{"id":26034,"date":"2016-04-19T16:13:59","date_gmt":"2016-04-19T16:13:59","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/?p=26034"},"modified":"2016-04-19T17:23:14","modified_gmt":"2016-04-19T17:23:14","slug":"dimitrie-grama-poeme-poems","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/2016\/04\/19\/dimitrie-grama-poeme-poems\/","title":{"rendered":"Dimitrie Grama: Poeme \/ Poems – From Romanian by George Anca"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/p>\n

\n

POEME DE DIMITRIE GRAMA<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Predicatorul\u00a0 <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

M-am dus s\u0103-l ascult<\/p>\n

\u00een fiecare duminic\u0103 m-am dus<\/p>\n

era o iarn\u0103 grea \u0219i biserica<\/p>\n

Era mai cald\u0103 dec\u00e2t camera<\/p>\n

mea de la subsol.<\/p>\n

Dup\u0103 predic\u0103 beam vin cald<\/p>\n

\u0219i c\u00e2teodat\u0103 \u00eemi era ru\u0219ine<\/p>\n

C\u0103ci beam p\u00e2n\u0103 se \u00eenc\u0103lzea inima.<\/p>\n

Dar nu de asta m-am dus<\/p>\n

Era b\u0103tr\u00e2n predicatorul<\/p>\n

Unii spuneau: f\u0103r\u0103 vlag\u0103<\/p>\n

Eu \u00eens\u0103 nu-i ascultam<\/p>\n

El \u00eemi vorbea mie direct<\/p>\n

\u0218i despre ceva ce nu \u00een\u021belegeam<\/p>\n

despre suflet.<\/p>\n

Era o iarn\u0103 grea<\/p>\n

Ca un p\u0103cat neiertat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

M-am dus la proces cu mari speran\u021be<\/em><\/strong><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

M-am dus la proces cu mari speran\u021be.<\/p>\n

Judec\u0103torii \u00eemi fuseser\u0103<\/p>\n

fra\u021bi de arme.<\/p>\n

Ne-am salvat reciproc via\u021ba,<\/p>\n

sau mai bine ziz:<\/p>\n

eu le-am salvat de multe ori via\u021ba<\/p>\n

fiind cel mai bun osta\u0219.<\/p>\n

\u0218i de c\u00e2te ori nu mi-au<\/p>\n

mul\u021bumit atunci \u00een noroi,<\/p>\n

\u00een tran\u0219ee!<\/p>\n

Acum, dup\u0103 aproape dou\u0103 ore<\/p>\n

\u00een care se pare c\u0103 nici nu m-au recunoscut,<\/p>\n

Fra\u021bii mei de arme<\/p>\n

m-au pus \u00een lan\u021buri.<\/p>\n

Temporar, doar temporar…<\/p>\n

M\u00e2ine diminea\u021b\u0103 voi fi executat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

C\u00e2nd se re\u00eentorc armatele<\/em><\/strong><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

C\u00e2nd se re\u00eentorc armatele<\/p>\n

o parte dintre solda\u021bi<\/p>\n

vorbesc o alt\u0103 limb\u0103,<\/p>\n

o limb\u0103 str\u0103in\u0103.<\/p>\n

Se pare c\u0103<\/p>\n

doar copiii mai \u00een\u021beleg<\/p>\n

privindu-i respectuos<\/p>\n

\u0219i ascult\u00e2ndu-i<\/p>\n

cu gura c\u0103scat\u0103.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

C\u00e2nd Moartea \u00ee\u021bi va bate la u\u0219\u0103<\/em><\/strong><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

