from where it is fed and its light comes from. (after a while) That kept me strongly, supported me … That should keep me alive up until I show all. I say all. I put it in stone. (tired) It stopped tuberculosis. And it controlled my burning. Only then I haven`t been destroyed. Because the enlightement was there, in the earth, that is in the soul which has become earth. It was so much in it that it couldn`t be  said in a thousand years. (On the hills around the bells of a herd are heard. The sculptor seems to listen to them) The Romanian spiritual space… there are too many things to be told or to be sung. It was therefore written in the stars for me to give everything not in an instant, but in a life. And to give the Whole, it means the Sphere. Have I managed to give the Sphere? (after some moments of thinking)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI  : (a vernal murmur of a mountain spring) Have I managed to include the Whole, I mean, does my work is part of the Sphere or is it drawing the Sphere? It would have to be close to the Sphere. And the Sphere woudn`t have been closed, because everything in it would go mad, would reach the condition of perfection , and would fall into chaos. (breathing hard) The work items that are halves, would gather, or would gather into a whole, which is the same, then would fall into chaos. That would be terrible, because everything is part of a fall … They are lost now (tragically). I shudder at this thing. (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (his sweaty face is clearing up slightly) Lord! Is it true?? It can`t be true … (gets scared) No, no, (getting frightened) it can`t be true …! The hourglass has a long way to fill up, and it`s not about a universal brain. No, no way! (shaking, very scared) Then it must be destroyed! (screams) To destroy, destroy! (looks like a demented, beard flying in the wind, his eyes gleam wildly, sweat ran down his face, gets quickly  a hammer and smash some works at the height of dementia. He turns one work into pieces. After breaking it, he watches the remainder one. He has a wheezing breath. Then he calms down slowly)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (exhausted, lost) Now there’s no Sphere. No longer One. The Great One is no longer in danger. ( takes the pieces in his hands)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (crying) I can`t recognize it!. What statue was it? Shouldn`t I have broken the best one? The Endless Column must be the greatest work.  It’s there far away in that miserable burg.  On the pasture where the horses graze.  (short pause) I see horses tethered by the endless column. (his hand stretched, as if he can see them) I see horses tethered by the Endless Column! What terrible metaphor can it be?  (covering his eyes with his hand) No, I won`t see it, it`s too much for a human mind! (looking out of the window, far away)  Now I am satisfied. Oh, God! Even though I lost a piece of work, I saved the great One. If these stones gathered together and formed the  All, the Whole , it means that One, and if  that One survived the instant, then the great One would became a half. (choking, coughs) It would have been a crime, a huge sacrilege. No, I was not allowed to challenge the great One to fall into chaos. To start from nothing,  ie from the stellar matter … (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : But  am I sure that everything is going right? Is the rise and fall into chaos of the Universe really true? (after a while) My Lord, be there! Show You to me for an instant , to have someone to talk to! (take a few moments) But if it is not so? And I ruined my work for nothing? (reconciled) I`d better be sure. Be quiet. (short pause) What a huge thing, being quiet, serene in the universe! (turns back. Notices that Miss Pogany is missing) Where are you? (Fast flashing eyes, you can see that he`s desperate) Where are you? (fast breathes, panting) You gone? (looks scared and surprised at the same time) Maybe she was never real … It was just her memory, just an illusion, a fancy … (silence for a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (peaceful) I`m glad you`ve come. I was missing the woman … It did me good … I calmed down. And my thought is far away in time. It’s like a thin smoke of cigarette out of people in a long way in the universe … And now people can`t be see, they are alone. I`m threatened by the danger of extinction, and wasting… (after a while) I`m serene… And old … Should I stay serene before time and universe …. Was she a real person? (thinking) I’m afraid not to long for her some day and scream in pain … (wiping sweat) I am better now …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (suddenly worried) Why am I better? I missed my Mom … I dreamed about her, and I `m ok now. (Sad) What’s my Mum doing there , far away … in the small village with houses made of beams? I always hear you, mother, living in the world. (careful, suddenly frightened) What is this? There is no longing, no hurt, no pain, there’s no joy or melancholy … it seems melancholy, but it is a longing for something also. As if I am air or wind and I would scatter or dissipate myself  to you, Mom …. and to you, beloved woman. (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (the fountain squeak sounds like in Hobiţa) Oh Lord, I understand what it is …. With my mom I`m connected with the world, with the ground,  I`m linked to  our ancestors, to history. (he  is ready to burst into tears,  an old man tormented by visions) People come behind me advancing to the the silver horizon, illuminated by an unseen sunrise, and they are coming very slowly, and I went too far in the depths of the desert … and my link with the world, with  man, is in danger, and then that wind starts to blow which is longing for my Mom…. (he`s really crying now) and my heart feels, and my soul bends of its deep pain. (after a few moments). You would be so longing for me, Mom, that you can`t bear it anymore. You would be so longing for me that you would feel your flesh as black as coal. And you would like me sitting close to you,  seeing me, who knows, maybe you haven`t got  much time, and you want to see me.

