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Entries Tagged as 'exile'

Letter from Germany – Scrisoare din Germania (I): the Tragedy of Romania

September 28th, 2012 · 5 Comments · Diary, OPINION, PEOPLE

Grandomania celor care « au ajuns », care s-au îmbogatit, este de neinchipuit. Sunt foarte multi cei care lucreaza dincolo de granitele tarii si care se intorc cu bani si cu dorinta de a avea ceva ce altii nu au. In felul acesta isi trintesc vile si case oribil de pompoase in afara Bucurestiului, case care arata ridicol intr-un sat unde bastinasii ramasi traiesc inca in casutele lor construite din lut si balegar, vopsite cu var si cu acoperisurile aplecate ca niste babute la taifas. Privelistea altadata atit de frumoasa este distrusa iar culmea este ca si in aceste curti unde casele se simt stinghere, vezi la gardul din fier forjat o caruta linga o vaca slaba care incearca sa pasca printre mormanele de caramizi sparte. Ce-ti pot spune mai mult, a fost un pelegrinaj in trecut trecind prin viitor, un ciudat amestec de stari sociale, o coloratura a unui popor care dupa parerea mea nu va avea niciodata sansa sa ajunga prea departe tocmai din cauza ca discrepantele sunt prea mari. Nu poti nicicind sa convertezi o babuta nevinovata la civilizatia secolului nostru, cind ea isi scuipa inca in sin cind ii faci o poza pe care imediat dupa aceea i-o arati pe celular. Si exact din acest motiv am mare mila si intelegere pentru cei care inca sunt cu o suta de ani inapoi si cea mai putina intelegere pentru cei care prin smecherii, minciuni si inselatorii incearca sa duca aceasta tara cit mai jos. Din pacate nu putem face nimic dar senzatia este dureroasa.
Sunt inca sub impresiile de acolo dupa cum observi, visez noaptea si ma scol cu senzatia ca mai sunt acolo, ma simt nefolositoare dar nu stiu ce as putea face… Sper ca nu te-am obosit cu povestile mele, in general întoarcerea mea scurta in Romania a fost interesanta si poate si o lectie pe care trebuia sa o iau dupa atitia ani…

I have never ever seen so much misery in a place where, given the resources at hand, there ought to be good order. Wherever you look there are luxury goods mixed with paraphernalia of poor taste, miserable goods. I have seen bare-feet, unwashed peasant farmers, in their horse-drawn wooden carts, busy talking on their cell phone; I have seen rural folk, who were exhibiting to all and sundry their newly- acquired luxury car, displayed on the back of a rusty lorry, which they were conveying, just to show off to the rest of the world to marvel at… I have seen hundreds of stray dogs curled up, asleep in the middle of the highway… In downtown Bucharest, I had seen hovels whose windows were covered with hanging tee shirts, or pyjamas, for lack of curtains… I have seen top-notch luxury malls with their ubiquitous uniformed security guards, only to discover, round the corner, people begging in the street.
In the countryside, I walked the main streets of villages covered in thick dust and boulders… I have seen sanitary installations, which were at least seventy-years old… I sat at dining tables laden with foodstuff, yet covered in shoals of flies, which cut my appetite… I cried my eyes out seeing the destitute elderly villagers, seated in the doorways of their rural homes, looking forlorn as the world went bye… I would have liked so much to fathom out what thoughts were visiting their vacuous faces… as the darkness enveloped their cottage, I would have liked to find out what they were doing in the evening, what were they thinking of, the next morning, as immediate prospects were fading fast, biting the dust of their farmyard… I tried to help as much as I could, I bought washing machines, clothes for the children and sundry goods needed in every household, but, as I said, it felt like a bottomless pit.
By contrast, the grandomania of the nouveau-rich, of those who made it overnight, was quite unbelievable. There are so many Romanians who work abroad only to return home playing a game of one-upmanship. In the outskirts of Bucharest they build for themselves some horrible, if pompous villas, which are completely out of kilter with the traditional rural abodes of their neighbours, living in cottages built of clay mixed with horse manure and straw, with whitewashed walls under a tilted roof, not unlike some old people seated on a bench, for a natter. The once bucolic rural atmosphere is completely ruined, yet to cap it all, in some of these farmyards, where such villas look out of place, one could discover, by looking through the iron fence, a wooden cart next to a malnourished cow, trying to graze next to a pile of broken bricks.
The overall impression I got is one of a journey into the past, yet one intermingled with the future, an odd mixture of social scales, a motley palette of a nation, which, in my opinion, will never have a chance of getting very far, at all, just because the discrepancies are too great to smooth over.