C\u00e2nd Moartea \u00ee\u021bi va bate la u\u0219\u0103<\/p>\n

vei sim\u021bi un gol mare \u00een stomac<\/p>\n

\u0219i tremur\u00e2nd tot, cu genunchii moi<\/p>\n

te vei duce s\u0103-i deschizi<\/p>\n

te g\u00e2nde\u0219ti c\u0103 a venit prea devreme,<\/p>\n

pe nea\u0219teptate, \u0219i ai vrea s\u0103 te \u00eempiedici de covor<\/p>\n

ai vrea s\u0103 tragi de timp c\u00e2t mai mult<\/p>\n

ai vrea s\u0103 nu ajungi la u\u0219\u0103<\/p>\n

dar \u00een acela\u0219i timp ceva te for\u021beaz\u0103 s\u0103 te gr\u0103be\u0219ti<\/p>\n

ca s\u0103 treac\u0103 c\u00e2t mai repede<\/p>\n

momentul acesta care<\/p>\n

n-ar fi trebuit s\u0103 existe<\/p>\n

\u0219i a\u0219a prins \u00eentre u\u0219a de la intrare<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u0219i Moarte te bate g\u00e2ndul c\u0103<\/p>\n

acest moment se va repeta la nesf\u00e2r\u0219it!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Disp\u0103rut \u00een timp <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Din somnul uterin<\/p>\n

precoce \u00een lumin\u0103 aruncat<\/p>\n

m\u00e2ini reci m\u0103 pip\u0103ie<\/p>\n

\u0219i larma m\u0103 sile\u0219te<\/p>\n

s\u0103 strig, s\u0103 strig.<\/p>\n

Un univers fereastra joas\u0103 \u0219i-a deschis<\/p>\n

m\u0103 ca\u021b\u0103r pe \u021b\u0103rmul nou<\/p>\n

\u0219i anevoie m\u0103 trezesc.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u0218i var\u0103 peste iarn\u0103 trece<\/p>\n

cum risipite clipele adorm<\/p>\n

\u00een pleoape de b\u0103tr\u00e2ni…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Alunec repede \u00een timp cu gheare \u00eenc\u0103 mai \u00eencerc<\/p>\n

s\u0103 zg\u00e2rii urme \u00een cristal<\/p>\n

Zadarnic g\u00e2nd<\/p>\n

sunt \u00eenc\u0103 mic, \u0219tiu bine pe arip\u0103 de v\u00e2nt<\/p>\n

a\u0219tept s\u0103 cresc…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00cencet, \u00eencet m-am ridicat deasupra coamelor de<\/p>\n

mun\u021bi s\u0103 v\u0103d \u00een dep\u0103rtare<\/p>\n

icoane<\/p>\n

ridicate de str\u0103buni pe umeri firavi de fecioar\u0103.<\/p>\n

Uitate sunt acum \u0219i p\u0103r\u0103site \u00een povar\u0103<\/p>\n

acolo unde ocroti\u021bi de bezn\u0103 tiranii timpului<\/p>\n

mi-au preg\u0103tit sf\u00e2r\u0219itul…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cu suli\u021be de foc am fost str\u0103puns \u00een glezn\u0103<\/p>\n

\u0219i am murit \u00een universul lor.<\/p>\n

Lumina ro\u0219ie de s\u00e2nge<\/p>\n

\u00ee\u0219i umole cugetul \u0219i firea<\/p>\n

r\u0103mas\u0103 singur\u0103 privirea<\/p>\n

\u00eentoars\u0103 \u00eenl\u0103untru pl\u00e2nge!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Am disp\u0103rut \u00een timp,<\/p>\n

am disp\u0103rut \u00een ruga interioar\u0103<\/p>\n

cuvinte noi deschas-au alte por\u021bi<\/p>\n

cuvinte-abia \u0219optite<\/p>\n

m-au ridicat din bezn\u0103.<\/p>\n

\u0218tiam c\u0103 vii din neputin\u021b\u0103<\/p>\n

cuget de\u0219teptat \u0219i frate \u00een credin\u021b\u0103.<\/p>\n

Al\u0103turi, greutate bun\u0103,<\/p>\n

p\u0103m\u00e2ntul ne ridic\u0103<\/p>\n

\u00een soare de c\u00e2nd lumea r\u0103stignit<\/p>\n

\u00een evantai albastru.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cu pas nesigur, st\u00e2njenit,<\/p>\n

caut sprijin pentru-am\u00e2ndoi<\/p>\n

\u0219i-aud<\/p>\n

sunt tot acelea\u0219i vechi cuvinte noi<\/p>\n

acum punte str\u0103vezie de cristal.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u0218i timp tot trece \u00eengropat \u00een timp<\/p>\n