(his voice and hands are shaking). I see, I see what’s in your mind. Oh Lord, forgive me! (it takes a few moments) And in a  short time I will go there, too, Mom. We`ll meet there, we`ll meet like two companions. (takes his temples in his hands) God, my mom’s dead long ago, and she will always be my mother. (screaming in pain) Why do we die? I fought against death … I fought against it, I know. (silence) With my art and my genius! (  the screams of the sea gulls  sound more and more loudly, tragically)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I am guilty that I fought alone? Sure! But what could I do?! So far in history we couldn`t fight against death but this way, with artistic work. Through art. Poets and artists are the ones who stood against death, and they still alive on time. They are the only living beings in history, their spirit always accompanies us. (short pause) After my carcass will be entirely lost, my spirit will accompany mankind for thousands of years, will accompany it up to the overthrow of the hourglass, then it`ll  end too and will become stellar matter … Maybr it won`t be, the hourglass won`t overturn … (after a while) God, it hurts me this immortality! I’m happy for it but it hurts me too! I seem missing something, and I don`t know why. But did the poets, painters and sculptors do? (silent suddenly) Death was defeated … What they did is that they only aroused that longing for with the immortality of their works, the seed of eternity that lies in the human unconscious, in the depths of man … And they showed people what is possible. You, people, are works of nature and of history, greater than some books, or only my statues and much more they should be immortal. (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I am guilty that I fought alone? Sure! But what could I do?! So far in history we couldn`t fight against death but this way, with artistic work. Through art. Poets and artists are the ones who stood against death, and they are still resisting in time. They are the only living beings in history, their spirit always accompanies us. (short pause) After my carcass will be entirely lost, my spirit will accompany mankind for thousands of years, will accompany it up to the overthrow of the hourglass, then it will end, too and will become stellar matter … Maybe it won`t be so, the hourglass won`t overturn … (after a while) God,  this immortality hurts me ! I’m happy for it but it hurts me, too! I seem to long for something but I don`t know for what. But what did the poets, painters and sculptors do? (silent suddenly) Death wasn`t defeated … What they did is that they only aroused that longing with the immortality of their works, the seed of eternity that lies in the human unconscious, in the depths of man … And they showed people what is possible. You, people, are works of nature and of history, greater than some books, or than my statues and much more you should be immortal. (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : After  artists will come scientists, doctors, chemists, physicists, biologists, and they will fight against death. The second attack will be  decisive, and people will live hundreds of years and thousands of years. (smiling sadly) Oh, Lord, if   man lived a thousand years, I would feel different now, as if I would have thousands of years of creation ahead, and how much could I do and could tell the Man…. (refreshed) I`d rush the Man into reaching the point where the hourglass fills, I`d move beyond … The hourglass would start to grow, grow to infinity. (silent again) So it should happen, I have to go back and become dead matter. I leave satisfied … I can say that I have done my duty. Look, you’ve gone and I didn`t say that to you… And maybe this doesn`t even cross your mind …(the song of a cock sounds faintly at night) You must be happy, Mom … Of all mothers that have been through this history, you have done your duty as a few people have done it … As a few mothers have done it. Because you gave birth to a child who carried the world’s torch on, who did so much for humanity, for its benevolence… (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (lighting his face as a child) Oh, how happy must you be…. All mothers from the beginning of the world that have given birth to great sons and daughters, who led the world on … (groaning in pain) What beings must be you … I see you in the world beyond, on smooth and lit lands, how you go happily, with faces shining with joy. The joy of being given great creators to the history, how you go on  the ancient hills of the world beyond, go beyond the ancient world, and what light is, and how beautiful it is out on the hills, and you go on walking on the hills of heaven … God chose you all …. And I see among my Mom you. You seem a little scared, Mom … but you’re happy. (such as crying) Now I know you’re happy, mother, and I was that, Costache,your child, who ran away from home … and you trembled for his life … (after a while. Raising his face and watching in the distance, as if waking from a dream)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (lighting his face as a child) Oh, how happy must you be…. All mothers from the beginning of the world who have given birth to great sons and daughters, who led the world forward … (groaning in pain) What beings must be you … I see you in the world beyond, on smooth and lit lands, how you go happily, with faces shining with joy. The joy of being given great creators to the history, how you go on  the ancient hills of the world beyond, and what a light is, and how beautiful it is out on the hills, and you go on walking on the hills of heaven … God has chosen you all …. And I see my Mom among you. You seem a little scared, Mom … but you’re happy. (as if crying) Now I know you’re happy, mother, and I was that, your Costache, your child, who ran away from home … and you trembled for his life … (after a while. Raising his face and watching in the distance, as if waking from a dream)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (thoroughly wet with perspiration) My God, what a dream!? It seems a beautiful dream! (panting) I`was longing for my mother, that longing for her was badly torturing me  and now I saw her… she was on some hills full of light, smelling like quince, and she was happy. (a few moments)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (he’s very lonely) I’m happy, Mom. Maybe it is better that I wasn`t with you, because you would impeded me. Since I left my native home, I was a soldier fighting in the wilderness, away, with the unseen and the unheard.  (looking ahead like a blind) I’ve left them all, mother, pleasures and all, to be alone and lucid, powerful, there, before the infinite and the unknown. As the soldier standing in the battle field, facing the  enemy`s guns, I stood alone for decades, bare-chested, in front of  the infinite. It was tough for me, mother, so hard, I couldn`t tell (small pause) How to describe something that can not be captured in words? It was as if I had been skinned and stayed in a strong wind that blows in the universe, from the unknown … and cold. And that burning sensation, but full of happiness! What a sharp harsh  happiness, was my life, Mom! (after a while) Let`s be happy and proud that we are happy, Mom! Both, and this connects us. We are the ones of the few happy people who have appeared here and have been here, on this planet since the beginning of all beginnings. (then, as if waking. Somewhere a dog howls) Lord, what`s the matter with me? (suddenly scared) My attention is too loose, and I am overcome, overpowered by a kind of sleep and memory. Could it be more?

S C E N E   I I I

The same setting as in the previous scenes. Brancusi is lying on the bed. His breathing is heavy, his forehead glitters, yellow and aging, full of sweat. They seem to be the last moments of the artist. The sea waves sound empty, hitting the rocks. From time to time the screams of the sea gulls tear the air.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (groaning) Moooother, answer me … (cough suddenly choking him. After having been quieter) It seems to be the same thing if I die, or I don`t die. How strange … Is it the same thing? I`ve  never thought to get here, and yet here I am. (after a while) Is it good or bad? In general it is not good that man should be here … I tell it on my deathbed…with my last words… But I shouldn`t get here … I’ve done my job. I have done my duty … Maybe I feel something … It`s not a longing, it’s slighter than a longing, , it`s something hard to describe (his body shrinks, raised his head, looking at something that would approach from heaven. He`s watching carefully .He’s a little scared.)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : A pigeon! I wonder where is it from? (short pause) It must be a sign. If it`s the pigeon, it means it`s good … (you can hear the waves crashing to shore)

VOICE: Don`t rejoice, Costache, don`t do it.  I haven`t come to take you, but to  judge you.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI :  (his eyes opened large, he’s scared) Speak! You seem to be my father’s voice! (wipes sweat from his forehead) To judge me? Who are you?

