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Entries Tagged as 'reality'

Poetry in Translation (CCCXXVI), Eric Otto SIEPMANN (1903-1970) ENGLAND: “Epitaph”, “Epitaf”

March 2nd, 2015 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (CCCXXVI), Eric Otto SIEPMANN (1903-1970) ENGLAND: “Epitaph”, “Epitaf” · Books, Famous People, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Eric Otto SIEPMANN (1903-1970)

Here at my desk I mock my fate,
If help comes now, it comes too late,
The valued pictures in my mind,
My sheer neglect, have made me blind.

My dream deserved a steady look,
I failed to put it in a book,
And now, and now I cannot see,
My dream destroyed reality…

No fact consoles me for my flight,
No truth can give me back my sight,
No dream can make me think I see,
No life is left, so bury me.

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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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