joi, 31 iulie 2008

life and dreams....

"Lumea nu e facuta pentru visatori; mai ales pentru visatori care se multumesc sa-si viseze viata."

"Le-am visat, Luca. Eu aduc lumea la mine. E mai simplu."
(Oct. Paler, Desertul...)

marți, 29 iulie 2008

un mic fragment...

"Ma despart greu de lucrurile si de situatiile cu care, cat de cat, m-am obisnuit. Orice despatire lasa in mine un gol, o nedumerire..."(Oct. Paler, Desertul...)
La multi ani!

miercuri, 23 iulie 2008

Definiţia zăpezii

A îngheţat lumina în somn
şi cade mirată pe străzi
visând că răsare la poli.
(Octavian Paler)

vineri, 18 iulie 2008


"Atunci, intr-o noapte am avut un vis. Se facea ca eram pe un tarm indepartat si ma uitam in jurul meu: marea era neagra ca smoala, clocotind plina de manie, cerul, deasupra, era la fel de negru, greu, amenintator; coborand tot mai jos si mai jos, la un moment dat cerul paru sa atinga marea. Nicio adiere de vant, linistea si nemiscarea erau de moarte; ma sufocam, nu mai puteam sa respir. Deodata, o panza alba, luminoasa, a fulgerat prin despicatura ingusta ramasa intre cer si mare. Era o barcuta care stalucea intre cele doua intunecimi, precipitandu-se rapid inainte in calmul sufocant, cu panzele umflate gata sa plesneasca...
De CATE ORI, in clipele grele, cand vedeam totul in negru si cei mai scumpi prieteni si cele mai increzatoare sperante ma paraseau, inchideam ochii si desluseam, printre gene, aceasta barca! Inima mea prindea curaj, sarea drept in picioare cu un strigat: Intinde panzele si nu-ti fie teama, fa-ti drum prin intuneric!"(Nikos Kazantzakis, Raport catre El Greco)

sâmbătă, 12 iulie 2008

Moartea Octavian Paler

Un chip de nisip
şi mîini de nisipi
şi limba în gură mi-e tot de nisip
nu mai pot să spun nimic în apărarea mea
în acest tribunal de nisip
cu lumini de nisip
grefieri de nisip
şi cineva care întoarce clepsidra.
Tot ce-am iubit s-a transformat în nisip
tot ce-am greşit s-a transformat în nisip
şi judecători de nisip
mă judecă
şi mă condamnă la moarte...

joi, 10 iulie 2008


" In jurul meu erau padurici de maslini si vii, culesul nu incepuse inca, strugurii atarnau grei pana la pamant. Mirosea a frunze de smochin. O batrana care venea spre mine s-a oprit, a luat cateva frunze de smochin care acopereau un cos pe care il tinea pe brat, a scos doua smochine si mi le-a dat.
-Ma cunosti, matusico?am intrebat-o.
Ea m-a privit mirata:
-Nu, fiule, de ce trebuie sa te cunosc ca sa-ti dau ceva? Esti un om. Si eu la fel, nu-i destul?" (Nikos Kazantzakis, Raport catre El Greco)

impostura de octavian paler

Ceilalti lupi m-ar sfîsia dacã ar sti
cã urletul meu e în realitate un plîns.

miercuri, 9 iulie 2008

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon,
at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love,
ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

marți, 8 iulie 2008

Ma ascund in mana ei

A iubi nu inseamna a fi fericit
a iubi inseamna a fi implinit,
motivul pentru care o mana
se va alatura pielii.
un frumos ochi…
se va contempla inimii,
si un nou gand…
se va alatura tacerii.(kcc)

Auguries of Innocence by william blake

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.

The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.

The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.

He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.

He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.

Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.

The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.

The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.

A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

'The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler,by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

vineri, 4 iulie 2008

a little bit of communication...

there's no wall, no barrier that can keep us apart...if only we talk to each other

A liitle bit of The Magus

What tarot card are you?

miercuri, 2 iulie 2008

marți, 1 iulie 2008

dar poemul asta il stiati?

Definitia dragostei

Vino sa pot regasi drumul spre mine...
parti din Octavian Paler:

Va daţi seama ce ar însemna să fie luată “ca adevăr” ideea lui Nietzsche că “Dumnezeu a murit”? Duhoarea metafizică răspândită de cadavrul lui Dumnezeu ar face viaţa irespirabilă.

Definitia unui strigat

Ti-as spune ceva,
despre noi,
despre zapada de-afara,
despre dragostea mea.
Ti-as spune ceva,
numai sa nu creasca iarba tacerii intre noi.
Ti-as spune ceva,
ce-ai stiut,
sau ce stiu,
dar a-nceput sa creasca iarba tacerii intre noi
si s-au ratacit sunetele din cuvantul tarziu.

Definitia cicatricelor

Cand doare cicatricea
ne doare rana veche
sau faptul c-am uitat-o?

A cere, a alege, a fi atent, a fi concentrat, a cauta, a-l iubi pe Dumnezeu, a fi bun, a sprijini tot ce bucura si multumeste viata sunt unul si acelasi lucru. Prin cerere, alegere, cautare a valorilor vietii si prin spirjinul lor, puterea devine operationala in viata noastra.
Un om care traieste in spiritul valorilor ce sprijina viata nu va incerca sa dovedeasca nimic ; nici sfintenia, nici bunatatea, nici puterea sa. De aceea oamenii de acest calibru traiesc mai degraba in izolare, dar atunci cand cerem exprimarea iubirii, s-ar putea sa-i intalnim, iar intalnirea cu ei ne poate schimba viata.

"Caut mereu un drum intre naivitatea de a iubi totul si nenorocirea de a nu iubi nimic.” - Polemici cordiale
Mai stim, oare, sa iubim naiv, inocent, sa oferim totul in dragostea noastra sau suntem mereu macinati de constrangeri si resentimente? Si daca iubim inca, naivi, ce sa iubim ? Putem iubi lumea, putem iubi clipa, pe cei de langa noi , putem iubi totul.
Dar placerea de a oferi dragoste, implica riscul de a fi raniti, de a ni se raspunde cu ura … neintelegerea celor din jur ne poate face sa nu mai iubim nimic … dar, pana la urma, iubirea fie ea si pentru o clipa merita toate aceste riscuri ale esecului. Caci, cautand mereu o cale de mijloc, intre a iubi “nebuneste” si a nu fi ranit, nu vom reusi sa iubim nimic cu adevarat.

« Niciodată n-ai avut suficientă imaginaţie pentru a-ţi închpui lumea fără tine. Chiar dacă n-ai mers cu vanitatea până la paranoia de a crede că lumea se învârte în jurul tău, că e nerăbdătoare să audă ce spui, ţi-a lipsit inteligenţa, sau puterea de a accepta că nu însemin mai mult decât fotografiile îngălbenite pe care cineva, după tine, le va arunca la gunoi.”
“Nu ştiu dacă pot pretinde că am ştiut ce vreau de la viaţă. Nu mi-ai lipsit ţintele false şi entuziasemele naive.”
“Şi nu jucăm doar pentru alţii comedia de a vrea să părem mai buni decât în realitate. O jucăm şi pentru noi.”

why reading? why literature?

de ce mai citim? multi nu mai au aceasta indeletnicire, insa exista si cativa care o practica inca...
Imi place sa calatoresc in uriasa biblioteca... so join me...:D