VOICE: (distant echo) I am the face o fLord and His spirit is in me… And I came to judge you

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (his eyes unnaturally large) Come to judge me? But haven`t I judged myself all my life … And there’s another judge, much harsher and more ruthless than me, it`s my work. (he`s exhausted, speaking hard) Doesn`t it judge me all the time? And wasn`t there another judge who has judged me? History. (you can hear the sad sea waves crashing to shore) For many years I have lived as if I were in the trial … I worked, I ate, I loved, I suffered, I was standing right in front of the eye of judge… that is life … For this is the life of an artist, and of an awareness as me … it’s always in the judgment … (takes a while, tired) Look, maybe that’s why I forgot your judgment … If You have to judge me and I`ve forgotten , please forgive me, Lord! (exhausted, falls on his  back)

VOICE: Yes, I have to judge you.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Have I done anything wrong?

VOICE: You’re wrong. But it’s not that. You know it’s no soul without being judged. This is the essence of spirit. He judges and is judged.
CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (rising on his elbows with great difficulty) Okay, Lord, if it is so… I`m so quiet now … I was scared when I heard you are here … For judgment I shouldn`t fear …

VOICE: You’re wrong, Costache. Eternally we have to be afraid of judgment.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : No, Lord, I mean that man shouldn`t get afraid of judgment.

VOICE: (threatening) Are you  defying me?

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (scared) No, no, my Lord, not at all. This means that I feel peaceful… I’m humble and I think I did my duty … I have done my duty, Lord!

VOICE: You haven`t done it, Costache …

CONSTANTIN  BRANCUSI : Why, Lord? Show me …

VOICE: You`ve forgotten your debts as a man, for giving everything to your genius … You took from the man and gave to the genius …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : That’s right, God … But if I hadn`t done that, I wouldn`t have done many things, I wouldn`t have been where I am, and I wouldn`t have done what I did.

VOICE: (as thinking) You may be right … I have to be good to you … But one thing … I cann`t forgive you, Costache … The children … You had no children .

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (exhausted, falling down) But I was right not to have children, God … The genius has this right… For he is entitled to do for mankind more than those who have children.

VOCEA : Nu, Costache, n-ai dreptate… Acest drept nu-l are nimeni… Geniul nu are voie să ucidă.  Şi dacă nu are dreptul să ucidă, el nu are dreptul nici să nu facă copii… lucrul asemenea cu pruncul…

VOICE: No, Costache, you’re wrong … Nobody has this right… The Genius is not allowed to kill. And if he has no right to kill,  he has no right also to have no children……

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (tries to smile, actually wandering in his mind) Yes, Lord, it is so. I recognize. My mind is enlightened and I see that it’s so… Forgive me, Lord, I’m asking for lessening my punishment … But Ive believed all my  life, and then there have been circumstances …

VOICE: (taking pity on him) Well,. Costache …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : What should I do, Lord … It’s too late now. I did something else instead

VOICE: You did, but it’s not the same. The first duty of human beings is to go life further. It is incumbent upon every living creature left by Me. But you didn`t bring life into the world.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (sad) Somehow I did, God.

VOICE: This isn`t life, Costache. We deceive us, but this isn`t life. Human bodies are linked, they hold their hands, all holding hands with his father and his son, and so as if they were forests on an endless plain… endless strings of people holding hands come from deep time. (sighing slightly) and sin passes through them, coming from the beginning. Original sin, it`s as current flows through the wire, and on the last one in the string, it will stop … you are the last one, Costache. While the adjacent rows of people will continue to go on forever. (short pause) But yours will stay somewhere, while others are going further into  the infinity of time.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (he looks better now) Yes, Lord, I sacrificed myself to give them my power, to go with it further, and to win. And in my haste I bore  my soul and all my strength and I gave it to them to show them the way and give them strength to go on, and You does blame me.

VOICE: Strings of people are infinite columns, Costache, so they go to infinity, only your family, your way stopped. That’s why you did the endless column.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (listening, rarely) Yes, Lord, that’s right … But I’m the one, God, who has given more, and now, it`s me who  is the poorest, on whom Your punishment falls on… This judgment is not fair, Lord. I think that I should be rewarded, not blamed …

VOICE: Somehow you are right, too,Costache, but you broke the first law of preservation and procreation … Genius is allowed to do anything but not to kill nor procreate. When his creation is not creation of life, it`s a kind of humiliation of creation. But when his genius would be so great, after having carved statue, to give life to it, to pick it  up from night, as Orpheus did, he, the greatest of all artists of the world. He is alone. He is the only one among people who saved himself  and came out on the surface, while others will have remained underground, in the dark, as Dostoevsky said, whom I think you`ve  heard  about…..

CONSTANTN BRANCUSI : (sad, lost) Yes, Lord, I have …

VOICE: Has one of your statues come alive, has it walked in the world, and has it also given life?


VOICE: (bewailing him) Well, Costache you`re wrong in front of me …

CONSTANTIN  BRANCUSI : Yes, Lord … it`s true. But I`m not guilty. But You  have to reward me. I believe in my work and my toil, but I also doubt it, and you come and say that I did what I did. And You punish me as I hadn`t done anything. (groaning) It’s not fair, God … (screams of sea gulls sound amazingly close)

VOICE: Say, man …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (sad) I admit, O Lord, that I am guilty. But I can`t admit that I was wrong. And if I`m guilty it`s because You left no chance to the human being to save himself from blame. Guilty of being human. (a bullock cart is moving on the road) But I`m not wrong, God … For if I had made my statues not of stone, but had made them alive, I wonder, would they live longer, would they  resist for thousands and thousands of years, as I did them? (listening with strained ears) Or, if by my talent, that’s which is Your gift Heavenly Father, I had given them life, would they have been faithful to my thoughts? Would they have kept the expression and idea that I put in them? (after a while) No, Lord! By the  internal laws of life, they would have changed, losing what I put in them, the soul, the fear, my dreams, anxiety, hope … (groaning) And then my work would have been useless. Today I couldn`t stand before you and I could never say before Thee that I have fulfilled my duty.

