Omul e cautarea iesirii din labirint...
se-mpletesc in ochii tai picurii de ploaie
sunete se scurg din vis
si aluneca printre degete de suflet
se risipesc ca nisipul purtat de vant in scoici...
adie un zvon de speranta peste chipurile noastre
atarna intr-un colt o enigma cuibarita intr-un zambet sters...
doar inima adormita pulseaza in noi viata,
un fir de ata intins printre haine zdrentuite de vreme
Suntem un sifonier in care ne-am atarnat sufletul ... si apoi l-am acoperit cu de toate...
inca il acoperim .. mai aruncam cate-un palton de indoiala,
cate-o camasa rupta,
il peticim cu intristari, si manie
si-asa se asterne praful peste suflet...peste ochi...
si doar picurii de ploaie, sunete ratacite de vis
se-nfiripa in ochii tai
alunecand pe ata de viata ... leganat de timp
in sufletul meu.
Dey
miercuri, 28 ianuarie 2009
miercuri, 21 ianuarie 2009
si restul e tacere...
Despre tacere si drama cuvantului ... sau necuvintele, despre Blaga, despre Stanescu, despre existenta si neexistenta.... despre toate canta lumina, poezia... timpul zilelor de ianuarie.
Spunea cineva ca existenta e o suma de drame. Si poetul din dorinta de a sustrage realitatii ostile apeleaza la cuvant, dar pana si cuvantul isi are propria drama, incapacitatea de cumula in el tot vartejul de sentimente ce incearca sufletul uman. Si-asa tacerea ramane glasul cel mai puternic... sunetul razelor de luna, zgomotul asurzitor al privirilor, tremurul infrigurat...toate, toate raman in tacere.
Silence
Edgar Lee Masters
I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea,
And the silence of the city when it pauses,
And the silence of a man and a maid,
And the silence of the sick
When their eyes roam about the room.
And I ask: For the depths
Of what use is language?
A beast of the field moans a few times
When death takes its young.
And we are voiceless in the presence of realities -
We cannot speak.
A curious boy asks an old soldier
Sitting in front of the grocery store,
"How did you lose your leg?"
And the old soldier is struck with silence,
Or his mind flies away
Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg,
It comes back jocosely
And he says, "A bear bit it off."
And the boy wonders, while the old soldier
Dumbly, feebly lives over
The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon,
The shrieks of the slain,
And himself lying on the ground,
And the hospital surgeons, the knives,
And the long days in bed.
But if he could describe it all
He would be an artist.
But if he were an artist there would be deeper wounds
Which he could not describe.
There is the silence of a great hatred,
And the silence of a great love,
And the silence of an embittered friendship.
There is the silence of a spiritual crisis,
Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured,
Comes with visions not to be uttered Into a realm of higher life.
There is the silence of defeat.
There is the silence of those unjustly punished
And the silence of the dying whose hand
Suddenly grips yours.
There is the silence between father and son,
When the father cannot explain his life,
Even though he be misunderstood for it.
There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.
There is the silence of those who have failed;
And the vast silence that covers
Broken nations and vanquished leaders.
There is the silence of Lincoln,
Thinking of the poverty of his youth.
And the silence of Napoleon
After Waterloo.
And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc
Saying amid the flames, "Blessed Jesus" -
Revealing in two words all sorrows, all hope.
And there is the silence of age,
Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it
In words intelligible to those who have not lived
The great range of life.
And there is the silence of the dead.
If we who are in life cannot speak
Of profound experiences,
Why do you marvel that the dead
Do not tell you of death?
Their silence shall be interpreted
As we approach them.
Spunea cineva ca existenta e o suma de drame. Si poetul din dorinta de a sustrage realitatii ostile apeleaza la cuvant, dar pana si cuvantul isi are propria drama, incapacitatea de cumula in el tot vartejul de sentimente ce incearca sufletul uman. Si-asa tacerea ramane glasul cel mai puternic... sunetul razelor de luna, zgomotul asurzitor al privirilor, tremurul infrigurat...toate, toate raman in tacere.
Silence
Edgar Lee Masters
I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea,
And the silence of the city when it pauses,
And the silence of a man and a maid,
And the silence of the sick
When their eyes roam about the room.
And I ask: For the depths
Of what use is language?
A beast of the field moans a few times
When death takes its young.
And we are voiceless in the presence of realities -
We cannot speak.
A curious boy asks an old soldier
Sitting in front of the grocery store,
"How did you lose your leg?"
And the old soldier is struck with silence,
Or his mind flies away
Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg,
It comes back jocosely
And he says, "A bear bit it off."
And the boy wonders, while the old soldier
Dumbly, feebly lives over
The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon,
The shrieks of the slain,
And himself lying on the ground,
And the hospital surgeons, the knives,
And the long days in bed.
But if he could describe it all
He would be an artist.
But if he were an artist there would be deeper wounds
Which he could not describe.
There is the silence of a great hatred,
And the silence of a great love,
And the silence of an embittered friendship.
There is the silence of a spiritual crisis,
Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured,
Comes with visions not to be uttered Into a realm of higher life.
There is the silence of defeat.
There is the silence of those unjustly punished
And the silence of the dying whose hand
Suddenly grips yours.
There is the silence between father and son,
When the father cannot explain his life,
Even though he be misunderstood for it.
There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.
There is the silence of those who have failed;
And the vast silence that covers
Broken nations and vanquished leaders.