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Poetry in Translation (CXXVI): Virgil Suárez (b. 1962, Cuba),– “ŢĂRMUL LUI REINALDO ARENAS” (The Patagonies of Reinaldo Arenas)

September 25th, 2012 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (CXXVI): Virgil Suárez (b. 1962, Cuba),– “ŢĂRMUL LUI REINALDO ARENAS” (The Patagonies of Reinaldo Arenas) · Diaspora, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations, Uncategorized

De câte ori n-ai fost forţat, tu, Reinaldo
Să-ţi înghiţi cuvintele? Bucatele de hârtie rupte
din jurnalul tău, maţele tale, căluşul din gură, pumnii de fier în stomac. De fiecare dată ai scuipat înapoi, focul tău, în faţa câinilor. De cinci
ori ţi-au confiscat manuscrisul, dibuind-ul acolo unde l-ai
ascuns, arzându-l ca şi cum memoria s-ar fi făcut scrum, în incendiu, nu te-ar fi mântuit şi de fiecare dată,
mereu, ai rescris cuvintele, aspirându-le din
cenuşa cruzimii şi violenţei lor, iar tu
le-ai rescris, mereu şi mereu, aceşti cărbuni fierbinţi
aprinzându-se în spiritul tău nemărginit, tu espiritu bello.
Iar într-un sfârşit, cuvintele tale strălucesc
aceşte stele minunate la care exilul se roagă, te urmează
ca să renască, din conflagraţia îndepartată a propriilor lor
vieţi, cinci romane de furtună, ţărână şi apa. Oare ce ţi se oferă
în ţara infinitelor posibilităţi? Ce îţi îndeamnă gândul
în strângerea unei îmbrăţisari? Privirea se deschide la infinit.

Versiune în limba Română
de Constantin Roman
Londra, 25 Septembrie 2012,
© 2012, Copyright Constantin ROMAN

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Poetry in Translation (CXXIII): Reinaldo ARENAS (1943, Cuba – 1990 New York), Poet Cubanez – “My Lover the Sea” – “Iubita mea Marea” – “NIÑO VIEJO”

September 20th, 2012 · 4 Comments · International Media, OPINION, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Reinaldo Arenas (1943-1990)
Cuban revolutionary poet & author,
exiled in NYC under Castro

My Lover the Sea

I am that child with the round, dirty face
who on every corner bothers you with his
“can you spare a quarter?”

Sunt copilul acela cu faţa rotundă si murdară.
Care la orice colţ de stradă te plictiseşte cerşind:
“dă-mi un leu, domnule!”
Versiune în limba Română
de Constantin Roman
Londra, 20 September 2011,
© 2012, Copyright Constantin Roman

Yo soy ese niño de siempre
ante el panorama del inminente espanto.
Ese niño, ese niño,
ese niño que corrompe el poema con su nota naturalista.
Ese niño, ese niño,
ese niño que impone arduos y aburridos ensayos
y hasta novelas, aún más aburridas, sobre “los bajos fondos”.
Ese niño, ese niño,
ese niño de cara airada y sucia que impone arduas
y siniestras revoluciones
para luego seguir con su cara aún más airada y sucia.
Ese niño, ese niño
ese niño ante el panorama siempre inminente
(sólo inminente)
del inminente espanto, de la inminente lepra, del inminente
piojo,
del delito o del crimen inminentes.
Yo soy ese niño repulsivo que improvisa una cama
con cartones viejos y espera, seguro, que venga usted a
hacerle compañía.

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Book Launching (France): “Journal d’exil” by Mircea Milcovitch, Éditions Amalthée

January 8th, 2012 · 2 Comments · Books, Diaspora, International Media, PEOPLE, quotations, Reviews

Les “Éditions Amalthée” publieront dans la seconde moitié du mois de février 2012 le “Journal d’Exil”. Ce récit avait été rédigé après l’arrivée en France de l’artiste, entre octobre 1968 jusqu’à la fin de l’année 1969. Le livre est préfacé par le docteur Marc Andronikof.
he Éditions Amalthée publishing house will launch in February 2012 the Memoirs of artist sculptor Mircea Milcovitch (Mircea Milcovici), with a preface by Mark Andronikoff. This book is written by en exile, whose family was no stranger to the sad road of uprooting. Mircea’s father, himself a native of Bessarabia, was compelled to seek refuge in the Kingdom of Romania in the wake of the invasion by the Red Army, at the end of WWII. T
Whilst reading an early draft of this Memoir, one encounters a certain melancholy, imbued by generations of displaced ancestors, living at the confluence of warring empires. But beyond this one can detect a strong determination to live the newly-found freedom and to succeed in the artistic career.