VOICE: (after a long time, sad) You’re right, Costache …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (heavy-hearted) You see, my God …

VOICE: But it would have been better to give them life and make them fulfill their mission that the creators gave them. I mean the one I gave you … (we can hear the bells of a church as coming beyond the world )

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI  : (seems stuck, anxious, his face is yellow) It would be good, my God, but You see, here You are at fault. Because You put in me too little power. And less in the common people… You couldn`t put in me, as a man, more power, and therefore no man can.  (sad) So You see, You are guilty, my Lord.

VOICE: It isn`t good, Costache …your thought is too arrogant …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI  : (meditating, sad, as being in another world) It`s not, my Lord …  I only tell the truth. Many times in life I cursed You for the world and conditions You’ve created me in. You put  a cross too heavy on my shoulders, and in a too  heinous world … And with little and nothing, by my labor, I created a work that will remain, and I gave light to people for enlightening their minds and lives. ( stops exhaustedly) While You, my Lord, you gave dark and you gave people the fear of Thee, to follow and worship You fearfully …

VOICE: ( anger is felt in His voice) Bend your head in the ground, Costache, and humiliate yourself …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : No, Lord, because all my life was humiliation, You humiliated me all my life and my ascension is due only to my labor and I want my night to be a rise against You. (you can hear the bells of a church from another world, then sea waves hitting the shore)

VOICE: Silly man! Don`t you know that death is a prejudice! An illusion! If a man dies and deserves to die, this means that he raelly deserves to die. Have you ever thought about this? From the moment when the human being won`t die in history, you have to know that it worked hard and rose so much that it deserves to be immortal. I therefore judge you by death …

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI: (sad, bitterly) You also judge Thee, O Lord. For what dies is my body of clay which is Your work. So You’re judging yourself, too,  that you weren`t able to create an eternal man. So the death of humans, of their bodies of flesh, is Your judgment, Lord … My works are going to be immortal and their eternity is my judgment. See, Lord? that you’re inferior? (Coughs a few times) I have succeeded in my toil to rise above You …

VOICE: You`ve lost your faith, Costache and your fear of God … And with them, you’ve lost your minds.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I haven`t lost my faith, Lord. For I have faith that rules my life, but man had to raise another faith better and more just. I haven`t lost my fear but once man won`t be afraid in history and in universe.

VOICE: Another accusation against you, Costache, is that you have left your mother.

CONSTANTIN BRANCUSI : Yes, Lord, you’re right. But I`ve paid for it. I paid a thousandfold. I paid with longing and pain for her. I couldn`t get her here, which would have meant to take her out of her world. And where I left her, she wasn`t reduced to beggary, but she was among her relatives, that could give her anything except her son. (a dog is howling in the depth of night)

VOICE: It is you who had had to give it to her… Therefore I blame you and punish you.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I couldn`t, Lord. In front of  the stone to be carved, I has been a soldier going to war, fighting against enemies.(deep breath, as if he would choke) My battle was beyond compare and I couldn`t hit ten times with the sword, then come back, kiss my wife and caress my children or put my head in my mother’s lap (lamenting) I haven`t had time in my toil, my God, that`s why I had with all the longing, which  devoured me and the pain that burned me, to endure everything, to toil there away of my people, in the deserts of creation and of spirit. (trying to get up) It`s You who is guilty, Lord, for You could help me, but You didn`t help me, and hit me more with pain and injustice! You`ve made me toil for a piece of bread, when you had had to help me!

VOICE: (sound of a hunting horn is lost in the air)  You`re  right a bit, Costache. Another charge is  that you left the country, you know what humble your country is, it needed so much  your arm and your mind.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (outraged, with his  last power) Again You aren`t right, Lord. I loved my country and my mother as the eyes of my head, and I am away from them now, at the moment I`m  passing away. Just because I loved my country, O Lord, and at this point I also accuse You just because I loved my country more than You did, because You gave it only wars and disasters. (coughing bout) That’s why, Lord, I had to leave it, as You say, but I didn`t abandon it, I took it to the world. When my chest arrived at the border, I got the border to my chest like a rubber band and harnessed to it, so I hiked with it in the world as far as possible. Or, as the poet says, I presented my country to the world and I poured it out into the universe. (short pause) If I had stayed in my country, in my village, either in Bucharest or in Craiova, I wouldn`t have been able to do anything, because You took care that I couldn`t find anything that I needed.. To do what I did for my country, I had to go elsewhere to learn, to learn what I didn`t know, to get to the center of the world, where there were minds to see and appreciate my work. Even if I had stayed in my country and had lifted up the work I did, it would have passed  at least another century to come to be known worldwide. (deep breath) Instead my work was known immediately, and through it, through my work, my people was known, its myths and the legends of  the place I came from. (sea waves can be heard very clearly neraby now)

VOICE: You’re right, Costache. You’ve done your duty, but you’re still guilty.

