George Anca - VOICES TOGETHER

VOICES  TOGETHER

George Anca – Vasile Văduva – Ștefan Vlădoianu – Radu Gyr – Nichifor Crainic – Ionel Zeana – Voices together

George Anca

Vasile Văduva la Arghezi

...

.          Bună. Maestre. - Bună, Gigi. - Ce faci? - Bine. Stai să văd dacă e vreunul nou. - Ce? - Mi s-au adus medicamente, am vrut să văd dacă e vreunul nou. - E? - Nu e. - Cum a mers perfuzia? - Bine. - Ai o gravitate în glas? - Nu. - N-am găsit povestea aceea în septembrie, şi “Fraţii Chirei” au apărut în octombrie. Eşti sigur că înainte a fost? - Înainte. Când a apărut “Fraţii Chirei”? - Prin 20 octombrie. - Atunci, prin 20 septembrie. - Bine, o să caut. Ai avut timp să te uiţi pe Pârvan? - Da. E măreţ. Unul din cei mai mari şi înălţători. Şi scrie frumos. Am citit “Laus Traiani”. - Sunt fericit, maestre. Cu vizitele cum stai? - Mâine o să aflu, doctorul mi-a spus că o să-mi dea şi învoiri în oraş. - Noapte bună, maestre. - Noapte bună.

.          …

.          Apoi am vorbit despre pictură şi cronica mea plastică - “te-ar întoarce spre antichitate”. S-a oferit să-mi obţină spaţiu pentru ea la ziarul său, unde îi va lua locul Domniţa, ceea ce îl bucura imens. Am pledat, în aceeaşi transă, cauza mea picturală, dreptul de a scrie despre Pallady, plătit cu exersarea pe alte tablouri. Îi evocam vizitele mele la Adrian Maniu, în casa căptuşită cu tablouri de Rodica, soră-sa, nemaicomentate, fapte de magie, hrănirea păsărilor, cărţile de joc cu un desen uniform pe dos, cu unul mic pe faţă. Maniu umbla numai cu Demian, duh de pictură. Era surd dar pictura îl ajuta. “Ai văzut ce le-a zis-o puştiul”, a spus într-o seară cu public despre mine cuiva. Un tablou, portretul. Mă înfierbântasem. Ţigările şi le dorise “ca o babă”, spunea Vasile. Pe doamna Cici era dispus s-o treacă în galeria iubirii, “deşi soldatul ăla nu-mi place”, dar m-a iscodit: “Ce zicea de vitalitatea noastră?” “Da, într-o aluzie la tine, era de părere că artiştii iubim viaţa mai mult ca oricine şi că asta contează (singurul loc în care n-am tradus corect). În fine, prin plasarea proiectului de cronică plastică pe un drum găsit şi aranjat de el se plătea parcă de o prietenie destul de veche şi, şi mai mult, adevărată, pură. Mă înfirbântasem vorbind despre poezia mută a picturii, când au intrat Domniţa şi Alda. Alda nu vorbea – îi spusese Domniţa să nu vorbească mult. Nici nu îndrăznea să-şi privească tatăl. Avea o jacheţică nouă, roşie.

.          …

.                      “Andrei Rubliov”, de Tarkovski, metalurgia clopotului, Pantocratorul, Maica sa şi Sfinţii, cei doi italieni, la care voi călători.

.                                Noica – să nu mă limpezesc. Dragoş Vrânceanu – prima impresie este extraordinară că o ai o singură dată. Cicerone Theodorescu – e birou de schimb şi la subsolul ministerului. Brunea_Fox – să nu te calce autobuzul sau să nu calci în vreo groapă mai veche din coliseu, “îmi pun vată în urechi, dar – o concesie, am lăsat pentru tine o ureche liberă şi rău am făcut căci altfel n-o mai auzeam pe aia cu pădurile”.

.                                La “Sahia”, bat în uşă. Vasile îmi dă un tifon dublu să-mi astup gura şi nasul. Avea 400 de leucocite. “Nu mai pleci, domnule, în Italia, să-mi trimiţi o vedere?” Contractase jurnalul de spital cu Păunescu şi avea să continue la ziar revista revistelor. Jurnalul, un tun, va fi tradus în toate limbile. Medicii nu prea vor, una a spus să nu-i mânii pe zei. Doamna Andreiţă voise să-l vrăjească, să-i schimbe ursita cu trei păpuşi. A crezut-o că e în stare, dar n-a mai vrut să şi-o schimbe, l-ar fi supărat pe Dumnezeu. N-a vrut să şi-o schimbe pentru că îl lega la ochi, vrăjea trei păpuşi – una el, una Domniţa şi unul “străinul” sau “străina”, şi s-a gândit cine-o fi străinul, a întrebat-o, şi ori că nu ştia, ori că n-a vrut să-i răspundă, n-a vrut să-i dea boala unuia pe care nu-l cunoaşte.

.                    L-ar scrie dintr-o răsuflare, totul e pregătit. Pentru revistă însă se cere o formă, iar el ar vrea să creeze mai mult decât un jurnal simplu, să povestească şi romanele pe care ar fi vrut să le scrie şi astfel să rămână. Orele din zi cât a stat cu acul în venă la perfuzii a gândit, şi ar scrie tot ce a gândit. “Ai totul în memorie, în cap?” “Am totul în suflet, mai adânc decât în cap.” Dacă ar ajunge la 300 de pagini ar putea muri oricând, nemaiineresându-l lungimea. I-am zis că numai creatorii sunt în legătură cu zeii şi că poate exista o faţă binevoitoare a lor pentru astfel de fapte. Rămânea de văzut ce va spune şi medicul său, care, mai demult i-a replicat: s-au mai scris astfel de cărţi. Îl cred yogin fiindcă nu e mort?

.          …

.                      Aflând că Moisil se bucurase pentru articolul pe care i-l dedicase, Vasile a şoptit, “Atunci înseamnă că e slab.” Nu-şi va mai scrie jurnalul care să includă şi povestirea romanelor, îşi va scrie romanele. Nu vrea să supere zeii. A renunţat şi la revista revistelor şi la formele ocazionale ale românismului, întorcându-se spre romane, iar, spre balade şi ceea ce este etern, în afara pieritorului.

.                                Prefera personalităţi cu numele lui mic. Vasile Conta, Vasile Pârvan, Vasile Voiculescu  i-au stat la căpătâi. Destinul românesc e unul singur şi noroiul o spune şi el. “Unii pleacă la Roma, alţii la Alba Iulia, alţii la spitalul Sahia”. Îmi spune s-o duc şi pe Nansi în Italia, ca plastician ar avea multe de văzut.

.                    Vasile, semeni cu Fellini, nu la figură, la gândire.

...

Vasile Văduva

Fata tatii

Fata tatii, să mă ierți

C-ai să crești – și n-am să fiu

Decât umbră-ntre coperți

Și de-acolo n-am să știu

De ți-e bine, de te doare

Când vei crește fată mare...

Ochiul meu n-o să te vadă

Prin pământul pus pe-o ladă,

Nici urechea-mi n-o s-auză

Glasul tău de buburuză,

Când vei râde, când vei plânge,

Lumea-n chingi când te va strânge...

Fata tatii, tu să ierți

Umbra mea dintre coperți,

Dacă biata n-o să poată

Să îți fie loc de tată

Și de-ot fi în tine ploi

Lângă raft să nu rămâi -

Căci eu n-am să pot din foi

Să mă-ntind să te mângâi,

Fata tati... să mă ierți

Că-s doar umbră-ntre coperți.

Acolo jos

Acolo jos, printre răcoare,

Ții minte Tudor George când

Nemaiturnându-ne-n pahare

Gagica dintre galantare?

Ci tot mai beam un rând în gând...

Miasmele de cărnuri fripte

Lung sfârâite pe grătar -

Smulse din porci, precum din cripte

Ferfenițite foi de scripte -

Și-n veci mirosul de mărar...

În hrubă-nchiși la „Singapore”

(Ții minte harmonistul orb?)

Corăbii, doamne, fără prore...

Deasupra timp cu alte ore

Ne-ar tot fi supt prin ciur de sorb...

Sub talpa lumii, hai sub talpă

De bună voie capul pus

Și-oricine vrea: poftim de-l scalpă

Prin frestruici cădea de sus...

Și n-aș fi vrut

Și n-aș fi vrut să fiu chiar drumul...

Ci m-aș fi vrut doar unu-n șir -

Țigan nomad ascuns în fumul

Căruțelor cu coviltir...

Și m-aș fi vrut măcar o roată

Rotindu-mă spre nesfârșit,

Măcar o talpă sângerată

Pe orice drum părăginit,

Măcar un ochi, măcar o mână,

Măcar un semn de bun rămas

Spre cei ce pot să mai rămână

Măcar un câine de pripas...

Ci mi-e sortit să fiu chiar drumul -

De-a pururi roți și tălpi în jur

Acoperi-mă-vor cu fumul

vieții ca un coviltir...

Ci devin colb... ci devin drumul ...

Dar mai respir... și mai respir...

Clopotul

Clopotul din turn prelins

Spre subțire, dinadins

Bate-(iată cum încearcă)n

Ochiu-mi zăvorât cu cearcăn.

Roșu stins, petale șui

Se preling din bangul lui

Și un deșt în patru muchii

Nituit pe sub cu muchii -

Și-acel os de sfânt prea ros

Clopotului pe din dos,

Tot mai mic, mai fără rang,

Ascunzându-se de bang...

Fetele

Fetele, bobletele,

Se duc pe-ndeletele

Și le-astupă urmele

Ploile și brumele...

Meru alții scrume-le!

Mă aleargă vârstele

Repezi ca lăcustele

Și pe-ascuns tristețile

Mă bat cu săgețile...

Sufletul se-ntunecă –

Stea de dor nu-l lunecă,

De tăceri să-l mântuie

Zarea nu-l mai bântuie...

Dragostea și zările

Alții le țin scările...

Față

Față-a mea de măscărici

Hai la groapa cu furnici -

Ba-i aici, ba nu-i aici

Fața mea de măscărici...

Jumătate râzi și plângi

Nemișcarea celei stângi,

Care – cine să mai știe

De e moartă, de e vie...

Față-a mea de măscărici

Hai la groapa cu furnici:

Și acolo pe-nserate

Nă-i mai fi – cred că se poate

Împărțită-n jumătate,

Cum îmi ești parșivo-aici,

Față-a mea de măscărici!

Hai la groapa cu furnici...

Ştefan Vlădoianu

înghimpe-l pururi otrăvitul bold

pe-a cela care săgeta centauri

Păi, ăştia-s căpcăunii, astea ni-s comorile?

De oful lor plâng văduve spânzurătorile

din Spania şi Ţările de Jos?

Primind aceste rânduri din parte-mi, ai să ştii

că din păcate – încă, mă număr printre vii.

Mai dăinuie Lâna de Aur? Pe care tărâm din nevreme,

ce limbi de balaur văpaia şi-o tremură-n umbrele serii?

Medeea – fior şi legendă – cu vrăji ne lovi şi blesteme;

sub lespezi de ape şi veacuri de-abia amintire-s năierii.

Tălăzuindu-şi limbile de fier

ne linge urma-n sânge şi ne latră

şi spumegă-n colţanele de piatră

în veci întunecatul Finister.

Ne-ntind Krimchilde duşca de miragii

şi – cald holocaust postumei glorii -

lung săgetăm prin aria vâltorii

stihiile-n albastre naufragii.

Ce dulci pe coclelile gurii

lethalele ape!... Sonore-s!...

Şi-aşa, pe astrala mea Flores

Se-mbată de-arând Calinurii

Făclii de-nviere purtându-le îngerii

nădejdilor câte-s prin Valea Plângerii

Vântule, alean şi alăută!

Asfinţire, plâns al inimii!

Îngerii luminii, linii mi-i

adunai în rana mea gemută!

Măi coltuce,-mpărătuş de fum!

Bungetele somnului, buhaiul

hojma să-l tot hăitui cu alaiul

surlelor, - păi nu ţi-i oarecum?

Dragoni pe val, în diluate ore

se arătau hăt-Miazăzi de-Azore

Pre nărăvaşul ce-ndrăgi ocaua

şi-Ţi preacurvi cu stelele şi veacul,

la lung răspas îl cerţi cu bobârnacul

şi numa cât ce-l pişti cu iavaşaua,

că orişicât i-ai răghila işlicul

şi ţesela pe cele cozondrace,

Te-ai însuţi minuna – cruci-te-ai, drace -

să-ţi depeni din holeră borangicul!

Şi-aşa ne ducem plugul dimpreună;

mai pe-o pârloagă şuie şchiopătând,

mai ochiul Tău se-nchide, când şi când,

boltindu-mi curcubeu peste furtună!...

Haitei lepădat să mi-l sfâşie,

hămesitul după neprihană

geamăt îi şi otrăvită rană

jinduindu-mi-te Apă vie!

Oh, maica lor, ăstor, prea-sfintele,

noi ticăloşi trecuţi prin Calvar,

tâlharii din furci, tâlhăriţii de har,

noi, câinii, le suntem mormintele!...

Şi spasmul prelung, fără ţărm, veşnicie!...

Îndură-te Tu, Prea-Curată Mărie!...

Rugămu-te încă de nu ni le-am duce

în zborul prin Marea Tăcere,

cu-amarele guri ostenite de fiere

şi-atâtea Mării,

agonii

lângă Cruce!

Frângă-Ţi-se trupul, danie,

Pentru om, pentru gânganie,

săturând şi foamea sfântului

şi pe-a lighioanelor pământului,

câinii şi măgarii şi plăvanii

şi boierii lumii şi golanii,

păsărelu-volburând stihiile

şi, slăvească-mi-Te, puşcăriile!

Cu vântul fără stavili – sărut al dimineţii -

nechezul câtă-i stepa maree-i pân' la cer

şi zarea-i îmbrâncită-n vâltoare de hanger

iar stelele-s prin ierburi la şuierul săgeţii!