Sunt mo\u0219 cu unghia r\u0103sfir<\/p>\n

petale de migdal.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u021aara lui Soron<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A trecut r\u0103zboiul, dar cerul este \u00eenc\u0103 o gur\u0103<\/p>\n

fierbinte, dragon ce macin\u0103 c\u00e2mpuri de lupt\u0103<\/p>\n

dezn\u0103dejdi, suflete, speran\u021be.<\/p>\n

Pe strada noastr\u0103 lumea nu mai este aceea\u0219i:<\/p>\n

doar un b\u0103tr\u00e2nel culcat pe o carte deschis\u0103, o<\/p>\n

func\u021bionar\u0103 p\u0103r\u0103sit\u0103 \u0219i doi-trei tineri care-\u0219i<\/p>\n

privesc m\u00e2inile cu degetele albe, r\u0103sfirate.<\/p>\n

Pantalonii, c\u0103ma\u0219a, pa\u0219ii \u00eemi sunt a\u0219eza\u021bi frumos,<\/p>\n

l\u00e2ng\u0103 c\u00e2rcium\u0103, \u00eemi sunt mici acum \u0219i de aceea<\/p>\n

i-am \u0219i promis cuiva venit de departe. Dar nu fi<\/p>\n

trist, mi-au fost \u0219i mie doar \u00eemprumuta\u021bi.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A trecut r\u0103zboiul, dar zilnic m\u0103 g\u00e2ndesc ce s-ar fi<\/p>\n

\u00eent\u00e2mplat dac\u0103 nu m-a\u0219 fi re\u00eentors \u0219i nu \u021bi-a\u0219 fi<\/p>\n

povestit despre \u021bara lui Soron \u0219i desprea evadarea<\/p>\n

din foc.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Anul trecut<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ar fi trebuit s\u0103 fim deja pleca\u021bi<\/p>\n

\u0218i \u00een locul nostru s\u0103 fi fost<\/p>\n

Planta\u021bi pomi fructiferi<\/p>\n

Sau altceva folositor.<\/p>\n

\u00cen orice caz, asta s-a discutat,<\/p>\n

A\u0219a s-a promis!<\/p>\n

Nu \u0219tiu de ce, \u0219i nimeni<\/p>\n

De fapt nu \u0219tie,<\/p>\n

De unde \u0219i c\u00e2nd au disp\u0103rut c\u00e2ini?<\/p>\n

Trebuie s\u0103 fi fost vreo ne\u00een\u021belegere.<\/p>\n

\u0218i acum b\u0103tr\u00e2nilor le este fric\u0103<\/p>\n

\u0218i nu mai pot s\u0103 plece.<\/p>\n

Stau ascun\u0219i dup\u0103 perdelele<\/p>\n

C\u0103zute din cer<\/p>\n

Anul trecut.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Prin vechi catedrale cathare<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

M\u0103 \u00eentreb dac\u0103 a\u021bi \u0219tiut<\/p>\n

c\u0103 \u00een catedrale vechi cathare<\/p>\n

sfin\u021bii, tulbura\u021bi de pa\u0219i str\u0103ini,<\/p>\n

de mirosul de om,<\/p>\n

se sinucid?<\/p>\n

Doar \u00eentr-un singur loc<\/p>\n

mai sunt supravie\u021buitori.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