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Yes, Lord … (wakes up. Glassy eyes wide open. Having one foot in the grave) I talked on my own, my depth of my self spoke with me, my unconscience talked to  my conscious. (Complaining) I’m sorry … I feel guilty. Why would I feel guilty? … For I know I did my duty as a man and an artist. (his lips are dry. Eyes looking up) Lord, I`m dying alone, as I lived all my lifetime. I would deserve someone to bring me a cup of water at least. (Loudly) Ioana, Ioana, where are you? Your children are adults. I should have had a child of my own, too.  (silent. His eyes are looking anxiously)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I am so sorry, Lord! As if I would longing for something! (after a while) Longing for what? Maybe it`s not a longing. What is it? It’s a kind of nostalgia. What would I miss? (closes his eyes for a while. Then he opens them widely and lucidly) To long for this world? Yes, I do, I miss it, where there is all the history, where I stayed as  the bud sitting on the top of the branch (after a few moments when his eyes are looking at the ceiling) But it`s not only that. (shouting desperately) My God, this longing is doubled, it`s longing and nostalgia, I can see it  cleary now. Yes, That`s it. (after a while)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : What am I longing for universe and future, Oh, God, what a deep and silent longing, like a black spring that gives content to my being. I`m  yearning for time, I`m yearning for what  I could do as an artist, if I were an eternal being. (panting exhausted)  I`m so yearning for the things I will never do! (a few minutes later) I was, Lord. That’s why I feel guilty. I feel guilty. What is this feeling that I`m living now? How can I  call it if not a deep longing? It`s such a strange and deep feeling. (a few minutes later)  Could it be the feeling that I won`t be able to work again? My arm won`t be able to move and strike the stone again. Stone, which is billions of years … In the stone … in it which is billions of years, I see the empty forms of my future works that my hands had to carve. I can see them as if they are made of lines. How dreamy are they thinking of something, something far away,  waiting. (silent)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (long silence) They`re  waiting for me. And I’ll never come again. How couldn`t I feel guilty? Oh, Lord! (staring as if he wants something) That means that my works do not gather in a whole. (terror on his face) I had to realize that human work does never gather in a whole. Man is a too small bit  to do it. (rarely, regretfully) I`ve split my work for nothing. Which sculpture have I broken?  And when was that? (silent)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : What am I longing for it, Lord! It’s like a river that flows through me. What a nostalgia for my people! (Crying) I`d love to die at home … I want to die on the hills of Gorj. (loudly, plaintively) Lord, hear me … Don`t let me die, to have time to get to my country, to my family! (trying to rise. The death sweat is runny on his yellow skin, wrinkled and old. Falls back, exhausted. Turns his face to wall)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : Oh God, I need to scream! That’s why I felt guilty and did not know why.  My Goooood, what are you going to do with me? What did you do to me, Lord? (screaming in pain) With meeeee! (As if mourning) With meeeeee! (the songs of cocks rise above the village, seeming from another world)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I should have gone home for dying, I thought about it, I had it in my mind, to go home and carve the mountains. The idea came to me long time ago, when I was young and believed in my abilities and power to finish my task. (after a few moments. Actually talking to himself) Not to carve all of them. Perhaps it wouldn`t have been well. Yeah, but some mountains I should have carved to  my country. At least one. I thought of the peak of Glodeanu Mountain, I saw its design in my mind … I wouldn`t have needed more than 500 workers for two years, and it would have been a miracle. (cough chokes him) It would have been something that nobody could ever and anywhere do in the world. Much more famous and greater than the Sphinx. It would have been preserved over millennia or millions of years. It seems that I glimpse the  sculpture blunted by winds and rains. (his voice goes slowly and slowly) It will appear to those who will live in those lands, if humanity wouldn`t spread  over… in the universe, to those  who will go back to  our lands  from time to time. … It would be the work of nature , and of millions of years. (recovered. Now he`s just happy remembering his youth project and the images of his native mountains.)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : I would have done my country the best known in the world. As many people in the world have crowded to see the wonders of Egypt, so they would have been overflowed upon the Parang area. (satisfied) Hee, hee, hee, I would have earned good money for my country, as  Jerusalem did. I am so sorry, Lord … But most guilty are You, the one who gave me no power. Who took my powers although artists like me supposed to be born eternal. To be born immortal, Lord, to give as much as possible to people, to their peers. (is thinking for a few minutes) I would have carved the history of the Romanian people in the Gorj mountains. How wonderful it would have been! (after a moment) Or I would have sculptured the history of the world since its beginnings. (short pause) Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee! The history of the world from the beginning. The history of the world in metaphors. Or worse, Lord, give me  life again! (believes  what he says, trying to get up) Give me life, O Lord to live again! I would have carved the future history of the world and mankind. I would have shown the people the true way, the true star to be led by. (tired, deep breath) Man is still an animal and a poor being, and a beast. He could kill himself again, as he did in World War II, when many people were killed by minds that controlled them. (the faint sound of a horn is lost in the distance)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : The most guilty for world`s destiny are the leaders of nations. They are the great killers of mankind. (deep breath,) How can I tell, man should be unforgiving with those who do not do their duty towards man and rowards progress since the world`s beginnings , and they won`t do it for a long time. (frown forehead , cold stare) There are a few who  try to do their duty, and they are very sad because they  can`t do anything else impeded by ohers. (animated, spirited) Maybe I have never had so much to say to mankind and peoples, as I have at this moment when I die. (after a moment) I think I`ve recovered a bit. I feel energy inside me  again, how it comes, just gurgling, like the water in the fountain … (Deep breath, sigh)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI  (talking to himself) How many times haven`t I been knocked to the ground, and I`ve  always risen up to my feet. (sits up. His  sweat is running down his forehead, his cheeks. Some staggering steps around the workshop)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI  : (the horn of an ambulance is heard. The sculptor seems to listen) I think I can work now also. (takes a chisel in his hand. He feels the rock) Great powers have been placed within me. That land I come from cast within me  great energies and powers in the full sense of the word. It gave me and created me as a mother. Because it had more in it to say, and it needed a great artist to express it. I did a lot for my people and I am glad for that, but I feel guilty that I couldn`t do everything and I`m deeply indebted to it.  (silent several minutes, the air vibrates by the screams of the leaving storss)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (sighing) How much I`m indebted to it!  I can really be someone … but I’m not sure. No matter how much you give to a land, it will never be enough. (silence again)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : (unnaturally wide-eyed, looking ahead) I can see this very clearly. And I see this very clearly that when an artist dies, he dies guilty. The artist dying, even he`s a genius, he dies guilty. (thinks for a while) In fact, if I think well, I’ve always worked hard as if I were guilty of something, and I wanted my labour to get rid of this guilt. (take a stone and strokes it. He sits on a stool in front of the torso. Outside, as if coming dawn, we hear the song of nightingales)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : To put this in stone. (after a few  chisel chops, he stops.) I have so much to say that I can`t start anything. Many will say that I haven`t worked anything from a certain moment of my life, that I have nothing to say, but the truth is the opposite. (he coughs a few times) I can`t work anymore, because I have so much to say, that  I want to say everything at once, and it can`t be done. (tired) And to say them one by one, I don`t have patience, because I know that time does not wait for me, and it seems superfluous to say one word when you can not speak the whole sentence. When you can not say everything you have to say. (after a moment of thought)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI :  I think this is the drama of an artist. He has more and more to say. So there comes a moment when, realizing that physically is not immortal,  for being able to say whatever he has to say … after he thinks he has said something in his life, he gives up  to say what he had to say. And silence … (he thinks, smiling to himself)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : It`s painful and great this moment. When he gives up. I think this is one of the highest human greatness. Maybe I vaguely felt this when I first heard Mioriţa. (he`s thinking) Yes, I remember well, this feeling was lived by the shepherd in Mioritza. (silence for a while) How many people can understand it? I think you have to live it to notice and understand it. (sad, exhausted) Well, only now I do understand it, after a lifetime. (silence for a while, as if he listens) Many people will pass away, generations, as gently as leaves shed and  the grass withers. Then it will come a time when people won`t die. And nobody, billions of years uo to the overthrow of the hourglass, if it ever topples, won`t live this deep and hard feeling of overabundance. (listens) Oh, God, what a feeling, what a terrible and great state! (after a while) A lifetime would deserve to be wasted  for nothing but to live this feeeling. (thinks a bit)