There is the silence of Lincoln,
Thinking of the poverty of his youth.
And the silence of Napoleon
After Waterloo.
And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc
Saying amid the flames, "Blessed Jesus" -
Revealing in two words all sorrows, all hope.
And there is the silence of age,
Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it
In words intelligible to those who have not lived
The great range of life.
And there is the silence of the dead.
If we who are in life cannot speak
Of profound experiences,
Why do you marvel that the dead
Do not tell you of death?
Their silence shall be interpreted
As we approach them.
miercuri, 14 ianuarie 2009
it's all about passion
De fapt ceea ce face viata minunata este pasiunea... pasiunea reala, autentica ... pasiunea de a trai, intensitatea fiecarei zile, bucuria manifestata nu in cuvinte triviale ci in sclipiri de privire... aici este esenta, in suflet, in atitudine, nu in vorbe. Tindem, in confortul de zi cu zi, sa asteptam "sa treaca si ziua de azi..." si uitam ca azi va deveni curand un ieri ce ramane doar o clipa suspendata pe franghia existentei... ramasa acolo doar sa mai fie privita, amintita, regretata ... sau uitata. NU suntem marionete pe o scena de strada, suntem actori chemati sa interpretam cea mai intensa piesa de scena larga ... o piesa scrisa cu Cer pe manuscris de tarana ...
vineri, 9 ianuarie 2009
....despre timp
azi cuvintele se pierd in secunde, secunde ce masoara pulsul uneori prea rapid ... alteori prea lent... un puls de iarna ametit, plin de zapada ... plin de ganduri si emotii.
si timpul se scurge cu fiecare apus prin Mana Cerului ... tot mai aproape...
si timpul se scurge cu fiecare apus prin Mana Cerului ... tot mai aproape...
marți, 6 ianuarie 2009
poveste de ninsoare...sau dans
iarna isi ninge linistita visul de zapada peste sufletele noastre de tarana si inchizand in lacrimi cate un fulg plutim pentru o clipa pe ritmuri de vals inghetat.
Rasuna printre fulgi ecoul unui Waltz vienez ... si miscarile latente se desprind in pasi sacadati de zapada. Si fiecare clipa ce se scurge din cer poarta amintirea a ceea ce este sau va fi ...
Simt cum patrund frigul ... caldura ... imbratisate prin vene de copil asteptand sa creasca.
E devreme pentru dans ... mult prea devreme pentru vals ... si cum rotesc ecourile de poveste in jurul inimii ... ca niste cuvinte ce pregatesc magia unei incantatii ... Invaluite de mister, se joaca de-a v-ati ascunselea cu sufletul ce priveste cu sfiala spre lumina ce curge din Viena si asteapta cu nerabdare clipa cand se va trezi dansand.
Dar copilul nu intelege inca taina ce o poarta vantul despre dans... de frica se ascunde in speranta ca intr-o zi cand va creste pe ramuri numarate cate trei mereu ... amintindu-si mereu ecoul unui vals de iarna inghetat.
Desi nu intelege si ii e greu ... sa astepte anotimpul potrivit ... copilul strange toate cuvintele daruite de imaginea dansului, toate sperantele pentru acea seara magica, fiecare lacrima si dor, fiecare soapta nerostita, fiecare gand.... pe toate cu-o suflare le inalta spre cer ... le inchina Dirijorului ca jertfa de multumire ... ca simbol ca de aici muzica va incepe doar cand Orchestra Divina va dezgheta Dansul cu un vals Vienez ... plin de viata, de Lumina ... si atunci cu toata fiinta copilul va intinde mana si cu aripi va pasi pe Ring ....
dar pana atunci ...
...mai asteapta
Leonard Cohen - Take this Waltz
Asculta mai multe audio Muzica »
Rasuna printre fulgi ecoul unui Waltz vienez ... si miscarile latente se desprind in pasi sacadati de zapada. Si fiecare clipa ce se scurge din cer poarta amintirea a ceea ce este sau va fi ...
Simt cum patrund frigul ... caldura ... imbratisate prin vene de copil asteptand sa creasca.
E devreme pentru dans ... mult prea devreme pentru vals ... si cum rotesc ecourile de poveste in jurul inimii ... ca niste cuvinte ce pregatesc magia unei incantatii ... Invaluite de mister, se joaca de-a v-ati ascunselea cu sufletul ce priveste cu sfiala spre lumina ce curge din Viena si asteapta cu nerabdare clipa cand se va trezi dansand.
Dar copilul nu intelege inca taina ce o poarta vantul despre dans... de frica se ascunde in speranta ca intr-o zi cand va creste pe ramuri numarate cate trei mereu ... amintindu-si mereu ecoul unui vals de iarna inghetat.
Desi nu intelege si ii e greu ... sa astepte anotimpul potrivit ... copilul strange toate cuvintele daruite de imaginea dansului, toate sperantele pentru acea seara magica, fiecare lacrima si dor, fiecare soapta nerostita, fiecare gand.... pe toate cu-o suflare le inalta spre cer ... le inchina Dirijorului ca jertfa de multumire ... ca simbol ca de aici muzica va incepe doar cand Orchestra Divina va dezgheta Dansul cu un vals Vienez ... plin de viata, de Lumina ... si atunci cu toata fiinta copilul va intinde mana si cu aripi va pasi pe Ring ....
dar pana atunci ...
...mai asteapta
Leonard Cohen - Take this Waltz
Asculta mai multe audio Muzica »
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