De aceea nu e de mirare<\/p>\n

c\u0103 la pagina patruzeci \u0219i \u0219apte<\/p>\n

\u0219i numai acolo<\/p>\n

dintr-o ruin\u0103 se aude un c\u00e2ntec<\/p>\n

de durere, dar \u0219i de iertare.<\/p>\n

Aceasta este pagina \u00een care<\/p>\n

noi ar fi trebuit<\/p>\n

s\u0103 fim ar\u0219i pe rug.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tutungeria<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00centr-un t\u00e2rziu mi-am dat seama<\/p>\n

C\u0103 tutungeria din col\u021b<\/p>\n

De unde \u00eemi cump\u0103r ziarele<\/p>\n

– otrava mea zilnic\u0103 –<\/p>\n

a fost<\/p>\n

cl\u0103dit\u0103 peste un morm\u00e2nt.<\/p>\n

Fiecare ziar are texte funebre<\/p>\n

\u0219i mesaje de comunicare<\/p>\n

\u00eentre mor\u021bi, cum ar fi:<\/p>\n

– La c\u00e2\u021bi metri ai putrezit?<\/p>\n

– Acum nu mai simt umezeala!<\/p>\n

sau<\/p>\n

– Nici m\u0103car aici nu pot sc\u0103pa de voi?<\/p>\n

P\u00e2n\u0103 \u0219i \u021big\u0103rile sunt altfel aici,<\/p>\n

parc\u0103 inhalez suflete putrezite.<\/p>\n

\u0218i totu\u0219i e bine a\u0219a.<\/p>\n

M\u0103 g\u00e2ndesc cu groaz\u0103<\/p>\n

dac\u0103 vor d\u0103r\u00e2ma tutungeria<\/p>\n

\u0219i \u00een locul ei<\/p>\n

vor construi o cre\u0219\u0103… !<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Neb\u0103gat \u00een seam\u0103 cu bra\u021bele schilodite<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Neb\u0103gat \u00een seam\u0103<\/p>\n

cu bra\u021bele schilodite,<\/p>\n

artrotice<\/p>\n

s-a pr\u0103p\u0103dit<\/p>\n

cel care<\/p>\n

o via\u021b\u0103 \u00eentreag\u0103<\/p>\n

nu a sculptat<\/p>\n

altceva, dec\u00e2t<\/p>\n

r\u0103stignirea lui Cristos.<\/p>\n

La \u00eenmorm\u00e2ntare<\/p>\n

nu a venit nimeni.<\/p>\n

Numai Dumnezeu.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Naufragiu<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Am plecat s\u0103 te caut<\/p>\n

pe mare.<\/p>\n

Eram \u00een costum \u0219i p\u0103l\u0103rie<\/p>\n

\u0219i marea era<\/p>\n

de gal\u0103 \u00eembr\u0103cat\u0103.<\/p>\n

Din cer oglinzi<\/p>\n

ne reflectau<\/p>\n

\u021bin\u00e2ndu-ne de m\u00e2n\u0103<\/p>\n

cu toate c\u0103 noi<\/p>\n

nu ne-am reg\u0103sit.<\/p>\n

\u00cen ad\u00e2ncuri<\/p>\n

ve\u0219nicul naufragiat<\/p>\n

s-a \u00eenro\u0219it la fa\u021b\u0103.<\/p>\n

Era gol \u0219i<\/p>\n

gol pu\u0219c\u0103 a plecat<\/p>\n

\u0219i nimeni<\/p>\n

nu \u0219tie unde.<\/p>\n

Eram \u00een costum \u0219i p\u0103l\u0103rie,<\/p>\n

eram plictisit,<\/p>\n

eram naufragiatul ve\u0219nic<\/p>\n

atunci c\u00e2nd te-am reg\u0103sit.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Probabil <\/em><\/strong>\u00a0\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Probabil c\u0103 oric\u00e2t m\u0103 lupt<\/p>\n