CONSTANTIN BANCUSI : But if this state was given to me as a reward for my life of toil and harshness? And for all I’ve done for mankind? (silence) This must be bliss … The great and true happiness. (short pause) Now it`s an afflicted light, pain and celebration of your flash, of your substance, then it`s a painful crying, so sweet and bitter! (he stops, his face becomes worried) But if it was given to me to be taken away?

(Barely breath) Was it given to me for being  peaceful and quiet? (bitter smile) It’s like death would blindfold me, to take me away. (after a while. His face expression is full of mercy) I feel like Prometheus on a hilltop in the wind of time, although my body is a rag … You can stay in this state for thousands of years! I believe now forever, the enlightened conscience, this is the human beings mission. (low voice) Man will become immortal by creation and lucidity. (praying) My God, let my mind be awaken in this condition. Petrify me like this forever …

(As God would have heard him, he remains hardened in this position, looking away with open eyes. Sea waves sound louder hitting the rocks. The screams of seagulls resound clearly, heartbreaking, growing louder and louder, as being closer and closer)

T H E   E N D




The writer and playwright Stefan Dumitrescu was born in the mid twentieth century, on April 24, 1950 (the same day as Schiller, Theodor Palady, the Russian writer Nabocov, close to Shachespeare’s birthday, April 23 – a sign that this sign of the zodiac is great for literature, for culture) in Valea Mare, southern Valcea county.

Since the early years he was  fascinated by fairy tales. Astonished, his lady teacher said one day :”You`ll become a narrator as great as Ion Creanga”, and asked him to tell fairy tales to the kindergarten kids. This made him very happy and gave him courage and confidence. He liked to read, reading being the great gift of God and his great joy, he read a lot. At school, at high school, at univesity he used to read under the desk during the classes. All his life he has been thirsty for knowledge, for creation, for getting  answers to the great problems of human existence. Like all the children of his age he attended the compulsory school, then the high school. He wrote his first poems when he was 9 years old, after the manner of George Cosbuc, the poet whom he loved enormously and later struggled to rid himself of Cosbuc`s influence.

Attended the Faculty of Philosophy in Bucharest, between 1969-1973. His dream was to become a journalist after graduating, a great journalist like Eminescu, Goga, Pamfil Şeicaru (the last one is a character in his novel „Delirium”, Volume II, published in 2004 by Fortuna Publishing House, a sequel of Marin Preda`s novel „Delirium”, Volume I). The dream will come true partly because during the communism age he will contribute in almost all the  cultural magazines of the time. And in the current situation, when press has become commercial and full of tabloids, when nobody cares for the country, for our historic destiny, it was impossible for him to find a publication to work as a great journalist.

He was published for the first time when he was 17, in 1967, under a pseudonym, when he was attending the high school, encouraged by the poet Miron Radu Paraschivescu, writing him in a warm letter of encouragement: „If you go on this road, my dear, you will go a greast way.”

In October 1969, successive debut with poetry both on radio Grozăveşti, the radio station in Grozăveşti, a students` hostels complex where he lived, and on  Radio Bucharest.

On 1 January 1970 Blandiana published some of his poems (another debut) in the Contemporanul l(Contemporary )Review, highly praising him at the  heading The Golden Lyre

1970, 1973 Stefan Dumitrescu published in magazines like : Amfiteatrul, Luceafărul, România literară, Contemporanul, revista Argeş ( Amphitheatre, The Morning Star, Literary Romania, Contemporary, Arges Magazine )

Some poetic is moments on Radio Bucharest.

In Contemporanul / Contemporary Magazine he debuted as a historian and literary critic with literary reviews and articles.  The literary critic George Ivascu, director of Contemporary Magazine would have wanted Stefan dumitrescu to be an  editor for Contemporanul / Comtemporary after his graduation.