Bine-vestind pe Condor şi Paradisierul

şi sângele pământului, august,

de fiecare lujer şi tulpină

tălăzuia cu chiote-n lumină

deslănţuit, solar holocaust

Iar când va fi şi luna la taifas

- târziu, ehei, sub constelate lustre -,

de-o da Eclesiastul să ne mustre

va ridica Omar Khayam nou glas

şi-un rubayat cu prospeţimi de floare

- răsuflul lin din adâncimi de şip

cu-nţelepciuni şi taine fel şi chip -

ne-o umple ca o binecuvântare!...

Alene-ntins la soare , cu Etna căpătâi,

Mediterana-n foşnet având-o la călcâie,

cu degetele-albastre Eolus mă mângâie

cu mângâierea lină a ceasului dintâi...

De ce-or fi arătând atât de triste

aceste limpezi, tinere coriste

şi cum se ofiliră-ndeosebi,

scăldate parcă-n aburi de cucută,

cununile – poemă involută -

pe frunţile cuparilor efebi?

Ce priviţi în zare?

Ţărmul e departe!

Pe pământ sau mare

Moartea nu-i tot moarte?

Radu Gyr

voi nu ştiţi ce-i omul când prinde să urle

cum scârţâie osul când frigul pătrunde

cum în noi insul se vinde pe sine

şi morţii vor prinde să urle

Morţi sfinţi în temniţi şi prigoane

morţi sfinţi în lupte şi furtuni,

noi am făcut din voi icoane,

şi vă purtăm pe frunţi cununi

Când am plecat de mult în Cruciadă,

Mai ştii Bertrand?

Îţi mai aduci aminte, Alberic?

Şi tot mai tainic, cornul trist ne cheamă

Tot mai departe de Ierusalim...

Gotfried, Gotfried, de ce ne înspăimântă

O rană-n piept

Şi-aşa întins pe-o targă-nmiresmată,

Purtaţi-mă spre ţară îndărăt.

Şi braţele s-or ridica mai treze

Sfinţite-n mirul rănilor de ieri

Ţi-or sta în faţa porţii Cruciaţii,

Ierusalime, care nu ne vrei.

Şi ei sau alţii tot te vor supune,

Strălucitorule Ierusalim

Lupii beznelor rânjesc la pânde

Ţara-i toată temniţe flămânde

Apele facă-te

Ape ca ele

Lanţuri şi gemete

Plâns din zăbrele

Aiudule, Aiudule,

Fiară năucă,

Face-te-ai crudule

Scrum şi nălucă!

De ce nu se face aşa, o lumină,

Să văd că-n celule răsare

Maica Domnului, c-o strachină mare

Cu lapte şi azimă plină

Fac un pas, vă aud zornăind fierăria

Mă culc, mă ridic, sun din carne, din oase,

Pâinea mea sună, apa mea sună, somnul meu sună

Lanţuri, lanţuri

Tot voi m-aţi legat de grozave ardezii,

Vulturi de foc să rupă aşchii din mine

morminte fără poveste

unde nu-ngenunchează neveste

Cât îi lună pe coame

crucilor parcă li-e foame

Cât bat stelele-n osânde

crucile-s haite flămânde

Aici stau de vorbă cu celula mea, pe-ndelete,

o-ntreb de voi, o dezmierd, apoi o zgârii, o muşc şi-o blestem.

Câteodată, umbrele voastre pâlpâie pe un perete,

şi-atunci curge aur în ea, ca-n staulul din Vitleem.

şi-n timp ce corbii vin să-i roadă,

leg altă rană c-o basma,

şi trec încet pe gloaba mea,

'naintea lor, pe gloaba mea.

Mă pipăiţi pe umeri, pe veşminte,

încredinţaţi că am venit-napoi,

ci eu sunt numai sute de morminte

în leşul care umblă printre voi.

Noi n-am cules aur din soare

Ci-n roşii amurguri zbătute,

Am strâns stropi de sânge-n urcioare

Prelins de pe cruci nevăzute.

Pândeam numai ştreanguri din stele,

Din zările roşii, sâneţe,

Priveam cum amurgul măcel e.

Noi nu am avut tinereţe.

Ridică-te, Gheorghe, pe lanţuri şi funii,

Ridică-te, Ioane, pe sfinte ciolane,

Şi sus, ca lumina din urma furtunii

Ridică-te, Gheorghe, ridică-te Ioane!

Dar, hămesit, subt lacăt, chei şi zăvoare,

de tine, sălbatice, viule soare Soare,

din carne îmi rup, din dogorâta mea smoală,

aceste cântece în pielea goală.

ploşniţă soră, guzgane-cumnate,

mătuşă libarcă.

Şi voi, lighioane surate

- păienjeni, păduchi şi gândaci -

numai voi din pereţii posaci,

călcaţi cu inimi de frate

prin orele mele înveninate.

Voiam să-mi învăţ zodia pe dinafară

şi-o visam scrisă cu litere-nalte, citeţe.

Credeam că steaua mea e o caleaşcă la scară,

să mă ducă, trasă de cerbi, peste râpi şi podeţe...

Cum caută azi ochiul, cu duşmănie,

Steaua nemernică şi blestemată!

Ce târfă de stea, ce năpârcă spurcată,

cum aş rupe-o cu dinţii, din puşcărie!...

Sub marii amari bolovani,

Cineva urlă de-o mie de ani,

cineva cântă de-un veac,

cineva n-are geamăt, nici leac,

altul cheamă şi cheamă,

altul blesteamă,

altul, cu-ntreg cuţitul,

ucide granitul...

Sub marii amari bolovani,

sângele temniţei fierbe de-o mie de ani.

Vecine,văzduhul ne cheamă vibrând din vechi violoncele.

Vezi? Calea laptelui, sus, peste noi?

E drumul ocnaşilor: uite, i-am întâlnit printre stele

din lanţuri sunând, în convoi.

Nu m-ai strâns la piept, tată, nu mi-ai dat mâna,

/acest lucru e strict interzis./

Dar s-a făcut o tăcere moale ca lâna,

peste noi cădea cerul ucis.

Sunt temniţe sus, ne fac semne, ne dau de veste,

Eu stau şi culeg depărtatul lor zvon,

şi parcă zăresc după gratii celeste

surâsu-ţi, Cervantes, şi tifla-ţi Villon.

Sunteţi acolo, verilor, fraţilor,

în carcere strâmte, de nestemate...

Salut, smintiţilor splendizi, salut deşuchiaţilor,

Ave, nălucilor întemniţate!

Din toate minunile Tale,

nu văd o zdreanţă, nu pipăi nimic.

Pentru-osânditul calic

ai numai ziduri în pieile goale...

S-a zgribulit patul, celula e de hârtie

ghetele-au tremur şi mârâit de potăi...

Mi-e frig, m-aş vrea opărit cu leşie,

aş mesteca tăciuni, aş bea vâlvătăi.

Fetid şi putred, somnul miroase-a pansamente,

dar pernele vibrează, prind aripi transparente,

şi unul după altul nemernicele paturi

fug pe ferestre-afară, în lacrimi şi-n oftaturi,

şi-n noapte zboară-acasă, la ţânci şi la neveste,

plutind pe subt arcada miresmelor celeste...

Numărul zodiei mele,

două sute optzeci şi unu.

Până-n celulă, la mine,

alte două sute optzeci

de lanţuri, de cuşti, de jivine

zăngăne, hăpăie, urlă ca mine,

alte două sute optzeci

de bestii, cu gheare haine,

zgârie pietrele reci,

gâtuie viaţa ca mine,

rup hălci din aduceri aminte,

muşcă, prin somn, o ţâţă fierbinte,

se izbesc de pereţi ca nişte lilieci,

sau doar putrezesc înainte

ca nişte morminte,

alţi două sute optzeci...

Două sute optzeci şi unu.

Numărul cu care mă târâi

prin sângele cuştei, şi latru, şi mârâi...

Două sute optzeci şi unu.

Numărul cu care râd ca nebunii,

scriu coapse şi sexe pe zid,

şi-n fiece clipă, ucid...

Dorul de tine mi-e aşa ca o furcă

proptită cu dinţii în beregată.

Din fundul Aiudului ochii tăi urcă

pe cer ca doi luceferi de piatră.

Mănânc: eşti în lingura mea. Fac un pas:

şchioapeţi, alături, în fiare.

Aprind o văpaie la iconostas:

cad lacrimile tale din lumânare.

Prin somn, vine lanţul tău, blestematul,

cu mari zornăeli să mă scoale.

Strig: Lanţule, lanţule, lasă-mi băiatul,

ferecă-mi mie gleznele goale.

Şi dacă singur rana nu-ţi legai

cu mâna ta, n-ai unge răni străine.

N-ai jindui după frânturi de rai,

de n-ai purta un strop de iad în tine.

Că nu te-nalţi din praf, dacă nu cazi

cu fruntea jos în pulberea amară...

Şi dacă-nvii în cântecul de azi

e c-ai murit în lacrima de-aseară.

Azi noapte Isus mi-a intrat în celulă.

O, ce 'nalt şi trist părea Crist.

Lun-a intrat după el în celulă

Şi-l făcea mai înalt şi mai trist.

Mâinile lui păreau crini pe morminte

Ochii adânci ca nişte păduri

Luna-l bătea cu argint pe morminte

Argintându-i pe mâini vechi spărturi

Uimit am sărit de sub pătura sură

- “Doamne, de unde vii? Din ce veac?...

Isus a dus lin un deget la gură

Şi mi-a făcut semn ca să tac.

A stat lângă mine pe rogojină

- “Pune-mi pe răni mâna ta!”

Pe glezne avea urme de răni şi rugină

Parcă purtase lanţuri cândva.

Oftând şi-a întins truditele oase

Pe rogojina mea cu libărci

Prin somn lumina, iar zăbrelele groase

Lungeau pe zăpada lui vărgi.

Celula părea munte, părea căpăţână

Şi mişunau păduchi şi guzgani

Am simţit cum tâmpla îmi cade pe mână

Şi am dormit o mie de ani.

Când m-am ridicat din afunda genună

Paiele miroseau a trandafiri

Eram în celulă şi era lună

Numai Isus nu era nicăiri.

Mi-am ridicat braţele, nimeni, tăcere...

Am întrebat zidul; niciun răspuns...

Doar razele reci ascuţite-n unghere

Cu suliţa lor m-au împuns.

Unde eşti Doamne?... am urlat prin zăbrele

Din lună venea fum de căţui.

M-am pipăit şi pe mâinile mele

Am găsit urmele cuielor Lui.

Zidim destin, Parâng de ziduri sfinte

Dar nu din var şi piatră ctitorim

Ci tencuim cu albe oseminte

Din cărămida rănilor zidim.

Mi-oi năluci atuncea, că am înins toţi zmeii,

că sunt biruitorul întregului pământ,

îmi va închide ochii, blând, mâna Dulcineii

şi voi muri departe de morile de vânt...

Nichifor Crainic

Întrebat-am vântul, zburătorul

Bidiviu pe care-aleargă norul

Către-albastre margini de pământ:

Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Zis-a vântul: Aripile lor

Mă doboară nevăzute-n zbor.

Întrebat-am luminata ciocârlie,

Candelă ce leagănă-n tărie

Untdelemnul cântecului sfânt:

Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Zis-a ciocârlia: S-au ascuns

În lumina celui nepătruns.

Înrebat-am bufniţa cu ochiul sferic,

Oarba care vede-n întuneric

Tainele neprinse de cuvânt:

Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Zis-a bufniţa: Când va cădea

Marele-ntuneric, vei vedea.

Tu, răcoarea celui ars pe rug, Iisuse,

Şi dulceaţa celui sfâşiat de leu,

În arena morţii, Dumnezeul meu,

Fii şi răsăritul vieţii mele-apuse,

Tu, răcoarea celui ars pe rug, Iisuse!

Podgorii bogate şi lanuri mănoase,

Pământul acesta, Iisuse Hristoase,

E raiul în care ne-a vrut Dumnezeu.

Priveşte-te-n vie şi vezi-te-n grâne

Şi sângeră-n struguri şi frânge-te-n pâine,

Tu, viaţa de-a pururi a neamului meu.

Tu munte, doboară o stâncă de sus

şi dă-o de-a dura pe omul răpus

că-i plin de iubire ca stupul de miere

dar nimeni n'o ştie şi nimeni n'o cere,

că poate sub stâncă i-ar fi mai uşor,

decât sub povara gemutului dor.

Ionel Zeana

În murmurul puţinelor cuvinte,

Bolborosim cu inima fierbinte:

Îndură-te de noi, o, Doamne Sfinte!

Cu Ivan, cu Boris şi cu Vasia

Asia, Asia, Asia!

Uite, frate, fiarele

Cum şi-mplântă ghiarele

Şi ne seacă soarele

Am îmbrăcat

Armura grea de cruciat

Copiii azi se roagă sub icoane,

Să le aducă Moş Crăciun în zori,

Mălai în locul pungii cu bomboane

Şi taţii îngropaţi în închisori.

Ehei, temnicer,

Trăzni-te-ar Sfântul din cer

Peste-ale porţii

Zale de fier,

Sună prin ger

Tropotul morţii,

Tropotul morţii

De când stăm aici şi putrezim?

Umbrele,

Sumbrele

Hei! Cine umblă la vizetă

Hei! Cine oare-a părăsit pământul?

Galbeni ca gutuia

I-nfulecă pământul.

Ca un ţârcovnic vântul

Îngână: Aliluia!

Hei, m-am logodit cu tine,

Moarte, într-o zi de mai,

Când doineau înalt în mine

Codrii pe-un picior de plai!

Joacă-n ochi ca o bacantă,

Peste munţi de pâini şi poame,

Groaznică, halucinantă:

Foame... foame...foame... foame!

Ascultă, bucătare Ladislau,

Răstoarnă-n blid pogon un polonic,

Că-mi arde gura fierea ce o beau

Şi-un gol imens mă suge sub buric!

Între pereţii mucezi cu libărci,

Cu trupul vânăt, răsucit covrig,

Azi noapte-n iadul blestematei Zărci

Am tot gemut de foame şi de frig.

Nu mi-am găsit o clipă adăpost

Şi-am tropăit precum un armăsar,

Că gardianul furios din post

M-a târnosit cu-ntregul calendar...

Mi-a sângerat în inimă o rană

Şi-un înger trist îmi lăcrima sub coastă...