eu nu voi ajunge niciodat\u0103<\/p>\n

s\u0103 fiu din nou lut.<\/p>\n

Probabil c\u0103 s\u00e2ngele meu<\/p>\n

este apa pe care<\/p>\n

tu o bei.<\/p>\n

Probabil c\u0103 suntem \u00eempreun\u0103<\/p>\n

doar pentru c\u0103 f\u0103urim<\/p>\n

cercei pe care luna<\/p>\n

ni-i face cadou de nunt\u0103.<\/p>\n

Probabil c\u0103<\/p>\n

a\u015fa g\u00e2ndeam c\u00e2nd<\/p>\n

eram piatr\u0103.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Biblioteca cerului<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dintr-un cer prabusit, cazut ca o rana vie printre dealuri, case si oameni, dintr-un cer care se dezintegreaza undeva intre Soare si Pamint, cad nesfirsite mesaje umede. Si eu le citesc! Fiecare strop de cer cazut in ochii mei este o scrisoare, o odisee, un destin, iar hainele de pe mine, ude leorca si baltocile din drum, sunt bibliotecile cerului. Oricine poate citi marturiile cazute din cer ; orbii, surdo-mutii, sfintii, ticalosii, lupii si viermii. Si mai ales viermii, care stau de paza, dar si cu rabdare, rod timp, rod eternitate, transformind totul in ceea ce suntem.<\/p>\n

-Linistete-te! Te rog sa taci, te rog sa nu-mi vorbesti aiurea in cap, fortindu-ma sa scriu cu totul altceva decit imi planificasem!! Tacere vreau, tacere\u2026<\/p>\n

Un colt de strada, un bulevard, pe care sunt obligat sa-l cuceresc, sa-l strabat, cu toate ca e complet gol, complet pustiu. Ma lupt cu el, pasindu-l hotarit si apasat si cu fiecare pas sunt tot mai convins ca acest drum nu duce nicaieri. Dar continui sa pasesc si alaturi de mine pasesc Prometeu, Ulise, Michelangelo, Isus Cristos si tatal lui Dumnezeu.<\/p>\n

Calci greu in apa vie, calci in picioare cer, calci imortalitate si de aceea nu stii, nu intelegi! \u2013 Si iarasi, fara de voie, imi vorbesti in cap? Hai spune-mi esti tu, \u201eLinistea\u201d esti \u201eSpaima\u201d? Sau taci! De-a pururea sa taci!<\/p>\n

\u2026\u2026Si am ajuns acolo unde si bulevardul si ploaia brusc s-au terminat intr-o balustrada inalta de un schiop si jumatate. Aplecindu-ma putin in fata, pot foarte clar sa vad focul care incalzeste Pamintul, focul de care se tem cei care nu au pacatuit. Dar daca alunec si cad pina in centrul Pamintului, pot oare sa ma reintorc de mina cu Atlas. Si reintors, pot oare sa ard ca un sfat bun, ca o bucurie? Si daca ard asa, pe cine pot sa-l incalzesc, pe cine flacara mea poate sa-l lumineze, sa-l mistuie-n lumina din adincuri si sa-l salveze? Nu, nu-mi raspunde tu, Ulise si nici Tu, Doamne nu-mi raspunde. Sa vina un necunoscut si ala sa vorbeasca!<\/p>\n

Acum e liniste deplina. Un fel de moarte cu ochii larg deschisi care inregistreaza totul, dar nu raspunde. Ce glas are Moartea? Cu ce cintec seducator, cu ce mars glorios sau cu ce soapta tainica ne atrage ca un magnet si ne trimite in murire? Sau poate ca intr-adevar este ne-murire, sau poate ca ne trimite intr-un cuvint necunoscut, care nu poate fi rostit de cineva inca in viata. Trebuie sa fii mort cu adevarat ca sa-i intelegi menirea, sa-l poti rosti, impartasi altora si atunci doar mortii te vor auzi, te vor intelege!?<\/p>\n