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Romanian Literature in Exile (I): Rodica Iulian (France), b. Romania 1931

October 19th, 2011 · Comments Off on Romanian Literature in Exile (I): Rodica Iulian (France), b. Romania 1931 · Diaspora, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Uncategorized

Rodica Iulian’s novels, written in French, reflect the dilemma of the exile torn between her perceived ‘duty’ towards her native culture and the desire to establish new roots in its adoptive country. In the process of establishing herself as a writer in the West, she would reposition Romanian literature as part of the canon of European literature. In this context, Rodica Iulian’s novels reveal the misunderstandings between the Romanian perceptions and expectations of the newly experienced contacts with the French culture. (One of the above quotations is such an example, when, as late as 2001, one detects a whiff of the nightmares experienced some two decades earlier, by Iulian witnessing Ceausescu’s bulldozers, flattening the historical centre of Bucharest.)

Blouse Roumaine – An Anthology of Romanian Women

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Great Romanians: Dimitrie STIUBEI (1901-1986)

December 10th, 2010 · 4 Comments · Art Exhibitions, Diaspora, PEOPLE

An ex naval officer Stiubei spent almost his entire life at sea. He did not become a painter by chance neither was he self-taught. He studied painting first from his mentor Jean Steriadi (1880-1986) and then as a student of the Munich Academy of Painting under Ernst Liebermann (1869-1960) and Peter Trumm (1888-1966).

Peter Trumm described him as follows:
… blessed with an extraordinary talent with essence of painting, vivid intelligence, a true feeling of essence of painting, and went beyond expectation through his military education. He developed his artistic capacity in an amazing manner in a very short time. The sum total of his paintings without any doubt is very strong, especially in portrait and painting of the sea.

Dimitrie Stiubei exhibited extensively in Paris, Athens, Geneva, Basel, Lugano and New York. He also exhibited at the Royal Society of Marine Artists in London.
The artist was honoured with the French Légion d’honneur and in the seventies he was decorated with the Vermeille medal from the Society of Arts, Sciences and Letters.

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Poetry in Translation (LXXIV): Marin Sorescu (b. 1950) – “Exile”

March 26th, 2010 · 1 Comment · PEOPLE, Poetry, Translations

EXIL (Marin Sorescu)
Au inflorit cartofii in Marmatia / si voi tocmai acum plecati spre sud /cand ceru-i aiurit si descusut / cand se confunda bocetul cu natia ? /

EXILE

As the potato flowers are in bloom
You take the road which ever us do part?
Now that the sky is gray and overcast
And tears confound the country and the doom?

The grief will be for you the new abode
Perhaps a warmer grave and newer ethos
We shall unearth those emerald potatoes
Those precious stones dug out from where we hoed.

What kind of God preserved in secret heavens
May still be glad to gather our bones
With you, with us we cry on our tombs
With you with us a story ends in ruins.
(Translated from Romanian by Constantin ROMAN)

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Nobel prize Winner – Exorting Romania to be honest about its Communist Past

October 8th, 2009 · Comments Off on Nobel prize Winner – Exorting Romania to be honest about its Communist Past · Diaspora, PEOPLE

Herta MUELLER 2009 Nobel Prize for Literature (Romanian-born German from the Banat of Timisoara, living in Berlin) ——————————————————————————————— Herta Müller has a sharp sense of realities, as demonstrated in her article published in Tagesspeil of 17 July 2008, which is echoed by the Frankfurter Rundschau: “It is a scandal that Romania put forward as its […]

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Poetry in Translation (XXIV): Ion Caraion – “Seul au Monde” / “Singur pe lume”

November 12th, 2005 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XXIV): Ion Caraion – “Seul au Monde” / “Singur pe lume” · Diaspora, PEOPLE, Poetry, Translations

– Où vous emmènnent-ils, Monsieur?
– Dans le jardin, mon rêve.
– Pour quoi faire, Monsieur?
– Pour me fusiller, mon rêve.
– Parce qu’ils ont des balles, Monsieur?
– Parce qu’ils ont le temps, mon rêve.
– Où vous enterreront-ils, Monsieur?
– Sous la neige, mon rêve.
– Avez-vous peur, Monsieur?
– Je trouve ça révoltant, mon rêve.
– Qui doit-on prévenir, Monsieur?
– Les feux de l’enfer, mon rêve.
– Ça va aller quand même, Monsieur?
– Il fera nuit, mon rêve.
– Qui est votre plus proche parent, Monsieur?
– Je suis seul au monde, mon rêve.
– Voulez-vous boire un verre, Monsieur?
– Qu’est-ce que ça va me coûter, mon rêve?
– Peu importe le prix, Monsieur.
– Le calice est-il empoisonné, mon rêve?
– Vous n’en voulez pas, Monsieur?
– Casse-le en mille morceaux, mon rêve!
– Doit-on vous pleurer, Monsieur?
– Inutile, mon rêve.
– Bonne nuit, Monsieur.
– Dormons ensemble, mon rêve!
– Je dors seul, Monsieur.

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Alone in the World

by Ion Caraion. Translated by Constantin Roman.

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