Doar luna durdulie, roşcovană,

Râdea cu gura ştirbă ca o proastă.

Te-am aşteptat, în cuşca zăbrelită

Să vii ca un îmblânzitor de fiare

Să simt curgând mocirla aburită,

Ca aurull topit în mădulare.

Să-nşel o clipă apriga potaie

Ce-mi latră trupul destrămat în ceaţă,

Cu gheara-i crunt înfiptă-n măruntaie...

Luceafărul şi steaua ei de viaţă!

Dar va suna odată pân' la astre

Şi ceasul învierii noastre

Şi neamul tot, trezit la o chemare,

Se va scula năpraznic în picioare,

Cu coase-n mâini, cu furci şi cu topoare,

Vuind şi bubuind din zare-n zare,

Ca o pădure uriaşă de goruni

Sălbatic biciuită de grindini şi furtuni.

Şi veţi pieri în hăuri de-ntuneric,

Cu prăvălirea unui bolovan,

Hoarde ale Spiritului Luciferic,

Hoarde ale lui Satan!

Doamne, izbăveşte-mă de suferinţă!

De-atâta chin mi s-a sfinţit şi cel din urmă strop de sânge.

Şi iar te prosternai adânc la denii,

În zvonul cuvioaselor ectenii

Şi-n leagănul bolnavelor vedenii,

Ah, arde-te-ar vâlvorile gheenii!

În salturi uriaşe ca jivina,

Sub zodia delirului tău tific,

Atâtor neamuri stinsu-le-ai lumina,

Din Baltica şi până la Pacific,

Rozându-le soarele

Cu colţii şi cu ghearele

George  Anca

VOICES  TOGETHER

          Yes, I hope you would extend your wandering westward. I’ve enquired with a man in the Romance Dept. The present Romanian is not excellent and wants to leave (has to leave?) The Dept. would be happy to have someone like you here to teach Romanian and animate Michigan life in general. But they would not pay. For that you should apply to Fullbright-Hays (they have an office in New Delhi – on Haley Road, I think, near Connaught Circus) and try to get a Fullbright Lectureship here at Michigan. If you decide to try please let me know and I will prepare people here to the idea (also put me down in the application as a reference). Finally send me a copy of one or two of your volumes.

          I got your note this morning. It sounds like you are leaving Delhi for good (= forever). I am sad that now there will be no antidote to India when I go there next (which I hope will be in July this year). But if I could stop in Romania on the way to India? Let me know what possibilities there are while you can still write and speak openly. There is snow here and it reminds me of the enormous drifts on the Delhi University Campus and the blocks of ice floating down the Jamna like rafts of pine logs of the Danube. It is all coming back to me. And now whenever I see a bench without a pillow, I shall think, “What do you expect? Naples?!’ Your friend on the falling trapeze, Peter.

          It was my pleasure also to meet you in Zagreb, and for the few words you addressed to our symposia. I have long been interested in Romania and have visited it twice (Cluj, Sibiu, Timisoara, Turnu Severin, Oradea etc. / but… not the Capital or the Black Sea coast). As you may know, Romania and Romanian culture are rather unknown in the United States. We do, however, have several hundred thousand people of Romanian ancestry.

          I am a social anthropologist with interests in a number of subjects including Southeastern Europe, social gerontology, visual anthropology (film), and urban and applied anthropology.

          I was delighted to hear from you, and very much appreciate the materials you sent me (Bucharest Newsletter etc.). However, am especially honored to be included as a Member at large of the International Academy Mihai Eminescu. I was very surprised to see my name among the members.

          I am back in Buenos Aires. My journey to India was very positive. I am very happy to have met you and your family. You are an excellent person and a true intellectual. I admire your enthusiasm, I hope to see you again some day and some where.

          So much happened since our enjoyable few weeks in Delhi and meeting you there. I have just returned from a few months leave in England – at the University of East England, Norwhich. My main research interests are in atmospheric chemistry, rainwater chemistry and their effects on building stone – particulary limestone. Unfortunately we could not travel as far as Romania – Venice was the nearest we approached to you.

          I flew from Delhi on 18th January and got back to Thimphu on 19th. On the following day I went to see my boss. He was very much pleased when I talked about you and the work you are doing. I hope you are getting on well with your art work. I am looking for the pictures of Mithun, Bhutanese calendar etc. It seems I may be able to get only black and white pictures. I was just wondering if you are interested to work in Bhutan. We need an artist of your skill in order to do the illustration part of our school text books. I honestly don’t know if your husband is a visiting lecturer in English language and literature. If so he will be welcome to work either in one of our central schools or college.

          Unfortunately I found because of ‘red tap’ your draft has not been made by the Finance branch. Today there is strike in the bank. Tomorrow I will get the draft made personally and post you.

          Namaste ji. It is very hot here. Such weather rare in Delhi. You are lucky being in Dharamshala. I am sure Dharamsala must be little warmer than usual. I hope you like the place.

          My child here speaks very fine Romanian. He speaks in Romanian in dream and, when single, speaks to himself in Romanian. He feels much more at home in Romania than in Hindi or English.

          Kasauli is very small but very beautiful place on the way to Simla. After Delhi heat, it seems like in refrigerator, so all of us are very happy, it is sad that we have to return to Delhi, relatively so quickly. It could be good idea to shift foreign languages courses to Himachal Pradesh University in Simla. It would resemble like in Switzerland Alps or Romanian Carpathian Mountains.

          Try to get some Press Coverage in your country – Frank Starr, America’s next president! Please also help me to gain Political Asylum in your country should I need as I expect Pres. Bush to severely persecute me.

          I am writing this few words with terrible pain of my tooth. I hope that you survive somehow terrible heat of Delhi at least our coming back to Delhi. The altitude where we stay in Mussorie is 2.200 meters above sea level.

        

          Nous ne nous sommes pas vus bien longtemps dans l’aeroport de Karachi mais j’ai pui admirer votre culture français et votre amour de la Literature. Nous somme restés une journée a Bucarest- visite de la ville avec l’Englise S-te Helene et Constantin… Votre capitale ressemble a toutes les villes de l’Occident latin. Des toilettes variées, des gens mornes et empressés. Pur moi et notre petit groupe de quatorze, nous sommes rentés enchantés du peuple Chinois, pauvre et obeissant, mais hereux et calme, et souriant. Il se contente de ce qu’il a, et c’est un exemple pour nous societés de gasillage. J’avais des timbres représentant le petit Michel de oumanie – mais tout cela a été volé a la guerre 39-45.

          Tous mes Vœux pour une année de Courage et de Joie en famille, dans cette Inde enchanteresse et magique – dont je ne connais pas encore le Sud, ni Veylan. Je vois que la Providence vous accompagne en ce difficile chemin de la Vie… comme Elle a permis la rencontre de Karachi – je m’en souviens comme si c’était hier. Merci pour votre si aimable invitation, mais je me demande si, apres les élections présidentielles.\, d’avril, la France ne deviendra pas socialiste, avec François Mitterand… et, alors, ce sera difficile de voyager. De plus, je viens d’avoir 66 ans, a Noel, et la fatigue commence a se faire sentir. Jeudi, nous avons pu voir, a la T.V., la réception de Marguerite Yourcenar, a l’Académie française, faisant l’eloge de Roger Caillois, une mystique de la matiere, de la pierre. La response de Jean d’Ormessonn fut magistrale, « les étoiles que laissent les oiseaux lorsque'ils marchent dans la neige." Remercions à Dieu ensemble pour ce qu'il nous offre, et soyons comme un petit enfant comme l’a été Therese Martin, d’Alençon ou elle est née (a 20 km. De Séez) et 100 km. de Lisieux.

          Mais c’est une grande soufferance que je partage avec vous, et cette épreuve va fruitifier votre œuvre, va faire grandir votre créeation… Tous les poetes, tous les artistes, ont enfanté dans douleur – Baudelaire, Musset, Vigny, ont célébré cette solitude qui est « pure, fiction passive »… Je vous connai tres courageux et, apres le sombre hiver, vient le soleil doré « Vous avez bien fait de garder votre situation actuelle dans cet avenir incertain – et ce sera peut-etre Rodica qui reviendra a Delhi, avec Nana qui aura grandi… Pouvez-vous écrire facilement. Apres trois mois d’absence, je rentré de Nice ou, chaque année, je garde un appartement d’une ancienne éleve, partie dans un château de la Nievre, avec sa famille – pour le vacances. J’ai lu les « Nouveaux mémoires intérieurs » de François Mauriac… c’est tres beau beau. Il fait un soleil magnifique…

          Vous me gâtez trop avec cette nouvelle plaquette en anglais de Rodica… et votre bonne lettre ou vous semblez accepter mieux votre solitude temporaire, laquelle se terminera bientôt, avec les beaux jours de l’été 1984… Mais, a Bucarest vous ne pourrez plus exercer vos dons littéraires et artistiques, comme a l’Academie Eminescu… Que ferez-vous ?... Vous avez une grande activité en ce moment, avec les traductions, le roman « fourmis blanches »… qu’est que cela veut dire ? et les enfants que vous faites chanter. Ici, en France, c’est le désordre depuis que le gouvernement est socialiste, des greves chez les postiers, dans les trains… toutes les usines ferment : c’est la collectivisation – on nationalise tout, hélas… et ce sera la misere pour bientôt.

          Si je trouve des chansons d’enfants, en français, je vous les envoie… Ici c’est la campagne… 5.000 habitánts. Chaque soir je vais chez une dame agée de 20H a 8H, au cas ou elle se trouverait mal, la nuit. Le 20 Octobre, a Rome, nous avons eu une audience privée, du Saint Pere, Jean Paul II, dans une salle, au 5-eme, du Vatican. Le 22, cétait le mariage en Ardeche, d’une niece Anne Marie Leblan. Il me reste un frere, 65 ans, et j’en ai 68. Il est Minotier (de pere en fills) et a 6 enfants 3 filles mariées, sur 4… et deux fils. Bon Noel, dans la Paix de l’âme et dans l’Esperance de revoir bientôt Nana et Rodica.

          Votre belle carte me rappelle les deux voyages en Inde… celui du Nord avec Népal, et celui du Sud avec Ceylan ! Félicitations pour votre merveilleux programme de septembre, octobre, novembre et décembre, avec l’Exposition des dessins d’enfants – Joyeux Noel… pour touts, avec l’Enfant divin venu pour nous racheter… C’est en Lui que nous nous retrouverons tous en Ciel, dans la PAIX et la SERENITE enfin retrouvées…

          Vous ne me parlez jamais de votre santé… Ménagez-vous et reposez-vous quand il le faut. Tout s’arangera… et les noblesse de votre idéal vous aide a suporter l’absence temporaire… des êtres aimes… Ait-il froid a Delhi ? ici, il gele, mais le temps tres sec est agréable a supporter – avec le Soleil.

          Vous allez quitter la libérté Indienne. Serez-vous encore professeur a Bucarest ? ici c’est calme… Il pleut chaque jour, la politique est mauvaise. Je vous envoie la Sointe Vierge de Pologne, la priant de vous àider, de vous réconforter, et de vous réunir avec Rodica et M. Alexandra qui s’ennuient de vous. Avez-vous relu les 4 Evangiles l’un apes lautre, ou un résumé ?... Bon Courage. Union de prieres.

          Que la Vierge vous encourage et vous protege.

          Cela ne m’étonne pas qu’on n’ait pas accepté votre démission. Vous avez un rôle irremplaçable, sachant plusieurs langues, comme poete, écrivain, et défenseur de la culture roumaine. Mais je comprendre votre grande tristesse de la séparation… C’est tragique, dans ce monde si divisé. En France, cela va mal aussi. Tout est bloué par les gros camions depuis huit jours : c’est une insurrection qui va tourner au communisme hélas ! Ayons confiance en Dieu… envers et contre tout.

          J’espère que ces lignes vous arrivèrent avant le 8 avril… pour vous souhaiter un bon voyage et une grande Joie de revoir Rodica et Alexandra, dans cette chère Roumanie, après un exil de sept années… Mais je crains que votre santé ne soit pas très bonne… Vous me paraissez plutôt déprimé… le physique agissant souvent sur le moral. Il faut bien manger et regarder la côté positive de la vie. La nature est toujours et partout très belle. C’est, avec la musique et la poésie, notre grande richesse… Comme vous, je vis pauvrement, sans aucun confort, dans deux pièces que mes amies appellent « cave » ou « réduit ». Ma seule force est la Foi, un don tout a fait gratuit, et pour lequel on pourra remercier toute l’éternité – et je voudrais le partager avec tous ceux que j’aime afin qu’ils aient cette Joie intérieure, fait de paix et d’espérance qui permet de traverser toutes les souffrances de la vie… Celui qui n’a pas souffert que sait-il ?... L’essentiel est de se relever sans cesse, n’est-ce pas? Vous aimez aussi « Le petit Prince » de S-T Exupéry. Rien n’est plus pur, ni plus divin. Personne n’est inutile et a sa place ici-bas… Un poète et un écrivain fait plus pour sa Patrie que tous les militaires du monde… C’est l’âme d’une Nation, c’est sa mission, sa vocation… Qu’importe d’être parfois incompris : « L’homme est un dieu tombé qui se souvient des Cieux ». Un secret pour être Heureux : vivre le moment présent, être dans l’instant, la minute actuelle… Ne pas regarder ailleurs… ni passé, ni avenir… Carpe diem, disaient les Anciens. Rodica et Alexandra comptent les jours et vous esperent de tout leur cœur. Courage, confiance et Vive la Roumanie, vive toute votre famille.

          Cher collegue, je suis heureuse de voir que la réunion d’Aurangaband n’est pas oubliée.

          Monsieur le Président, Cher Collègue et Ami, Suite a notre précedent entretien, j’ai l’honneur de Vous confirmer mon souhait d’être admis membre de l’Académie internationale Eminescu, afin de contribuer modestement a une meilleure connaisance mondiale d’une œuvre poétique colossale et au renom de la Roumanie.

          Salut ami, j’espere que tu te portes a ravir, et que le parc Cismigiu préserve ta quiétude ! Il se fait que j’éprouve de plus en plus la nécésité existentielle d’écrire.