Si ea, Moartea; ramine cu noi pentru intotdeauna, sau doar apare la balustrada, ne intinde mina si ne trece de partea cealalta? Ca apoi sa dispara ca o promisiune ne-implinita, lasindu-ne singuri sa pipaim intunericul sau lumina o eternitate? Eternitate care pare sa fie chiar mai lunga decit viata de toate zilele\u2026.<\/p>\n

Cerul s-a ridicat p\u00een\u0103 c\u00eend \u00eencet, \u00eencet, a disp\u0103rut \u0219i mesajele lui umede nu mai pot ajunge p\u00een\u0103 la mine. E lini\u0219te \u0219i nimeni nu-mi mai vorbe\u0219te \u00een cap. S\u0103 fiu oere mort? Mort pentru prima oar\u0103!?<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 POEMS OF DIMITRIE GRAMA<\/strong><\/p>\n

From Romanian by George Anca<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The preacher <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Every Sunday I was going<\/p>\n

to hear him
\non hard winter with\u00a0 church
\nwarmer than
\nmy basement room.
\nAfter sermon I took \u00a0hot wine
\ngetting ashamed sometime
\nwhen heart itself grew hot.
\nThat’s not why I went there
\nSome were saying<\/p>\n

Of old preacher: flabby
\nI did not listen to them
\nHe spoke directly to me
\nAbout something I didn’t understand
\non spirit.
\nIt was hard winter
\nunforgivable sin.
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

I went <\/strong>to trial <\/strong>with <\/strong>great<\/strong> hopes<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I went to trial with great hopes.
\nThe judges had been
\nmy brothers in arms.
\nWe saved each other’s life,
\nor better said:
\nI’ve saved often their life
\nbeing the best soldier.
\nAnd so many times they did
\nthank me in the mud
\nof trenches!
\nNow, after nearly two hours
\nit seems that they not even recognized me,
\nMy brothers in arms
\nput me in chains.
\nTemporarily, only temporarily …
\nI will be executed tomorrow morning.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When armies <\/em><\/strong>return<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

When armies return
\nsome soldiers
\nspeak another language,
\na foreign language.
\nIt seems that
\nonly children still understand
\nwatching them respectfully
\nand listening to them
\nwith open mouth
\n<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0When <\/em><\/strong>Death<\/em><\/strong> <\/em><\/strong>will <\/em><\/strong>knock <\/em><\/strong>to<\/em><\/strong> you<\/em><\/strong>r door<\/em><\/strong><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

When Death will knock to your door
\nyou’ll feel a big empty stomach
\nand shaking all over, with \u00a0soft knees
\nyou’ll go opening to her<\/p>\n

thinking that she came too early,
\nunexpectedly,\u00a0 you wanting to stumble on carpet
\nwanting to time it out<\/p>\n

wanting not\u00a0 getting to door
\nyet something forces you to rush
\nto move as quickly
\nthis time that
\nwould haven’t existed
\nand caught so between the front door<\/p>\n

and\u00a0 Death and you think that
\nthis moment will repeat itself \u00a0endlessly!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Disappeared in time <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Precouciously\u00a0 throwned\u00a0 into\u00a0 light
\nout of uterine sleep
\ncold hands touche me
\nand clamor compels me
\nto cry, to cry.
\nA universe opened low window
\nI climb on the new shore
\nand hardly get up.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And summer over winter passes
\nas scattered moments get asleep
\nin the eylids of old people…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Quikly slipping in time I still try by claws
\nto scratch traces on crystal
\nVain thought
\nI am still small, knowingly expecting to grow<\/p>\n