In  Amphitheater” Review, no. 12, 1971, Ana Blandiana presented Stefan Dumitrescu to the public in a brilliant  way:

 „A country with cosmic valleys in which birds blossom, whose sky is sustained by the choir of virgins, whose flags are the souls of ancestors gone to battle, a hallucinating country, a land full of songs and blinded by the light, is glorified by Stefan Dumitrescu in his recent lyrics, a strange poet, with his soul released risky, bridge over the liric gap, whose shore beyond can`t be known.  I say that this launch is courageous and risky because it occurs outside the well-worn  roads of poetry, because Stefan Dumitrescu both versifies beautifully and with much talent in a known or surmised  lyricism but he creates his own frames, his  own reference systems. Each of his poems is an opening into a world created by himself, a world in which birds walk armed and sing in the ruins of the flutes. Talent beyond any doubt, restless and constantly burning, author of essays reinterpreting myths and of poems rebuilding the universe, Stefan Dumitrescu is a tougher, more steeply, more subdued to suffering and anguish than the  clear Dan Verona, but equally certain and True.”

Ana Blandiana, „Amphitheater” Review, no. 12, 1971.

In the spring of 1973, the poet Adrian Paunescu, recently became chief editor at Flacara / The Flame Magazine, said to Stefan Dumitrescu that he planed to open the Flame Literary Circle / Cenaclul Flacara and invited Stefan Dumitrescu to read some of his poems at the first meeting of the Flame Literary Circle „Because I want very much to open this cenacle with a great future writer, dear Stefan „. At the first meeting of the Flame Literary Circle, the poet Stefan Dumitrescu read an entire volume of poetry entitled „Nicolae Labiş – a cosmogonic portrait”. His poetry deeply impressed the audience.  amount of room. Ciculescu Serban said that he would watch Stefan Dumitrescu withall his attentioin. On this occasion Adrian Paunescu said about Stefan Dumitrescu „Stefan Dumitrescu is a chance the literature. Stefan Dumitrescu is a Romanian literature chance. „(” Stefan Dumitrescu is a chance of the Romanian literature. Stefan Dumitrescu is a great chance of the Romanian Literature „.)

Over the years all three prophecies: of Paraschivescu, of Ana Bandiana and of Adrian Paunescu, about the young writer Stefan Dumitrescu, will come true. He has published in many newspapers and magazines. Some he doesn`t even know them. He started, as I said, as a poet in Branches Magazine / Revista Ramuri, edited by Miron Radu Paracshivescu,  then published in Mugurel Mugur, the review of the High School, and the Amphitheatre Magazine, a true laboratory where the majority of writers in 1970 – 1980 could grow. In the autumn of 1969 some of his poems were cast on Radio Bucharest. In the summer of 1970 he had atraining period at the Horizon newspaper in Valcea, where he was able to write a lot, reports on the big Hydropower site from Lotru, literary reviews, social articles, poetry and prose. Then he published poetry and collaborated with various articles as a student at the Contemporary, the Morning Star, the Literary Romania (the Chronicles and literary reviews) Arges magazine, The Youth Spark / Scateia Tineretului, radio, television. He had over 30 radio poetic moments, where his friend, the poet Dan Verona,supported him and five television poetic moments.

After he became Professor of Psychology and Education at the Pedagogical College in Tulcea continued working for the  cultural magazines of the time. He founded and led literary circles, like The Flame literary circle, and edited magazines and newspapers which published his students, young people, being a discoverer of talents. Two talented poets today, members of the Writers’ Union, were discovered by him. Because as a student when he worked at all the magazines of culture in the capital, was considered a hope of the Romanian literature, and his poetry read at the first meeting of the Flame Circle strongly impressed the audience (Adrian Paunescu saying about it that is „A chance to Romanian literarii. A chance of Romanian Literature”) in 1976 he was co-opted by the Renaissance group headed by two great patriotic  intellectuals group that aimed to discover and help the talented young artists (in all fields), who over the years, through their literary and scientific discoveries and creations, will trigger a true cultural renaissance in Romania. Unfortunately due to the tightening of censorship and security,  the Renaissance group had to go underground, continuing to operate since its foundation (in 1965) until today. Within these groups operates the Futurology Office in Bucharest, which gathers the best minds that Romania has currently in the social sciences.

He is one of the few Romanian writers proposed for the Nobel Prize.

12 January 2013, 20:31


, 1973. Volume of poetry „Nicolae Labiş, a cosmogonic portrait„, 57 poems. Read full volume at the first meeting of the Flame Literary Circle, Bucharest, September 15, 1973.

„Biography of a Revolution„, volume of reports.
The play „Laughter” is played at the Majestic Hall in a memorable reading-show performed by actors of Giuleşti Theatre, in the drama circle of the Department of Drama of the Romanian Writers` Union. Department of Drama Award of the Romanian Writers` Union in 1981.
„Heaven and mole.” Play, National Award for original drama.
„Poems of the Danube Valley.” Volume of poetry, Litera Publishing House
„How beautiful you pass through the world, woman.” Drama, Theater Magazine, No. 8, 1988
Play „Laughter”, published in the magazine „Political and Literary Dacia”.
„Love like a bird , short story published in” Anthology of Romanian Writers „.
„Everything about evaluation” Romanian School Publishin House, limited edition, Tulcea.
„Ancestral Bottom„, volume of prose, Inedit Publishing House.
„Happiness comes later” volume of prose, Inedit Publishing House.
1993 „Delirium, Volume II„, novel,  won first prize in the contest organized by Express Magazine, „Who writes the novel” Delirium, Volume II „, the sequel to the novel” Delirium, Volume I ” in the manner in which Marin Preda would have written. ”

1996 „Mihai Eminescu – a Jesus of the Romanian people„. Essay, Inedit Publishing House

„Complete Dictionary of IL Caragiale`s drama„, Conphis Publishing House, Ramnicu Valcea
„Wisdom of Oedipus’ drama, Steaua Dobrogei Publishing House.
„Positive Intelligence and Negative Intelligence„, limited edition, Casa Corpului Didactic, Tulcea.
2000 „High poems„, Conphis Publishing House, Ramnicu Valcea.