        

          Napoli, 13.II.’73. Gentile Signor Anca, la ringrazio dell’articolo che mi ha inviato, la cui traduzione mi e stata mandata poi dal prof. Franco Lombardi. Sono contento che l’intervista sia andata cosi bene e spero di rivederla quando tornera in Italia. Intanto la saluto cordialmente, suo Eduardo De Filippo.

        

          Roma 22.2.1982. Cortese Collega, il gentile invio della versione emineschiana « Epistola Prima » e l’ipotetico invito alla discussione del Suo dottorato recano la data di un anno fa (Nuova Delhi, 22.2.1981).

          La risposta – a un anno di distanza – Le dice che il pensiero non e venuto mai meno, se mi ha accompagnato per tanto tempo, senza dileguarsi nel silenzio inerte dei fatti e dei sentimenti destinati a restare senz’eco.

          Le assicuro invece che il lungo tempo trascorso non toglie nulla alla alla vivacita del moi compiacimiento per quanto Lei e riuscito a fare, restituendo, attraverso la lingua, il grande Eminescu alla cultura cui – mediatamente o no – il Poeta tanto deve, sia della sua formazione spirituale, sia delle sue scelte esistenziali. Mi tenga informata delle Sue iniziative, con la certezza di procurarmi motivo di profunda soddisfazione : Lei sa quanto io sia legata alla fortuna nel mondo di quel grande poeta, tanto grande quanto sfortunato.

          Augurandole « spor la munca » La saluto molto cordialmente, anche a nome dell’Amica cui fu affidato il Suo risordo per me, la professoressa Evige Bestazzi. Mi abbia Sua Rosa del Conte.

          Gennaio 1990. Sonno certa che Lei condivide il rimpianto ; ma l’nsegnamento resta ! Beneaugurando R Del Conte.

          Si è spento a Roma, all’ètà di ottantatré anii, il filosofo e storico della filosofaia Franco Lombardi.

          La mia solitudine è un nano. La mia solitudine sfugge. La mia solitudine e un amante inimaginabile. La mia solitudine e amica quando sono sincera e riesce a farmi vedere cose che gli occhi non possono. La mia solitudine sa prendermi in giro : La mia solitudine e la mia complice. La mia solitudine e quella di tutti. La mia solitudine e la mia liberta. La mia solitudine è l'unico tesoro che ho e l’unica maledizione. La mia solitudine e il mio peccato.

          Daniela ti saluta e ti abbraccia forte nano delle mille fascini, volutte, deliri e tenerezze. Io sono una bambina che insegue ancora farfalle e aguilari per raggiungere una stelle che possa illuminiarle e scaldarla in me c’e un grande scoglio io non so credere a niente. Questo e il moi limite se un giorno riusciro a superalo…. Vorei rincontrarti e chedierti se ti piaccio.

          Vielen Dank fuer Deinen netten Brief, den ich nun vor einigen Jegen bekam. Please tell the person kind enough to watch after my Library that I shall do my best to put together enough dddd prior to Summer to pay for the costs of sending those books etc. over the seas to me. Presently I am engaged as a half-time Teaching Assistant in the indigenous Dept. of Phil. No Piles of Moloh, but tuition is waived & enough dough for chappatis & dal is made available. Per post, I am available through the Dept. of Phil., University of Southern Illinois at Edwardsville, Edwardsville IL 62025, USA. Your letter got inadvertently thrown away, so please write me again soon also her name & address again. Could you also write to prof. Eliade concerning my interests? Do you need anything from or on this scene? Best Wishes in the Future for you and yours. One of these days, I’ve got to get epistolarily ambitious enough to give your heavy perusal some tonal visualisations worthy of your highest selfloudsilenteousness…

          I have the pleasure to inform you that I have decided to start publishing The World Family monthly magazine from the month of August, 1981. I request you to contribute an article or poem on world peace and world Government and also please agree to be the resident representative of the journal at New Delhi. If you agree I will send the visiting cards printed with your name and other publicity material.

          It seems after going from here you have forgotten about us. Hell! Romania is a big country but, Sirs, we are poor Indians. Please think about us at least sometime.

          I’m particulary nil except for the briefing that you did en route to Delhi from Khurja.

          Most writers are poor people, who have to give much time to earning a living and it may be difficult for them to set aside previous work and settle down to answer the questionnaire. There is a friend of mine, Prof. Margaret Chatterjee, living next door to you almost in D2, 25-31, Probyn Road, a philosopher, as also a poet and who may answer these questions from her own point of view, during some of the leisure she may have between her lectures. There are other writers in Delhi like Shri Sham Lal, 28-A, Gulmohar Park, New Delhi, whom you could interview, with a tape recorder.

          I really wanted to stay at the university housing for many reasons, your presence there being one of them, and probably proximity to Prof. Saxena and, of course, to Prof. Chatterjee whom I respect ad infinitum.

          Our time creation: I firmly believe that if the work is worthy of the name ‘Creation’ it transcends the time element it becomes the piece of Act although I believe that the creation of our time must reflect the impact of our time i.e. modernity, may be in the subtlest way.

          Indian Genius: Indian Genius if it is really ‘Indian’ does believe in the sanctity of human life and complex nature of its problems. It also believes in the ultimate success of life force and spirit; it believes in Arts like ‘Sculpture’ the peace of soul, harmony of emotions, rather than (Commotion in life) such as in Buddha & Mahavir. It believes in fiction & epics, heroes working for ultimate truth and universal wellbeing. Truth, Beauty & Good are its ideals, I would like to say is its only one ideal. Indian artist’s genius breaths in Eternity and inhales all that, as good beautiful and true, not only in its own past history, but history of the world and faces modern problems of over-Sophistication and looks forward in the future also to take up its challenges. May I stop here?

          Even in the most sophisticated and advanced societies of the world, the poet & his poetry would endure because it would continue to react with all his spiritual strength & with his most complex medium of language would not remain quiet over it, he would speak out.

          The novelist of tomorrow would deal with all the ‘tomorrowness’ as I would like to call it, with the ‘uptodateness’ of the medium i.e. language which will be able, I hope to deal with the most complex problems.

          The myth provides a springboard to a creative artist, a footing position from which he can move here and there, within the limit and in that process itself, there is an element of recreation.

          There must be a living throb in literature in a language which at once is artist’s own and communicable to the reader of all times; About thought, I would like to say that in creative writing, the thought does not predominate, it is rather submerged in expression.

          Thinking in art becomes ‘Thinking’.

          I prefer creative writing and also critical writing in literary art. I don’t believe in the saying that ‘as science advances, poetry declines’. On the contrary, I do believe that the present moment in scientific advance poses a challenge to the artist who must take up the same and deal with it as he does with any other problem, as a raw material for art.

          TRMOANEL OORTNTO CLARMASENOT YEKWTSE CLTUATCA Montreal Toronto Charleston Key West Calcutta and Calcutta is odd man cut because it is the only city not in North America.

          On November 11 in 1928 he had lived as long in the twentieth century as he had lived in the nineteenth, so he was born at midday on February 19, 1873, and at midday on November 11, 1928, he had lived 10,176 ½ days in each century.

          January 1, 1901 was a Tuesday. The day of the week for January 1, 2001, will be Monday. There are 36,525 (365 X 100 + 25) days in this century. This amounts to 5,217 full weeks and six days. Therefore, January 1, 2001 will be six days after Tuesday.

          Vous etes done né en avril 44, alors que je suis du 22.12.1914… Deux guerres mondiales sont entre nous.

          Tres portée sur l’Histoire, j’ai lu la vie d’Anne de Bretagne, femme de Charles VIII et de Louis XII et belle-mere de François Ier morte tres jeune… la vie, a cette époque n’etait pas plus facile… c’est toujours l’effort a recommencer chaque matin.

          Théodore Pallady est un impressioniste de Ier plan. La jeune Valaque est théâtrale. « Comme le monde est grand a la lueur des lampes, / Aux yeux du souvenir comme le monde est petit. Voici encore du cher Baudelaire.

          Mi rallegro in particolare del fatto che tu sei ritornato in Europa e in Romania, ed il posto che ai mi sembra anche buono. Adesso ci potremo vedere piu facilmente tuo aff.mo Franco Lombardi.

          Till now I have come across with so many foreigners like French, German, Russian, Italian, Dutch, English, Japanese, Korean and others, but I found some things unique in you which I will remember till my last breath. I learnt so many things from you, especially in the field of Art. It was my mistake that I have not photographed you with your family during your stay in India.

          This is from your Ugandan friend MR. Joseph M. Mubim, alias MR. Musajjalumbwa. Since you left India, I have done a great deal of writing. My articles in the Newspapers and Magazines continue to come out. As a result that now more Magazines have offered columns to me. I have to write for nine Magazines. And two Dailies. It is a very big challenge since I have to do this beside my book and of course more reading. I am trying very hard to get funds to persue a course in International Journalism at one of the National Institutes here. But the authorities say I can only join with foreign funds and not on the basis of the good money now I am earning through my Newspapers Columns.

          Nanci told you are going to Romania on 7th with a return in August. But yesterday when we met I was surprised that you won’t be coming back because none of your work is getting published in Romania and you are being turned into a stranger in your country of origin. Your stay in India has been marvellous for the whole set of literature and comparative literature and your „Milky Way”, your „Latinitas” and more so „International Academy Mihai Eminescu” initially put into thought process by you and then a little bit pushed forward by both of us and now is having a roll of honour for many a person involved in it internationally is the ground work which you have done here from an offshore land. In Academic circle and in the circles of cooperation between India and Romania it has indeed opened a new chapter such as „Max Miller” opened up an avenue of thought exchange between Germany and India. Because of your active support poets like Ion Iuga came in touch with the Indian circles which will go in record for a long time now. I am amazed to see your „Geetgovindam” in which Nanci has given marvellous illustration and dear you have done the most onerous job of translating whole lot of the Sanskritized classic into Romanian through English and Sanskritized Hindi original. Geetagovindam is a major work of literary production and you have done the best cintecul after cintecul job and in India. Rodica’s drawing opposite page 22 looks almost Sita in Ashokvatica and Shakuntala carved in a lotus flower – and Radha it was, Romania it remains because you already produced a „Good luck Radha” piece of a play in your list stay here. I told Rodica that Radha drawn by her almost looks Romania in features and Indian in dress and it is the chief attempt done to my own knowledge of Indo-Romanian relations. I am happy that it is you who broke the ice. You have received Baldev Mirza’s special number of poet „Agha” of Pakistan published at Aligarh. It looks that its thick paper inspired you to use thick paper for „Gitagovinda” published under your International Academy Eminescu, Delhi, while you have already achieved a great expertise in printing it nicely which shall be liked world over. I am also impressed by the Sanskrit version of Mihai Eminescu’s Luceafarul which has been translated by Urmila Rani Trikha and published by you under International Academy Eminescu using Rodica’s drawings again. I hope both these works will stand the test of time and shall be invariable quoted by the press and the friends alike. You have done it and there will sponsor its memory in all hearts. Thank you for having given me one copy each of these books which shall be a treasure on my bookshelf beside table before sleep.

          Dr. Carranza and I as well as others IAEWP members in El Salvador, have singled out a few officers of the Association to ask them to write a letter to both President Alfredo P. Cristiani of El Salvador and Lic. Cecilia Gallardo de Cano, the Minister of Education in El Salvador. To save your time and to spare myself from a lot of explanation I have drafted neatly for you to sign two letters to be sent immediately to these two distinguished Salvadorian government personalities. Hence, I am enclosing also two envelops already addressed to both the Salvadorian President and his Minister of Education. Please sign them, attach a stamp on the envelopes and mail them right away. Thank you.

          Please let me congratulate you for the good job you are doing as President of El Salvador.

          Please let me congratulate you for the good job you are doing as Minister of Education in El Salvador.

          We are granting you general status without cost. Your credential for the year is enclosed.

          The hope to demonstrate to the vanguard of Twentieth Century mankind a Twenty-Second Century learning in a Twenty-First Century environment.

          Your name has been brought to the attention of the Research Department of the International Biographical Centre by Prof. C. Mercieca.

          It is always nice to inaugurate.

          I would be delighted to receive the manuscript for consideration.

          Aussi, et si vous le souhaitez, je vous nommerai a un titre de professeur dans le domaine de l’anthropologie européene.

          Vienna. Additional reprezentative. Trustees of WCPA for 1992 and Romanian booklet of yours which I can not read. But it looks impressive. You are welcome to Bangkok and give some special lecture on education.

          I am not at the moment planning to visit Yugoslavia because of the civil war there. But, when I do, I also want to spend some time in Romania. Then we can have a very long talk about many things. For instance, I am not quite sure what the connection is between India and Romania in your work, although I understand that it is deeply philosophical and poetic. THE BUDDHA AND THE COLONIAL (or is it Coronel?).

          Participation 1992 sixth world Congress in Malta in the front part of my mind. God bless. Copy: United States Secret Service Headquarters Investigation.

          The words that are used in our daily routine. Relations, colors, Interrogation, persons. A fi, simple expressions, Conversation, Dictation, Vocabulary, Masculine and Feminine, Opposite words, „caloianul”, conting days, parts of the body, Danube, negation, „Noi avem castel frumos, ran-tan-tiro-riro-ran”, singular-plural, Incurcatura play writer, neuter, poem by National poet „Mihai Eminescu”. Peste varfuri, very simple outlook of the Latin language and its comparison with Romanian, Salve, Tempus acquierendi et tempus perdente, Vergilius father, Dante, Ante hominem vita et mors, bonum et malum, past, present and future tense. Sunth lacrimae rayrerum / Sunt lacrim in lucruri / that the things have tears in this we have discussed this philosophically and with Eminescu writing, Luceafarul, „Glossa” – most of the students remembered the first line of the poem „Vreme trece vreme vine”, how to answer the question, these are practised from the Romanian booklet Edited by the „George Anca” our teacher, story by M. Eminescu „Poveste Indica”. Opening the session with famous national ballad „Miorita”. This poem is read in the Romanian, in English and in Hindi from the translation of „Mrs. Urmila Trikha”. By reading this poem one can observe that it is the real soul of Romanian culture, which inspires not only the country people but also the foreigners. Because no one can escape by realizing the tragedy of the poem. And the words are used in a simple fashion. But by their combination the metaphors obtained are very strong. On this day we only noted the metaphors and their comparison with different characters, stories etc. Date? Study of „Miorita” and its metaphors in detail.