on wind wing …
\nSlowly I rose above the ridges
\nof mountains to see at a distance
\nicons
\ncarried by ancestors on frail maiden shoulders.
\nForgotten are they now and left in burden
\nwhere the tyrans of time protected by dark
\nprepared my end …
\nMy ankle was penetrated by fire spears
\nand\u00a0 I died in their universe.
\nBlood red light
\nfills its mind
\nleft alone eye
\nturned inward cry!
\nI disappeared in time,
\nI disappeared in inner pray
\nnew words open other gates
\nbarely whispered words
\nrose\u00a0 me from the darkness.
\nI knew you came from helplessness
\nbrother in faith awaken conscience.
\nTogether, good weight,
\nearth raises us
\ncrucified in sun since the world
\nin\u00a0 blue fan.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With uncertain step, embarrassed,
\nI search support for-both
\nand hear
\nthey are all the same old new words
\nnow transparent crystal bridge.
\nAnd time ever passes burried in time
\nI’m old man with fingernail scatter
\nalmond petals.
\n
\n<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Land of Soron<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

War past, but sky is still a hot<\/p>\n

mouth, dragon grinding battlefields
\ndespairs, O my soul, hopes.
\nOn our street people are no longer the same:
\njust an old man lying on an open book, a
\ndeserted clerk, two-three youths who
\nwatch their hands, white, scattered fingers.
\nMy pants, shirt, steps are nicely seated,
\nbesides tavern, they are small now to me and thatfore
\nI already promised them to someone came from far. But don’t be<\/p>\n

sad, they were also to me just borrowed.
\nThe war past, but every day I think of what would have
\nhappened it if I wouldn’t returned to tell you
\nabout country of Soron and about escape
\nfrom \u00a0fire.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Last year<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We should have already be left
\nAnd instead of us be
\nPlanted fruit trees
\nOr something else useful.
\nIn any case, this was discussed,
\nSo promised!
\nI don’t know why, and no one
\nIn fact doesn’t know,
\nFrom where and when dogs disappeared?
\nIt must have been some misunderstanding.
\nAnd now the elders are afraid
\nAnd can not leave any more.
\nThey stay hidden behind curtains
\nFallen from heaven
\nLast year.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0By oldest Cathare cathedrals<\/em><\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong>
\nI wonder if you knew
\nthat in old Cathare\u00a0 cathedrals
\nThe saints, troubled by\u00a0 foreign steps,<\/p>\n

by smell of man,
\ncommit suicide?
\nIn a single place
\nThere are still survivors.
\nTherefore no wonder
\nthat on page forty-seven
\nand only there
\nfrom a ruin is heard \u00a0a song
\nof pain but also forgiveness.
\nThis is the page where
\nwe should have
\nto be burned on the stake.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

T<\/em><\/strong>obacconist<\/em><\/strong>‘s<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/em><\/strong>
\nMuch later I realized
\nThat corner tobacconist’s
\nFrom where I buy newspapers
\n– my daily poison –
\nwas
\nbuilt over a grave.
\nEvery newspaper has funeral texts
\nand communication messages
\namong the dead, such as:
\n– At how many meters you rotten?
\n– Now I do not feel any moisture!
\nor
\n– Even here I can not escape from you?
\nCigarettes are different here,
\nLike I inhale rotting souls.
\nAnd yet it’s \u00a0better so.
\nI think with horror
\nif they’ll tear down tobacconist’s shop
\nand in its place
\nwill build a nursery …!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Unobserved with<\/em><\/strong> crippled <\/em><\/strong>arms<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/em><\/strong>
\nUnobserved
\nwith crippled arms,
\nartrotic
\nperished
\nthe one
\na lifetime
\ndidn’t carved
\nelse, than
\nChrist’s crucifixion.
\nat the funeral
\nnobody came.
\nBut God.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n


\nShipwreck<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I went by sea<\/p>\n

in search of you.
\nI was in costume and hat
\nthe sea was
\nfull dressed.
\nFrom heaven mirrors
\nreflected us
\nhand in hand
\nAlthough we
\nhaven’t found again.
\nIn depths
\neternal wrecked
\nturned red at face.
\nHe was naked and
\nstark naked left
\nand no one
\nknows where.
\nI was in a suit and hat,
\nbored,
\nshipwrecked forever
\nwhen I found you again.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