2000 „Hymns of Great Love” volume of poetry, Harvia Publishing House

2000 „Caragiale hugs Stalin„, volume of theater, Harvia Publishing House

2000 „Two staggering plays” volume of theater, Harvia Publishing  House

2000 „The truth about revolution.  Essay” Origins Almanac, USA.

2001 „Master Manole; The Climb, Volume of theater”, Harvia Publishing House

2001 „The glory and greatness of the martyr Ilie Ilascu or Bessarabia, Come home, volume of poetry, Harvia Publishing House

” Guidance of educational and vocational orientation and self orientation, Harvia Publishing House
2002  „We Pray to Thee, God!” and psychotherapeutic volume of religious and psychotherapeutic poetry, Publishing HARV.

2002 „Mikhail Gorbachev, the greatest man of the twentieth century, one of the biggest killers of mankind.” LIR Publishing House,  Iasi

„The Morning Star. The psychoanalysis and philosophy of this poem”, Criterion Publishing House, USA
Play „Laughter„, translated into English, published in the Asymmetry journal, Paris
„Delirium, Volume II” sequel of the „Delirium, Volume I” by Marin Preda. Fortuna Publishing House, Ramnicu Valcea.
Play ” Caragiale hugs Stalin” Special Prize of the Jury at „Bogdan Amaru” Theater Festival , Ramnicu Valcea.
Novel „You’ll be the sky too„, Criterion Publishing House, USA.
2006 The System of coup d`etat of 1989, Origines Magazine, U.S. and Renaissance – Euro Observatory Magazine, No. 4, Germany, December 2006.

2006 We pray to Thee, O Lord!” Volume of religious poetry, Renaissance- European Observatory electronic magazine, No. 4, December 2006, Germany
2006 „And you’ll be the sky too„, novel, Renaissance European Observatory electronic magazine , No. 4, December

2006 A new interpretation of the poem The Morning Star, by Mihai Eminescu, published in the electronic magazine Renaissance Euro Observer, No. 4, Germany, December 2006

2007 Novel „You’ll be the sky too, Anamarol Publishing House, Bucharest,

2007 „Saving of the human civilization” Anamarol Publishing House, Bucharest,

2007 „Paths of Life” Anthology of Poetry, Anamarol Publishing House

2007 Brancusi, drama, published in the Portal journal Maiastra, Tragu Jiu

2007 Brancusi, drama, published in the electronic journal The Observer in Toronto, Canada

2007 Brancusi, drama, published in the AGERO journal, Germany, The Observer Magazine in Toronto, and Iosif Vulcan journal of the Romanian Writers in Australia

2007 Brancusi, drama,  published in the Euro-Observer Magazine in Germany

2007 BRANCUSI, drama,  published in the AGE journal

2007 „Pygmalion or the Broken Wing of Scream, drama , Grand Prix of  „Bogdan Amaru” National Theatre Festival, Ramnicu Valcea

2007 Pygmalion or the Broken Wing of Scream, bilingual volume published in The Observer electronic Magazine, Toronto, Canada

Poems in the Anthology „ROMANIA From the SOUL”, published by the Association ProBasarabia and Bukovina
Second prize (first prize not awarded) for the comedy „COW, REVOLUTION and UFO „, the „Bogdan Amaru” National Festival of Theater, Ramnicu Valcea, Fourth Edition 2009.
2010 „The children murdered in 1989 Spit us or I kill myself as a revolt against you, ROMANIAN PEOPLE!” Published in „Signs in balance” in Oradea. Prize for drama awarded by „Signs in the balance” Magazine

2010 The premiere of the play, „Two women smart, crazy and as mad as a March hare,” Victor Ion Popa Theater in Barlad

During the years 1990-2010 several novels, plays and esays appeared in cultural magazines of the Romanian communities, such as:  The Observer in  Toronto, The Christian Europe and Agero in Germany, Iosif Vulcan in Australia, „Destinies” the magazine of the Society of the Romanian writes in Canadia.

2010 in The Observer in Toronto,Canada appeared the English translation of the plays „Master Manole„, „Laughter”  and Pygmalion or Wing screamed France ”

2011 Appeared the plays „Laughter” and „Business” in Pheonix magazine, Arizona

2011 in the „Destiny” Review of the Romanian Writers` Society  from Canada appeared : „Ways by which countries can emerge from the current economic crisis VERY EASILY  IN A SHORT PERIOD OF TIME, without being diminished wages and pensions, without being increased taxes and with no Unemployment – an epoch-making  discovery. „

2011 The play „Laughter„, translated into French and Italian, published in  the Catholic magazine „Mission Brussels”,  in Brussels

2011 The bilingual Romanian – French play Brancusi in the Catholic magazine „Mission Brussels”, Brussels

2012 The  comedy „You , wretches, Aliens are coming” received the second prize at Com Fest 2012

at National Festival of Comedy l organized by Theatre of Comedy in Bucharest. It is the 8th national playwriting award for Stefan Dumitrescu

2012  Volume of poetry „101 Poems’, Biodova Publishing House, Bucharest.

2012 ” You’ll be the sky too!”, novel,  Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

2012 „FM Dostoevsky commits suicide at Bucharest”, novel, Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

2012, The novel „Great Love„, Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

2012 „The MURDER of the  GREAT Martyrs of the Romanian  People„, novel, Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

2012 „PSYCHOTHERAPY AND EDUCATION THROUGH GOOD” Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

” THEORY of GOOD Revolution” Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA
2012  „Delirium, VOL II” , novel by Stefan Dumitrescu sequel to the famous novel „Delirium, Volume I” by Marin Preda. Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

2012 „Poplar on Hill OR SAVING IN GOD” (romance novel), Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

2012 „Hill that never ends OR Myth of Sisyphus” (romance novel) Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

2012  „Moonlit of Love” (romance novel), Cos Enterprises Inc..Publishing House, Silverside Rd, Ste.105, 3214 Wilmington, DE 19809 USA

These books can be found and bought from the online bookshops: AMAZON (www.amazon.com) and BARNES ET NOBLES (google-Barnes et Nobles)

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