          How to write the letter in Romanian and the matter in the letter in the simple sentences. In class we have written a letter to the friend to give back the book of our course.

          In this class we prepared ourselves for meeting a Romanian poet „Ion Iuga”. We are preparing the questions for asking him. Here from which region he belongs? What are the poems written by him? Why does he writes poet and not anything else? etc. Those all questions we prepared in Romanian, because Mr. Iuga does not know English. While preparing the questions we come across a word „Meglu” give by our teacher. He told us the story that how a person of their country explained that he discovered a word meglu from that gluma – „Joke”. So many interesting events take place in the class.

          Introduction of „Mr. Ion Iuga” in the class. It is a very novel experience for us. To meet a person who does not know our language and we are also not frequent in his language. Our class teacher act as a translator who translate our information into Romanian and his views into English. The poems written by him are also recited by him, Iarta, Pragul, Iesire din vis (book). It is very much pleasurable to enjoy the poem by a poet in his own voice and observing the actions. We asked the questions that we have prepared. Miorita is recited by one of our colleagues in Hindi. We asked him that we can read it from the book in Romanian. But he said that „I can understand by listening its rhythm and observing the action”.

          Discussions on the topic „Murinda Shiva” which was written by our „Sir" Announcement of the programme broadcast at the radio on 22.2.83 at 7.30 P.M. on the short wave band. Exhibition at the class teacher’s house, including the books of Eminescu, Arghezi, Blaga, Bacovia, Barbu, Călinescu etc., Announcement in the class, especially of the book „Istoria literaturii Române de la origini până în prezent” by G. Calinescu. Poem „Rondelul orasului din Indii”. Reading and translation of the poem into Hindi. Visit to the teacher’s house to see the exhibition. There we recited the poems. Our teacher’s friend Mr. Iuga also recited the poem. The photograph of the speakers are also taken. We read from G. Călinescu's book, too.

          It was a cloudy day. It would seem to rain after sometime. A paragraph in Romanian is written about the weather prevailing at that time and we translated it in English. Few lines on the Asian game celebrations are also written in Romanian. About Holi we discussed about the celebration and the colors that are generally used and their significance. What is the story behind this celebration. In addition to all this we have done 1-15 lessons from the book “A course in contemporary Romanian”. Practiced the exercises given at the back of every lesson. On every Friday we generally have a cultural activity based programme. One of our colleagues would prepare a note on certain topic related to Romanian culture. That was read by that fellow. After reading the discussion on that topic was done. Which involves the clarification of many problems which arouse in one’s mind when he/she was listening to that note. Some students read also poems written by them. Our class teacher published so many booklet especially Latinitas in which the names of many classmates of our class have appeared because of their contributions, paper writings etc. from the booklets also we read the poems to clarify our pronunciation. Meeting with Constantin Mateescu. He was the first Romanian writer to class. Who came to India for celebrating his holiday and to see his friend (Mr. G. Anca). Our teacher discussed with us about his arrival and his visit to our class, too. Mr. Mateescu the novelist was a very serious man. When he visited our class we met with so many of our senior colleagues one of them was Urmila Rani Trikha, a lecturer of college. Welcoming him in class by us. Then we asked him also many questions about his professional, personal experiences, and life also. Our teacher has given us the list of books (novels) written by him. Some of novels were discussed and read by us with him. He was very much impressed by the students. Also checked our pronunciation of Romanian. He also asked some questions from us. He answered them in English and our teacher translated our matter into Romanian and trying to satisfy him as well as us also. I think that such type of visits are very important. From the knowledge point of view because in this way one can make him in such a way to catch the language by the fluency. Especially from the one who does not know our language.

          During the early course we got so many books, booklets, magazines and newspapers from the teacher. And then after reading and noting some points we returned some of them back to the teacher. But at the end in our viva-voce exam our teacher had presented us many books regarding the poetry, novels, literature and about their culture. These books remind us to retain the memory of language which we have joined as a part time course. So many students of the class had taken this course very lightly. They assumed that this would not help in their coming future. But I took this course seriously. Because it was very much different from my daily life studies In this way the feeling of probing of the other literature, language from our own point of view like the comparison of their culture with our culture etc. During the summer vacation whenever I got time I read the books given to me by the teacher. As I did not know the language very well I could not be able to get everything but I did not leave the reading part which I could do. In order to require more knowledge for this language I was encouraged by myself to take the diploma course.

          Discussion on the Meghadut (Romanian version) which is written by Kalidas and its Romanian translation was done by our teacher (G.Anca). In which he discussed with us on the following words: Norul – clouds. Vestitor – Messanger (one who gives the message). And he compared these words with the following lines given by M. Eminescu: Trecut-au anii ca nori lungi pe şesuri şi niciodată n-or să vină iara.

          “Mai am un singur dor”. Teiul sfint like baniyan tree. Apele plang clar inzvorand din fantane (i.e. clear water weeps from fountains as springs). Quotation: Dumnezeul geniului  m-a sorbit din popor cum soarele soarbe un nour din marea de amar”. In this the significance of nour and marea de amar was justified.

          Sergiu Al-George (Indologistic): Translater of Gita into Romanian. Classical masterpieces and modern Romanian archaic and universal. Mare de amar by Eminescu and Mare de-ntuneric by Lucian Blaga. Voronet Monastery is discussed in detail, it is compared with Miorita valley in which the shepherd boy (hero) is living. Because around this monastery also the montains and this is situated in the heart of the valley whith three full natural beauty around it. Balkan Oriental Interludes. Cuvinte la Panini la Saussure. Literar-neliterar, clasic-decadent, sunete-silabe-cuvinte-poezie. Cultura Indo-Romana, Eminescu si India, Brancusi la Indore, Mircea Eliade in Calcutta, Arghezi si Tagore, Fapte si comparatii. Limba romana - latinitate, caracter fonetic, omogenitate; grai, speech, utterance: Moldovean, Transilvanian, Muntean. Bogatie Poezie. Parole – langue – sistem. Sincronie – diacronie. Semiotic (Real measurable thoughts). Psiholinguistica. Analiza de continut. Generative poetics, linguistics and the codification of terms. Dadaism (Tristan Tzara). Absurdul (Eugen Ionescu). Protocronism (Edgar Papu). Persoana I (intai) in poezie, i.e. (Personaj liric); Persoana a III-a in proza, i.e. (Personaj epic); Persoane in teatru; realitate si inspiratie in creatie personajului – recunoastere, modelare, caracterizare, surpriza, simpatie, infierare, Mesaj, receptare (post biografie), auditor, cititor etc. Singuratate by M. Eminescu, comparison melancolie / vers, soka / sloka. Rascoala by Liviu Rebreanu. Poezie – Poeti – Teme – Motive – Simboluri. Povestitori, Romancieri – Structuri – Povestioare. Dramaturgi, Personaje, Actori, Dosoftei, Catre Pace. Literatura comparata, including these pts.: curente, origine, Morfologie, Hermeneutica; idei si forme literare; creatie – cultura – scoala. Apus by George Bacovia. Geografie lingvistica. This is studied by the different booklets having the photographs of maps. And the word spheres in different parts of Romania. In this case we have magazine type booklets of Banat and Maramures regions are selected by us and the different words are picked up from the maps.

          Origini. Crainic – Nostalgia paradisului; Mircea Eliade – L’éternel retour. Lucian Blaga – Spatiul Mioritic, Eonul Dogmatic. Spengler (German Philosopher). Vasile Parvan, Idei si forme istorice. Historical Personalities and literary books ; Nicolae Cartojan, Istoria literaturii romane vechi; Cartile populare in cultura romana. Polyhistors: Miron Costin, Dimitrie Cantemir (18th cent.), Ion Eliade Rădulescu, M. Kogalniceanu, Nicolae Balcescu, B.P. Hasdeu (19th century), Nicolae Iorga, Ovid Densusianu, G. Calinescu, Mircea Eliade (20th century). Famous novels of different centuries, like Rascoala and Ion by Liviu Rebreanu and Geniu Pustiu by M. Eminescu. Etnologia primei copilării. Imagini. The manuscripts are read from the back of the photograph.

          Romanian in International Terminology. Murus Dacicus. Calendar – sanctuary in Grădistea Muncelului. Mining Trolley of Brad. Spoon-wheeled mill. Blast furnace at Ghelar. Voronet blue. Vallachian bitumen. Moldavian method of making potassium carbonate of wood ashes. Continuous firing-guns. Wallachian horses. Bacalogu curvature. Portable self-feeding pen. Severeanu enartiectomy. Assaky tubercule. Sabesies-Cantacuzino phenomenon. Great Romanian Experience. Marinescu – Sjorgen syndrome. Bordet – Ciuca reaction. Pancrein. Biospeclogy. Parhon syndrome. Levediti – Manouelian method. Ilikibiology. Heracleum Carpatium. Centaureea Carpatica. Silena pontica. Paeonia romanica. Asparagus pseudoscaber. Silene lotriensis. Biological diodramas. Braunia Jassyensis. Lateral shifting. Plant light relationship. Anaesthetic function of flower smell. Gryllotalpa / aneuploidy. Palade granulae. Palade fixer. Phreatobiology. Metabolic defect. The birds’ gustative organs. Monocytosporeea. Polycitosporeea. Camelus alutensis. Diapirism. Getic layer. Badenite. Brostenite. Moldavite. Muntenite. Rumenite. Cobălcescu Island. Sinaia Cape. Rosetti and Ureche rivers. Lahovary Mountain. Popper Paro. Glimee. Haret circus on the Moon. Law of luminosity. Position of the Galactic Pole. Simultaneity circles. Daimaca 1943. Teclu burning lamp. Longinescu constant. Edeleanu refining procedure. Spacu reagent. Nenitescu syntheses. Niculescu calorimeter. Hurmuzescu electroscope. Proca equations. Bohr-Procopiu magneton. Onicescu invariantive mechanics. Vuia I plane. Multiple telephony. Karpen diffusion. Coanda effect. Carafoli structures. Tifeica areas. Pompeiu functions. Dalescu triangles. Barbilian geometrics.

          Romanian memorizing rule enabling the first twelve decimals of the number e=2.718281828469... to be known, by the substitution of the number of letter of each word by the corresponding ciphres: "Pe numarul e / savantul il stimeaza, / e academic / si formeaza / baza pentru logaritmi" (Number e / is venerated by the wise, / it is academic / and forms / the base for logarithms).

          Persius (34-62 A.D.): quia expedivit psittaco suum 'Chaere' / picamuque docuit verba nostra conari? / magister artis ingenique largitor / venter, negatas artifex sequi voces (Who helped the parrot to his own 'hallo' and taught the magpie to try human speach? It was the belly, master of art and bestower of talent, virtuoso for imitating ways of expression).

          Anton Maria del Chiaro (18th century): Mi ricordo aver veduto un giovine servitor della Casa cantacuzena, il quale aveva cosi bene imparato a disegnar con la penna che i disegni da lui fatti pareveno stampati in rame...

          The Miorita is usually sung by the people. It appears that it was written to teach the common-falk in an agreeable manner, ethics and politics. One should always listen to the voice of universal love and friendship or the little lamb, Miorita.

          Two tribal chiefs of the same country get united to kill the third tribal chief who is more wealthy and who is very attached to the Voice of universal love. The three chiefs are shepherds. The Voice asks the chief to run away from that place i.e. the little lambs want to avoid bloodshed. She advises him to take help from a hound or some big power. The tribal chief would fight for the noble cause and says if he dies in the encounter his bones should be buried on the spot so that the people of the country could know of this. Old mother and the men are the old traditions. When they would come to know of this disaster they would make up their mind to listen to the voice of love in the future. The voice should tell he has gone to achieve some noble cause (i.e. bride). The poet of this ballad, which is very popular among the Romanians thought that the next generation would learn the lesson and follow the voice of universal love and friendship. In order to get peace and prosperity stress is laid on the relationship between Miorita and the tribal chief, her attachment and loyalty to him.

          A glimpse of a similar theme is found in the Mahabharata where a destructive war takes place between Pandavas and Kouravas.. The epic gives ample evidence to indicate the horror of destruction even for the cause of the good. Arjuna is not willing to fight his close relations even when is genuine need to do so. The sermon of Lord Krishna urges him to fight it out. People think that Arjuna ran away from the battlefield like a coward. This has the desired effect and he goes all out to fight the evil forces and emerges a winner. (Urmila Rani Trikha).

          In the Indian history that time came when armies of Pandavas and Kauravas were arraigned against each other in the battlefield of Kurukshetra. Riddled with doubt and uncertainty, Arjun sought Lord Krisha’s guidance as in the course of action that he should take. This resulted in marvels of Indian philosophy in the shape of “Bhagavad Gita” or “Song Celestial”. To great extent, in post-war years, when values were at discount in West, the conflict between individual and society in which he lived came to such pass that existentialism assumed the task of finding some fulcrum to preserve the human being. (Surinder Kumar Arora)

          “The progress of the “Idea of Peace”. This was the topic of the lecture given by Nicolae Titulescu at Cambridge University on 19th November 1930. This lecture was delivered by him in English in academic style for an hour. (Manju Arora)

          Vladimir Ghidionescu imagined education as a tree having three parts: pedagogy, or the studz of the child (the root); experimental pedagogy (the stem); and philosophical pedagogy (the tree top). (Ritu Nanda)

          Although we have been knowing about Caragiale since last year when we joined Certificate classes, we came closer to his work in Diploma classes. The reason for that could be we were studying Mihai Eminescu’s poems, especially “Luceafarul”. Till now we have studied some plays and skits thoroughly being now very much familiar to such characters as Pampom, Iordache, Didina, Leonida, Mache, Lache, Tache, Mitica, Pristanda, Dandanache and all others. Dandanache is very famous among us because it sounds like Hindi word ‘dandanate’, a person coming rapidly in angerness. We have enjoyed “Moftul roman”. We are very much keen to act Caragiale’s on stage, but all the spectators can’t understant it in Romanian. Could Caragiale be imagined without words? Surely not as he is master of dramatic speech. We can say that synonyms are more than antonyms in Romanian and Indian Cultures. Therefore we are trying to act on Caragiale’s work with help of some Hindi words, in a manner that dialogues not to loose their spirit and meaning. (Vimal Ray Talwar).