P<\/em><\/strong>robably<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>
\nProbably no matter how much I struggle
\nI will never get
\nto be clay again.
\nProbably my blood
\nis water that
\nyou drink.
\nProbably we are together
\njust for forging
\nearrings that moon
\nmake to us wedding gift.
\nProbably
\nso I was thinking when
\nI was stone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/em><\/strong>Haven L<\/em><\/strong>ibrary\u00a0 <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Endless wet messages fall from a\u00a0 collapsed sky, a living wound among hills, houses and people, from a sky which disintegrates itself somewhere between the Sun and Earth. And I read them! Every drop of heaven fell into my eyes is a letter, an odyssey, a destiny, and the clothes I wear, dripping wet, and\u00a0 puddles in the way\u00a0 are libraries of heaven. Anyone can read testimonials fallen from heaven; blind, deaf and mute, saints, scoundrels, wolves and worms. And especially worms that stand guard with patience, gnaw time, gnaw\u00a0 eternity, turning everything into what we are.<\/p>\n

– Quiet down! Please shut up, please do not talk to me crazy in the head, forcing me to write something completely different than I had planned ! Silence I want, silence …<\/p>\n

A street corner, a boulevard, which I am obliged\u00a0\u00a0 to conquer it, toramble through, although it is completely empty, completely deserted. I struggle with it, stepping to it decidedly and heavily, and which step I am\u00a0 \u00a0increasingly convinced that this path leads nowhere. But I continue to walk and with me walks Prometheus, Ulysses, Michelangelo, Jesus Christ and God the father.<\/p>\n

You walk hard in living water, walk \u00a0heaven, walk immortality step and therefore do not know, do not understand! – And again, unwillingly, you talk in my head? Tell me, are you “Silence” are you “Fear”? Or shut up! For ever shut up!<\/p>\n

……And I got there were both boulevard and rain suddenly ended in a\u00a0 railing high of a limp and a half. Bending a bit forward, I can see very clearly\u00a0 the fire that warms the Earth, fire\u00a0 feared by those who have not sinned. But if I slip and fall up to center of the Earth, may I return by hand with \u00a0Atlas? And once returned, may I burn as a good advice, as a joy? And if I burn so, who can be warmed, who can be enlightened by may flame, devoured by \u00a0light of depths and saved ? No, do not answer you, Ulysses, nor thou, O Lord do not respond. Let come an unknown guy\u00a0 and speak!<\/p>\n

Now it is full silence. A kind of death \u00a0with wide eyes open that records everything, but not responding. What voice has Death? With what seductive song, what glorious march or what mysterious whisper\u00a0 attracts us like a magnet and sends us into \u00a0dying? \u00a0Or maybe really it is no-dying, or sends us into an unknown word, which can not be uttered by someone still alive. You must be dead really\u00a0 to understand its mission, to utter it, share to others and then only the dead will hear, will understand you!?<\/p>\n

And she, the Death, remains with us always, or only occurs at the railing, holds her hand and\u00a0 move us to the other side? Then disappearing like an unfulfilled promise to us, letting us alone to touch darkness or light an eternity? Eternity that appears to be even longer than everyday life ….<\/p>\n

The sky got high until slowly, slowly disappeared and his wet messages can not reach\u00a0 me. It’s quiet and no one speaks to me in the head. Am I \u00a0dead? Dead for first time !?\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

POEME DE DIMITRIE GRAMA \u00a0   Predicatorul\u00a0   M-am dus s\u0103-l ascult \u00een fiecare duminic\u0103 m-am dus era o iarn\u0103 [&hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-26034","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articole"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26034","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=26034"}],"version-history":[{"count":14,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26034\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":26040,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26034\/revisions\/26040"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=26034"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=26034"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=26034"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}