          The action of the Golden Bough (1933), one of Mihail Sadoveanu’s major novels, is set in Byzantium, ‘Prelunci’ designates a place lying on the fringes of the woods that shield the abode of Culi Ursake – the protagonist of the Bear’s Lye (1938), the gamekeeper in charge of the hunting grounds provided by the wooded Surianul heights overhanging the Frumoasei Valley and sprawling down to it. A man who reached the mid point of his life’s path has got lost in a thick wood and now he cannot find the straight way back. (Raj Bala Sharma).

          “The Most Beloved of Men” comes out from last Marin Preda’s letters (before he died), from his resourceful heart which was full of literary talent, psychological vision about man and socio-political situation of his country’s eventful history. In this present novel he showed his political structure of mid fourties, when the People Councils were the supreme power in the country. The security force had a slight doubt on anybody’s behaviour putting people behind the bar for several years without even prove their guilt; this type of situation I remember in the Pre-independent India when Britons were ruling here. Marin Preda’s hero, Petrini, had suffered rigorous prisonment for three years even the council & security could not prove anything against him. When he came back, he had not been allowed to work as a professor even as a teacher of a primary school. This reminds me about the prisoners, mainly freedom fighters, in Pre-independent India, who were not allowed to work in any Govt. Dept. (Provin Dutt).

          Being a student of Romanian language in M.E.L. Dept.., I came to know the uses and the abuses of Romanian language; relating the uses of Romanian one can easily say its importance, we come to know different cultures, views so necessary for world relations; regarding the abuse, the language is not so common, could be controversial for who is a very new acceptor of it. We have however now a Hindi version of the Romanian national song “Miorita”; Mihai Eminescu the national poet, created a new sensation in the world; Mihai Sadoveanu is being translated in different languages including Hindi; we’ve read Liviu Rebreanu and now we are studying “Getica” by Vasile Parvan; we did celebrate Octavian Goga and George Bacovia – “singur, singur, singur, / intr-un han departe’. Whatever current views that I am having with this particular language in with the kind and sincere help of our lecturer, Dr. G.Anca, who all his efforts and loving nature maintance the importance of the language and gives us the beauty of it, which we try to keep in our fertile imagination. (Chanchal Ganguli).

          What ever we think is not the limit, / There are certain other thoughts existing / beyond our imagination. / As your mind has seven Guyanandris / but as far as our knowledge is concerned / only five are working and others are active beyond our thinking. So we should not have to leave any little thing because it may have a great importance. (Sanjai Malhotra).

         As it is a European language newly established in India and very few people have studied it, it is more mysterious to learn Romanian. Some people are crazy to study French, German or Russian. But some are of the type to do something new, having in their mind that this will help them in their future advancement and encourage them to understand the new culture and literature intimately. In this way one should be in touch with studies which are real food for human mind. Romanian is an important Latin language. It is also a good secret language because of its less popularity. From literary point of view the people of their country are very much attracted by our Indian Culture. Their national poet Mihai Eminescu had written many poems and stories on our culture like "Poveste indica". The way to heaven from Himalaya discovered by the Pandavas who went there after the Mahabharata battle is a mouth of paradise, like in Miorita. By knowing this language is easy for us to understand these people, their development and behaviour. Here it is good to spend one to two hours of our daily routine to study the language as a part time education. Which also is a good mental exercise. In this way we can increase our knowledge enormously. It is found that every country has similar traditions that due to the different environment conditions there are different ways of performing them. (Manju).

          A Ray of Sunshine / could be seen / in their heart / with fulfilment of / their desires. / Or could be seen their / emptiness in their / life-stone-life to / hold together / with the same purpose. (Raj Bala).

          Can’t you sense this venture is right? / I’m a student of history. I always wondered what / Salome did with Saint / John’s head. Refuse. A Psychic told me to go into garbage. / Since I’ve been recycling my own / She says I’m natural for muck. / “Call it Green Waste”, she said. / When mentioning this to an elected official, / She asked if I’d seen the new slick magazine / By the name. She claims she spent two hours / At the mall reading it while waiting for her / Yuppie shopping son. When he came to pick / Her up, he exclaimed, “Mom, other women read / Cosmo or Vogue while passing time. How can I / Explain to my friends you’re reading Garbage?” / When I told this to my curt 15 year old, she said / It’s better that reading tea leaves. Considering / The environment, she recommended my investing in / Vacuums. She senses there’s a lot more than dust / Flying around outer space. “Mamon”, she offered me, / “Who knows? You might discover gold in one of those / Black holes. “She knows I’m serious about garbage. (Mona).

          The Hound of Love. I sit placidly under a Christmas tree/ I ribbon packages with colorless rainbows/ sweet as a lizard’s good morning/ I lick my loneliness and smile / Overworked angry hope crabs/ down a lunging stair/disrupts out of control/my voluntary simplicity/Ducking his furious lullabyes/I see poking through his slippers/ toenails painted tangerine pink/I wonder if he is crying / Juggling Christmas balls / I run backwards through stars badly in need of weeding / a refrigerator warns abandon hope/not to enter quicksands of jello / gyrating in despair / Skimmed with bitter chocolate / and gilded with champagne / a bride’s chamber pot runneth over/ Terribly afraid of capsizing / I serve tennis balls for breakfast /--my speciality—and am / laughed at for being house proud / I stretch out / beside a drad fork and spoon/mangled by a man child / practicing accidental murder./ I’ts cold systematically cold / He screams upon his horn / he beeps me out into lipsore traffic / I flee him down nanoseconds / blurbed, beautiful and besmirched / down sunglades summerish with light / down seasons suspended with delight/where leaves gag and redden/and go boisterous into fingerless winds / smelling of dusty disobedience / chorteling the scurless milk of ages / Red light returning I give in / I give in to his huge tearful embrace / The stones are soft / as we lie back / we count syllables / I wonder / dare I smoke a cigarette / Lovlingly he turns / to me; He whispers / that I mispronounce hegemony. (Elaine Svenonius)      

(To Buddha) Whenever I dream of you / a half burnt face / appears from Hiroshima /…/ No I can’t dream / I can’t dream of anything (Baldev)

(The New Draupadi) They stood hot before  a mirror--/the woman having a right man as her releaser / and the man feasting on her saree / whitch his mind’s eye looked at a new Draupadi / in her many concentric sarees / one under the other / everyone under the other one / and also as Dushasana…(Motilal Jotwani).

(after you leave) it’s midnight now / there is non in the auditorium / only the clown on the stage / his head bowed in the last  act / the lonely bird beats its wings / against the ceiling of the godless temple / the penitent with his severed head / lies prostrate on the old pavement / there is a queer kinship / between the end of life / and the transient but lovely flesh / we’ll therefore be sitting in a row / the penitent and the clown hand / in search of immortality at time’s last frontiers (Jagannath Prassad Das)

          (Jagannath temple). We heard the story once again, the dream untimely / shortened so that the Lord and his family ended up / with shortened stumps of arms and legs. / The central eye of diamond had been stolen. / Three points where Sri Chaitanya had buried his fingers / in ecstasy. (Nilima Das).

          I saw a man / walking the road / he has a shadow. (Raj Gill).

          The Life-Chariot moves. / Shiva has squeezed a sponge over the sun and the last flickers of hope die with it. / Useless petals of tears on the traveller’s cheek; / shrunk skin over  bones like a shroud on a corpse. (Sunil Kumar Bhattacharya).

          Grief – Said I. /He didn’t listen to / And seemed to be grieved. / Grief - said he. Even I didn’t listen to / And falt myself aggrieved (Shyam Vimal).

          L’affricaine connait l’astre chaleureux / qui illumine sa terre et sanctifie son peuple (Bruno Uyttesprot).

          I have spent an age in waiting / and shall still wait till your past / and my present sink into a silence, / till from the fringe of that silence / you come to utter a word / I am dying to hear (Manohar Bandopadhyay)).

          Come, now. / Let’s speak in silence. / The way of the sky, / The mountains, / The  Night. (Divik Ramesh).

          While falling They Love no Sense of direction No preference For any place  No will of their own They seem To have mastered The art of resignation of parting with A tear of dying Without a sigh (R. N – Chopra).

          Far and forgot to me is near; / Shadow and sunlight are the same; / The vanished gods to me appear; / And one to me are shame and fame. (Ralph Waldo Emerson).

          Remember the fascinating places we have seen, / The beauty we always thrilled to, / Like the cascade of song falling from a startled Himalayan thrush / Perched in the verandah, when we suddenly switched on the light, / Going out to post a letter one winter night; / Above all, we remember the love we have shared. (Gertrude Emerson Sen).

          The old man and the virgin girl are one (Surjit Kishore Das).

          Your entry in my life has made me a bard (V.C. Nanav)

          Et voila! Your flowers are ready! (T.V. Sairam).

          I saw men and wives (Manjushree).

          The girl preferred friends to be absent As they can’t bring her any present. (Ashok Beri).

          How nice to live in a multi-level house (Sheila Gujral).

          Where all other ways are lost One seems to find one’s own. (Premendra Mitra).

          Watching you and the sea You are a creeper I am the tree (R.V. Pathak)

          Your quiet breath will let me know (Trilochan Shastri).

          Only the Bamboo grove’s dry rustle rasps on the ear (Kedar Seth Singh).

          An immense azure bird An immense azure eye(Kedar Nath Agrawal)

          There is no short cut to Nirvana (Nirupana Kaur)

          I am doomed to the naked scorching desert (Prabhjot Kaur)

          Come, let us fly, there is no one around here (Baldev Vanshi)

          He knew only how to fly the kite (Shalendra Srivastva)

          And yet amidst all this darkness There are still those left that trust thee (Girija Kumar Mathur).

          You try and save yourself and a freedom as old as you (Girdhar Rathi).

          Only Ashoka lays down the sword. Only Ashoka Was fighting (Srikant Verma).

          In the dark The voice changes many colours (Vukhbir Singh).

          The aged world of gods was dead before I was born (Ashok Vajpeyi).

          The sea assumes a lake-like calme (Alok Sharma).

          Now I will go To a village in distant Himalayas (Ganga Prasad Vimal)

          Come, Crucify all the sentences into words (Geeta Vadhera).

          Peace lies bleeding In fields of East and West (Krishna Srinivas).

          Time drops seeds of new feelings (Indira Devi Dhanrajgir)

          Hunger For the other divine for a newer God (Seshendra Sharma)

          O Thunderbolt, do not roar (Rasavaraju Apparao).

          Postponed death in the darkest prisons (Cherbandaraju)

          The world is half calm, half stress, and fully schizophrenic (Vinod)

          I do not want your turbulent world (Laxmi Narayan Mahapatra).

          Make me a butterfly in your garden O my gardener (Sachidanada Rautray).

          Mother! Here no one loves anybody (Shiv Batalvi)

          I lived in a village in a Punjab corner Not far from Tarn Taran (P. Lal)

           Unless he is non existent unless in shamed despair (Rohini Gupta)

          I am a woman Suffering falling snow (Padma Sachdev)

          That mansion built away from maddening crowd (Tatiana Chaudhari)

          Kamban’s Yuddha Kanda in burnt Lanka rebuilt by mason Maya after Brahma’s blueprint lovelier than before Hanuman’s fire.

          Dattakavi-Namdeo-Eknath “Kisna-thamal re thamal apulya gai” – Krishna do look after your cows.

          Chandidas on midnight seeing Tara with a friend. Then, “Make love to me just for once and save me”. “I have become a yogi now”. Zinda Kaul with Vedas Nirvana Self-Recognition. “Thou are to man the truth, / To Yog its ecstasy, to Budh Nirvana / The selfless self – to Vadan Thou art Brahm”.

          Prem Chand – finery – woe – orthodoxy – dowry – widow – stepmother - upsurgegilli danada – supernatural - hypocrisy characters.

          Kabir you are nothing but the word logos Khalik Khalak Khalak men Khalik God is in the world and the world is in God. Kabir says this is a tale never fully told she eats children and husband the unheard drum is sounding.

          Ghalib ancestors warriors for a hundred generations.

          Govardhanram my Lilavati died after stainless spotless life of suffering… that sweetest, noblest, holiest, unhappiest.

          Vemana – Only he who considers the sorrows of his fellow-men as his own is worthy of being called a man punyamugalavadu.

Valathol – Gandhuji in him unite Christ’s selfsacrifice, Krishna’s skill in protecting Dharma, Buddha’s non-violence, Sankara’s intellect, Ranthideva’s mercifulness, Harischandra’s constancy in Truth And Mohammed steadfastness.

          Nanalal – This distructive wheel Is also the creative wheel; Look at the centre of the wheel, Is Sri Krishna, The wielder of the wheel.

          Manikkavachakar – in Tirupperunthurai of Vatha voor Lord  Civan Niver Voikai a Pendiyan Tiruvachakaur.

          Kalhana – Rajatarangini – this narrative of past facts – to compile – Banabhatta – The Northern style is full of puns, / The Western favours only sense; / The Southern with wild fancy reeks, / While the eastern bombast seeks.

          Jnanadeva – Radiant reality – The past lies dead before us and along with it our past-made ego with its conditional consciousness becomes totally empty and naked, a mere nothingness.

          Sri Aurobinde – I walked into Nirvana without intending it or rather Nirvana walked casually into me.

          Baba Farid – Farid, revile not dust, there is nothing like it; When we are alive, it is beneath our feet; when We are dead, it is above us.

Basaveshawara – Alas, alas, O Shiva, there is No pity in you.

          Bharti – Mahashakti then auspicious Shiva Mother, Mother, You’re drawn me To see you dance.

          After 6th century B.C. Buddhism and Jainism had propagated India and these faiths were patronised by some of many rulers in North India especially in Magdha. There were several kingdoms in North India but Magdha was the strongest kingdom. Bindusara and mauryans like Chandra Gupta Maurya and Ashoka ruled Magdha and, therefore, the Magdha emperors or kings patronised these faiths. Chandra Gupta Maurya was the patron of Jainism, Ashoka was the patron of Buddhism. Therefore, under the patronage of kings and emperors these religions had gained a lot of popularity in North India. Of course, that does not mean that this is the only reason for their popularity but this is one of the reasons. The faith itself had an appeal because this was based on reason and not on sentiment. There is another controversy. Some orthodox writers say that it is the Kshatriya and Mahavira was also a Kshatriya. There is a theory that there was a conflict between  Brahmans and Kshatriyas i.e. Vishwameters (kshatriyas) versus vashista (brahmans). There was conflict for the supremacy and, therefore, this conflict had given rise to a very interesting theory. Because of this conflict there was a greater patronage for the theories advanced by the Kshatriyas and Kshatriyas in North India patronised Buddhism and Jainism.

          The caste system was not rigid and was not in its form. In everything, there was a flexible system. A person of one class could practise a profession of another class. Therefore, when there was no rigidity, when there was reasonable degree of freedom and knowledge, it was too much to think of this class conflict. You can visualise class conflict in a different way. The Aryans were trying to dominate non-aryans and they were jealous of it. Or the landlord classes were mainly Aryans and the subordinates were tillers in the Vedic period. A clash between the classes, the landlord and the business, the rulers and the subjects, such conflicts took place even in the Roman history. There were conflicts between masters and slaves. Some historian try to suppress this but modern historians tell us that hundreds of slaves were massacred, slaves were nailed to the crosses right from Rome to Sicily. So class conflict is bound to be there but that is a fight for supremacy between Kshatriyas and brahmans and because Kshatriyas propagated Buddhism and Jainism, it is a very thrilling argument. But it does not stand true to the regular scrutiny of scholars. Therefore if these faiths gained popularity, it was due to soundness of the theory and at the same time the rulers had given patronage and they appealed to them. Right from the Shungas times and then to Shatvahanas, Guptas, the Cholas, the Palas, there are a number of dynasties where Brahmanism has been patronised. At the same time, Buddhism and Jainism were also popular. There was religious toleration. There was no religion persecution. During the Shunga period, 200 B.C., Shungas patronised Brahmanism but the best Buddhist stupas (Stupa at Sanchi) were developed during the Shunga period. Therefore, we find the revival of the Brahmanism from the Shunga period. After the Shungas, the Satavahanas adopted brahmanical faith. Till now the Aryan faith did not penetrate much into the south but the Satvahanas accepted Brahmanism and we find that it became popular in Deccan and South India and Sanskrit also became popular. That is how the Vedic influences penetrated into the Peninsular India. That is a landmark in the history of India itself. The idea of national integration was inspired by Satvahanas when they spread the Vedic culture to the south. That is the foundation for the cultural unification of India. There have been different cultures in the history. All common culture developed in the historical times. Formerly, the life and the ways of life were different in the North and the South, different types of culture existed in the two regions. A common way of life in India has been cultivated through centuries by different forces and reasons.  And unless strong efforts are made even now to maintain this cultural unity of India, to maintain this emotional and social cultural communion was not built up and that is why Pakistan came into existence. Why Jinnah was a success because we failed to bring about a communion between these two communities. Therefore, cultural life is a process and is the result of an effort. Unless every effort is made to strengthen the unity of India to bring about the cultural communion between the different communities of India, do not think the unity of India will remain like that whatever our foolish policies are.

          Guptas ruled India from 4th century A.D. to 7th century A.D. (at least till the end of the 6th century). Their rule was very powerful. They were the strongest and most powerful emperors in India. What is their contribution to cultural process and what is the state of culture during that time?

          It is called the golden age in the Indian history. No one has bitten the record of Guptas. They had complete political unity in a large part of India. Unless is a political unity, there can be no cultural growth. Without peace, there is no progress. They brought peace and stability to India and they were also the wisest rulers. We have a series of wise rulers i.e. Chandra Gupta, Samudra Gupta, Sikand Gupta etc. Many of these wise and powerful rulers had a long life. Rulers long life contributes to political stability. Shastri was a tried leader and as a democrat he was shaping the things in the right track. Jawaharlal Nehru, whatever may be his drawbacks, was a very capable leader. He has put India on the map of the world. Every man’s policies can be criticised. Who is perfect in this world? Many Gupta rulers had very long life i.e. they ruled for forty years. During their reign, we find cultural progress in India. The commerce and agriculture of India was in sight. India was exporting to Asia and South East Asia and she was the most prosperous international trader in the world. Culture always follows commerce on the road. India was the biggest exporter. The spread of Indian culture outside India reached its climax during this time. During this time traders went to South East Asia and the Indian culture, architecture, sculpture, literature, music etc. were appreciated and adopted in SE Asia and in several parts of Asia.

          The best form of appreciation is imitation and Indian culture was adopted. There was complete religious toleration. The Gupta rulers gave grants to men of all religions. The Nalanda was a Buddhist university but liberal advances were given by the Guptas. Brahmanism has adopted itself to the changing conditions. The Guptas were Hindus i.e. Vaishnavites, worshipers of Lord Vishnu but they gave liberal grants to Buddhist and Jaines.

          Nalanda university was a huge set up near Patna with 10,000 people living in the campus of Nalanda, students, teachers, etc. So even the ancient Indians knew the way of organizing and running large scale housing. It had international reputation. Chinese buddhist scholars came to India to study at Nalanda. Hieun Tsang upto Ranchi and Assam. He had written letters through travellers and a book is published which shows how affectionate his feelings were. He had come to India against the wishes of the emperor of China  by crossing the border of Central Asia. However, when he went back, he was received by the emperor.

          Guptas encouraged not only the commerce and education, but the best literature was produced in that time. India produced Kalidasa in the 4th century A.D. who is still an outstanding man. He is a Shakespeare of India. As a matter of fact, Shakespeare was a Kalidasa of England. Shakespeare lived 1200 years after Kalidasa. If India has produced a scholar 1200 years before Shakespeare then Kalidasa is doubly great. In Gupta period a great Sanskrit literature was produced. Kalidasa wrote several books, poetry and great kavyas. He was a genius. He had a wide knowledge of Indian geography - Megh Sandesha. He had a wonderful knowledge of political conditions of India. He was a great diplomat because Chandra Gupta II had sent him as the Ambassador to Ceylon. He was a man of great aesthetic sense because in his writing you get the whole world of the Gupta period. We get a graphical insight into Kalidasa. Thus he was the greatest man of the age, and that is the greatest of the Gupta period.

          Men are produced by the time and the political conditions of the country. A Ghandi was produced only in India. Germany only could produce Hitler. The circumstances and the historical forces, all these contribute to the creation of man. It is scientifically wrong to think that man fell from the heaven. Men are created by the soil, by the backround of a country - by the genius and soul of the country. During Gupta period, a tremendous growth of social and cultural life took place. A large number of Ajanta caves were developed during that period. We find almost all the Puranas being re-written and popularised during the Gupta period. Actually the revised and enlarged editions were issued during Gupta period.

          Dharmashastras - most of them have their origin from the Guptas. The Dharmashastras as we understand today are the law books of Hindus. Lot of literary development had taken place. Gupta used Sanskrit as their official language. (When Israel can afford to adopt an ancient language like Hebrew as official language, why India cannot Sanskrit as the official language). Guptas issued their royal decrees in Sanskrit and the Gupta rulers themselves were the Sanskrit scholars. Samudra Gupta is called the Napoleon of India. Chandra Gupta Vikramaditya was spending a lot of time in listening to Sanskrit discourses. There were nine scholars during the Gupta period i.e. one in medicine, one in astrology and several other subjects and sciences, the greatest in each branch of knowledge. All of them lived in the court of Vikramaditya but all them were existing during the length and breadth of the Gupta period. (Rita Bagachi )

          In the sixth century B. C. , two great religious leaders emerge in Magadha. Vardhamana, beter known as Mahavira, the “Great Hero”, is identified with the religious system of Jaina, Jainism, and Siddharta Gotama (Gautama) – more simply the Buddha relics of the Buddha, found within an inscribed receptacle taken from a Buddhist stupa, or relic mound, have proved beyond doubt that he really lived. These bits of bone and ash are now carefully preserved at Sarnath, near Banaras.

          ...We know that the historical Buddha was almost certainly born in 563 B.C.  and died at the age of eighty in 483 B.C. But legend says that he was preceded, like Mahavira, by a long line of great beings. Twenty-four previous Buddhas had each made a great resolve to become perfectly enlightened, and then, as a Bodhisattva - one destined to become a Buddha - had striven through countless lives to do good and to acquire the Buddha qualities. In exactly the same way, Siddharta Gotama is said to have been born again and again, before his historical appearance on earth. He had been born as a monkey, a lion, a tiger, an elephant, a deer, a jackal. He had been a rat, a fish, a lizard, a frog and a snake. He had been crow, peacock and woodpecker. He had been potter and smith, gambler and thief, king and king's son, ascetic and Brahmin. But in each of his previous lives had performed some noble act of self-sacrifice, and had journeyed a little farther along the path to Buddhahood.

          Then, it is said, as a result of accumulated good deeds, he reached the Tusita Heaven of those destined to become Buddhas. Considering carefully the conditions for his birth, he chose Kapilavastu as the country, Suddhodana of the Gotama family of the Sakyas as his father and Maya as his mother. Then he descended from the Abode of Bliss, in the shape of six-tusked white elephant, bearing a white lotus in his silvery trunk, and entered the womb of Queen Maya as she lay asleep on her couch on a day of full moon, during the midsummer festival. When Brahmins were summoned to explain the queen's strange dream, they prophesied that a son would be born, who, if he lived the household life, would become a universal monarch, but if he retired from the world, would become a Buddha and roll back the clouds of sin and folly of this world.

          In due time, in the pleasant grove of Lumbini, not far from Kapilavastu, Queen Maya gave birth to her child, and in the selfsame moment were born Yasodhara, afterwards to become the mother of Rahula, his son, his faithful groom Channa, his horse Kanthaka, his playmate Kaludayin, his favourite disciple Ananda, and the sacred Bodhi tree, under which he was to receive illumination. When he was five days old, the child was named Siddharta, "he who has achieved his aim". On the seventh day, Queen Maya died and he was given into the charge of his kindly aunt Queen Maha Prajapati. (Gertrude Emerson Sen).

          Three hindrances to enlightenment - lust, greed and delusion. Nine fetters of the mind - covetousness, ill will, anger, deceitfulness, jealousy, obstinacy, arrogance, vainglory, heedlessness. Ten perfections - generosity, goodness, renunciation, wisdom, firmness, patience, truthfulness, resolution, kindness and equanimity.

          "The religious life does not depend on the dogma that the world is eternal; nor does the religious life depend on the dogma that the world is not eternal. There still remain birth, old age, death, sorrow, lamentation, misery, grief and despair, for the extinction of which in the present life I am prescribing."

          "Those things that I know, but have not revealed, are greater by far in number than those things that I have revealed. And why, brethren, have I not revealed them? Because they are not concerned with the holy life, they do not lead to Nirvana."

          "O ye monks, like as the great ocean has but one savour, the savour of salt, so has this religion and order but one, the savour of renunciation."

          "All men tremble at punishment, all men fear death; remember that you are like unto them, and do not kill nor cause slaughter."

          "The fault of others is easily perceived, but that of oneself is difficult to perceive. A man winnows his neighbour's faults like chaff, but his own faults he hides."

          "Better than matted hair and ashes are truth and discipline."

          "Let one overcome anger by love, let him overcome evil by good, let him overcome greed by liberality, let him overcome deceit by truth."

          "Not by hatred is hatred quenched; by love is it quenched. This is an eternal law."

Lotus Sutra

          Nothing understandable in human uttering total suffering Eminescu's poetry reprohibited.. Doing nothing under doings of nothingness Compasion by madonas birth murder Buddhist You left by tea the interlude of silence Waters unrained liquidify my brain in tear of healing in the distance Thick skin of long live total suffering Call the man rarely by miracle untied suffixation a linguistics of partial flaming Language corpses alike don’t cry for mother tongue See the day in fame of brothers and sisters dreams unremembered density in absent growth late compassion writer Already mistaken only error creates mystical wrongness of genuinity You’re a stomach like me you’re a bullet past to Anacreon verse never seeing you again Verena Cold letters imagine new generations of love ubiquous goodness of substitution of any unhappy with a happy beast Buddha’s retranslated sorrow cleared pleasure of mortification standing prayers Like Tristram never unto the Buddha prescribed on falling temple of an intention fiction Pure room for washed superstition give dime song orpheline to Friar colonel’s avatar Stay on the cross of cancer her mother was Shakespeare her father killed Eminescu on street Things upward characters letters from themselves as boddhisatvas alive how didn’t I think of dead letters Quotations vastly pirated as addressed to self in reply to their would-be novels This plot then what you wrote me becomes mine as what I’ve written to you becomes yours my mistaken creativity for your written line Suppose I suffered of aids paranoia leper you answered sorry well so sorry Georg my writing through your unreality We’ll manage relation between our ghosts diversion-diversity like in politics no mention how cheap losing all You write a letter if lick you receive one to another already written put it in the chain of fate of the Buddha before and after daring to make a step of pre-assassinated imagination by letters you disappear from sight of killer Silent reapproaces  to be born by this your mummy you say she says I say nothing I write to letters from the Buddha Absurdity of being makes sweet mistakes in English for the use of abortions far away from first mother Brains picked by illusions of hell healed well syntaxis banned by the writer himself So much  worse covered  liberty full life beauty of ebulient mediocrity lazy analysis of mysteries Depicting dilemmas of mediocrity by cerebral programming Ion can know the day of his death rewritten drama from outside of outness If you feel dying everyday death bored like you murdered by birth children Christ boom pushed out of religion our generation Adjusted heart to trembling lovers inner too many and the sameness of all things far from competition back expedition Be wise in any language death journey unto the unchangeable jumps temples forests Eminescu No matter of language no matter of meaning no matter of faith Back to the springs in wasted fire places of ancestors Old are the glories newcomers test backing progenitors schools at night banks of unlegended rivers Fishing solitudes enlarged by prohibitions then democratized vices ordered by same trumpets on slim cows hours Families upstairs waterless divorced hysteria happy separation you mother unhappy as long as she was with your father Adultery partially note-book using to teach poetry to the fatherless children and loving their mother until one night Old man counting their former loves to get asleep surely forgetting one if many inventing one if few  First thing  accomplished you'll be dead for any other so happened better with Zagreb poem  expiated by love cathedral Everything you have to say is for yourself what do you say others is from them keeping you ready to serve slave Don't suffer again to be not heard not by you you are the worst with yourself at least a selfkilling recognition Deadly beauty attracting rejecting anathemas look at sunshine during dark winters let memory embrace departed statues For you don't exist your life belongs to mother and father your death belongs to son and daughter all unhappy for you And you my father Dylon dies at Eminescu's 39 the quacker Netty met him she said I look like him I was younger on Cavalry Lines sung once in a vision of professors all around personal anthropology of today No need of decisions in favor or against your killer we had some good times to remember or suffer for past Clarifying mature claims of real solitude betrayed glamorously at any sound as you need only pity Why not heavier compassion for abstractions people hidden agonizingly most of people do not kill their fellows as they also gave birth to them parents die first to show the path  First shadow faced especially of beauty of death you love your killer you kill your lover Getting born die for nothingness doing anything to renounce to anything see revolutions' dead nothing By suffering I understand mainly to be happy alone and all unhappy alone together the pleasure to die other's death other's life as this country will grow or will die Messages from dead in an ending topicality unsharable over imaginative conscience clever entrance into a story alike Japanese symmetry nothingness to time of growth Indeed the givers are most unknown answer me what am I writing about now you go to India meet your acquaintances' letters Somebody doesn't like asking about a distant love to return colonel's ash night snow answering in a logical symbol of preawakening dream As a signal that  that is the answer I'll get brusquelly the psychologist fights the colonel incognito ghostly action by direction Eastern paper from death rewritten catalogue with therapy in paraverbal Buddha memory scale it wasn't The woman of Greek came to you and you married her then the woman of Gypsy came to you now the woman of Russian Those women arrived to the dead man death mailing cathexis from East The girl makes eyes under water stores downer stones giving gravitation The psychologist gives up subject before ending story he says much more to be get by programming nothing nor writing for writer agree not asking about India Father doesn't move the novel of himself killed daughter if I write it if wife carried order in sleep Lost soul and death from time to time in small agenda ants colonel run Anta quiet killing herself honor to die to be killed leaving a living father to write a novel He was from many brothers his life a love poetry just take Buddha as poet Eminescu imagine indeed how lonely Eminescu was saying: I am a Buddhist Looking and so much better doing bodies embodying cold morning snow between bones do not cry try sadness of unsimilarity clear immutability of nothingness Time will grow apart other speak how to speak letter unreading long entrance into askesis Montecarlo girl would reappear Buddha hot floor white letters.

          I know how long your life is o Brahma said the Buddha radiance surpassing radiance good my friend is generosity but a verse of truth is better formerly good people with understanding attained Nirvana The forces have the nature of cessation All beings in the world will discard their bodies just as this teacher without an equal in the world Birth renunciation Enlightenment teaching Parinirvana last look at city Who is a stranger who is one's kinsman kinsmen are seen malevolent strangers benevolent in time past your kinsman was a stranger to you in a future time a stranger will be your kinsman in this world no one is dear to anyone the universe is related to cause and effect a painter attached to a woman he had painted birds from life to life strangers and kinsmen.

          The whole universe is kindled with disorders old age and disease and death there is no country where those dangers do not apply where this body goes unhappiness follows there the unborn trees are not shaken even when terrible winds are storming as long as a man  has desire in the world so long though flourishing is always poor

          Thought Eminenius new-aged Parinirvana via Rosicrucians in Findhorn illiterate witness shouted at masque up to statues sculptor's hands smaller and smaller words poet run solely golden shine of sounds.

          At Venice after Rashomon screening a hasty search was made for someone who looked Japanese and the coveted prize was handed over to an obliging Vietnamese. It was said fire is not fire because does not burn itself precisely because it is not fire is truly fire because it burns everythinghood. Abe continues that God who remains as God apart from the world is not a true God but God empties himself and takes the form of a man and nature. Does nothing distinguish sunyata and God?

          Beautiful voice you have are you not somehow forest’s mother having lended the voice of some fairy to come for seducing the ghosts Ah look how Pasteur looks like Maiorescu! And you look like Kant! Great man! I studied at him, at Heidelberg… Please do bring me all volumes… I look like Schiller and like Faust, Goethe’s, I’ll kill myself… So did also Hamlet! Great man is Shakespeare!… What tragedian… But Kant!… Where can you find a Kant any more! He died at 1885!… I will speak with him! Yes, I’ll kill myself like Hamlet!… I will turn my life into nothingness and my blood into wine of Dragasani!…  I to die!… What a great man is Kant!…

          I am a Buddhist. Being not simply Christian but a Christian at tenth power.

          Blind poet learned love singing after philomela, despair from storms, and sorrow from the smell of flowers on the grave of saints. The music isn’t any than Romanian language  put on music. Romanian language born on notes, Romanian language sung in waters, the country of a fairy.

          It is said how gods never remain unknown, ever a golden light surrounds their forehead and being.

          Rotating toga in the hands and asking again peace or war in vain torturing your soul sorrow joy glory nothing nothing.

          Destroyed eternal peace and since then sorrow, only sorrow there is in this world.

          Son of a witch, would you care don’t kill me entirely, would you leave me to live one day more?

          On earth the genius is unhappy and cannot make anyone happy on earth, he has no death, no luck either, even his name escapes the night of oblivion.

          78 years my all life as long as I will live.

          The Buddhism Khagiur Asian nihilism Nirvana. My ideal is Nirvana, Euthanasius’ Island nibbâna destruction of old age and death Kalidasa’s wife visiting card bha dha tha.

          Suppose you go to India at 33 and simply want to state I wish I were a Buddhist as Eminescu did. In foreign utterance thirsty disappearance of possibilities claimed real negativity. Christ in levitation after Buddha’s enlightenment on the balance to see how much their return deshumated the poet. Water is there something passed again to mineral crown at large quantity used  for heaviness of nirvana, immeasurable Nirvana energy after light enlightenment to acknowledge friends’ nothingness. Time sideward as for getting asleep and you already dream an empty universe.

          From the shore of delusion to the shore of enlightenment the first paramita is the offering of alms the second observance of precepts the third is forebearance the fourth is assiousness the fifth is meditation focusing one's mind and contemplating the truth with a tranquil heart the sixth is obtaining of wisdom. Nachiren Daishonin wrote to Lady Nichiuye: Never seek this Gohonzon outside yourself. The Gohonzon exists only within the mortal flesh of us ordinary people who embrace the Lotus Sutra chant Nam-myohorenge-kyo.                                                                                Although one accumulates many existences, the essential reality of life neither disappears nor changes. Through the eternal cycle of birth and death, a person accumulates a variety of karma. Yet even through this series of births and deaths, the essential reality of one's life never changes. It exists eternally. When, through our faith in the Gohonzon, we draw the essential reality of Nam-myoho-kyo from within this life time.    

The Lotus Sutra teaches that although all phenomena in the universe are impermanent, the ultimate reality permeating everything is eternally constant. Furthermore, it teaches that the ultimate reality is not separated from individual phenomena... Buddhas do not differ fundamentally from common mortals who dwell in the nine worlds (from Hell to Boddhisatva); they are essentially common mortals themselves. The difference between Buddhas and common mortals lies in enlightenment to the ultimate reality. Since the truth remains "concealed" from common mortals in their ordinary wisdom, they have no recourse but to follow the Buddha's teachings.                               

          The sutras expounded before the Lotus Sutra asserted that the man of Learning and realization were eternally incapable of attaining Buddhahood. The Lotus Sutra revealed that even those of the two vehicles can become Buddhahood without any exception.                                                

We can be identified in the innermost depths of our lives as the original entities of the Mystic Law. We are born as human beings on this planet and, as followers of the Boddhisatvas of the earth, dedicate ourselves to the spread of the Mystic Law throughout the world.                                   

 T'ien'-t'ai/Buddha's ultimate teaching as revealed in Lotus Sutra: to realize that all phenomena, or the three thousand possible conditions, are integrated in the life-moment, and that Buddhahood is inherent in all life.              

Returned are some tunes in Academy Eminescu when no chance than rebirth. Three days Japanese Lotus small simulteternal beauty little death in Parinior Parinirvana. Time found for everything and for our gathering unto Buddha also by letters received from Vinod Seth, Nilima Das, Anna Mathai, Margaret Chatterjee, Peter Hook, Mona Toscano, Mary-Ellen Chatwin, Carmen Hendershott, Norman Simms, Elaine Svenonius, Jeane Leblan, Rosa del Conte, Fernando Tola, Dorje Gyaltsen, Robert Cunninghame, Madan M. Kashyap, Suraj Bhan Singh, Marek Kejna, Jorgen Lauresen Vig, Andrei Simic, Marie-Claudette Kirpalani, Eduardo de Filippo, Marusca Francini, Daniela Palermitana, Garry Bach, M.S. Narayana, N.Y.J.S. Wadalia, Mulk Raj Anad, N.K. Pandya-Ushanas, Franco Lombardi, B.S. Latwal, Baldev Mirza, Musajjalumba, Joima B. Ramirez, Bruno Uytersprot, Frank Starr, Kanta Kamlesh, Prachoomsook Achava-Amrung, Charles Mercieca, John Zitko, Gertrude Emerson Sen, Ernest Kay, Wilson Barrett, Anthony Phillips, Rodny Daniel, Philip Isely, William L. Nucklos, Manju Arora, U.R. Trikha, Surinder Kumar Arora, Ritu Nanda, Rashmi Setia, Vimal Ray Talwar, Raj Bala Sharma, Jagannat Prasad Das, Motilal Jotwani, Raj Gill, Manohar Bandopadhyay, Divik Ramesh, Sheila Gujral, Ashok Beri, T.V. Sairam, V.C. Manav, Surjit Kishore Das, R.M. Chopra, Ksemendra Mitra, R.V. Rathak, Trilochan Shastri, Kedar Nath Singh, Kedar Nath Agrawal, Nirupana Kaur, Baldev Vanshi, Shalendra Shrivastva, Girija Kumar Mathur, Girdhar Rathi, Srikant Verma, Sukhbir Singh, Ashok Vajpeyi, Alok Sharma, Ganga Prasad Vimal, Geeta Vedera, Krishna Srinivas, Indira Devi Dhanaiajgir, Seshandra Sharma, Asavaraju Apparao, Cherbandaraju, Laxmi Narayan Mahapatra, Sachidananda, Rautrau, Shiv Batalvi, P. Lal, Rohini Gupta, Padma Sachdev, Tatiana Chaudhuri, Rita Bagachi...

The Buddha through letters over Joycian-Rushdian matter-of-factness, also Emdha, Elaine, Lalage emptied eliptical sampling. Chinese diplomat learned here we meet the Former, the Middle, the Buddha of the Latter Day, American Emb. No literary agent, British Emb. No money, Scottish Pentlant always conscious of the time and effort which authors have devoted to their manuscripts and concentrate on producing for them books of the very highest quality... the first part of, The Buddha, which looks extremely interesting... regardless of the literary merits of, The Buddha, would require you to provide the financial investment for the publication of the book. A Buddhist teacher in Pomirla grew with family, after hundred years, in the hall no.2, he and his friend Eminescu loved two women friends, Eugenia and Veronica, who changed letters of mondenities, apparently, lost ones. Both poets wrote better about the sea and everything paradise-hell before seeing them. Liviu looked after Alecu Ghica in Puri after colonel's orders checked from Los Angeles by Andrei from colonial to coroner. Keep on Buddhism, baba, Indian.                                 

A reply to proposition Orchid. Moon-talk. You - talk to me. I - want to but can't because  you talk all the time. You - like me? I - yes, but now the sun has sat. You - the moon is out. I - round like Om and carrying a silver sound. You- it says no. I - no? Of course not Om is always yes the sky is marble. You - and marble says no. I - cold. You - we'll make it warm. I - in the sky?  You- in the branches of the trees. They'll cradle us to sleep. I- it will prickle me to the death. You must be Thanatos. You- Om Om if you like. I- the sound will send me into a trance. You- you can have a tranced sleep. I - a sad sad sleep sad a marble and ending too soar like a coffin or a saint better to die into it. You - no don't die we'll revive it again like a new day the orb of moon becomes sun solar cycle lunar cycle become each the other. I - you are my sun you light up my day it's only at night that. I'm bewitched stunned and moonstruck You - let me take it away with Surya I - your surya will consume my precious lunar Om, it'll stop singing and I'll be lost You - you'll be found your lunar Om will be held in the palms of my hands I - like an egg? You'll shelter it? You - I'll worship it I - You won't annihilate it so that I can't breath any more? You - I'll release your breath so that it comes back to you warm and vibrant and you can sing so that the mountains I - crush You - regenerate and the trees become greener. I - their sap is clearly dying green blood our life-giver their breath is already stale I can't breathe any more I spin spin in sheer tiredness Together - So we'll hold ourselves together our souls will sing ours, lunar and solar and we'll sing together I - bring your face nearer it seems to be disappearing closer closer I can't see you some mist is swallowing you up NO you have disappeared oh no you are lost behind the mist with the sun you dipped your head and I'll wonder all the dark hours searching till I find your arms at dawn At dawn your arms will translate into branches your voice into the cacophony of birds your body into mountains: I'll be left only you will have found yourself. Already the agony of being left is steeling my blood into iron I have become a robot by your wish and now all round me I see furniture carpets arms and legs everything that isn't you I have my pets my birds I have the light astride they have become you they have to in the morning in the morning at night I still have the moon. Om chand chanda Om Chand Chand I have only you when he goes as he must and the sky is all marble there is only you. You - so I'm here after all. I - oh you gave me quite a shock I thought you'd gone long ago where were you? You - I was laughing behind the yellow curtain. I - I thought you had gone for ever. You - that is your obsession I am always here I - in my Om in my arms. Together - You never go away we are one in your other and all is Om.