Stateam deunazi de vorba cu constiinta..

(se-ntampla uneori, avem conversatii interesante, m-am gandit sa share)

“ma mananca neshte scrupule in fund”, zice. (Are constiinta fund? Pai daca ne imaginam ca am eu constiinta, de ce nu ne-am imagina ca are si ea fund?)

“mananca-le si tu pe ele”, ii zic eu. Un raspuns stock, cliche.

“nu pot”, zice, “ca nu fac a2m”. Deci da, chiar are scrupule, tre’ s-o duc la un avocat sa i le scoata.

Pana una-alta, am decis ca regula self-impusa de a scrie pe cat posibil in romana si-a trait traiul si si-a mancat malaiul. Lipsa de activitate a scazut numarul abonatilor la un cool 200+ (de la un max 400+) si ca urmare voi avea deosebita placere a unui nou inceput. Sigur, pe Facebook vad c-am ramas la 500+, dar dat fiind ca importul automat al articolelor functioneaza din parti de cand am inceput sa import fluxul partial, este putin probabil sa creasca in salturi.

So rejoice et gaudeamus, brothers and sisters, no more painful Romanian (at least, if I don’t forget). You will get instead more painfully broken Inglese. To celebrate the transition, I’ll offer you a poem.

LONGING [as opposed to craving]

Romanians -
When they go into exile -
Sit down beside the railroad lines
Somewhere in Europe,
Near stations if there’s any room left,

To feel closer to home,
To be able to catch the next train,
If it comes to that.

This gives them the feeling
They haven’t gone very far away.
Walking the tracks
Or hearing the train whistle,
They’re in unbroken communication
With their homeland.

In spring especially,
When the phenomenon of terrestrial magnetism
Disturbs the cranes high in the sky,
They can be found sitting on their suitcases,
Listening to the rails resonate
With untranslatable phonemes
Of longing.

Those who happened upon this site before may recognize a faint connection to previous articles such as Dead Line and the Putrid Corpse of the Romanian Transportation Network. And those who wonder why the heck do I bother with poetry might take note of my intention to write a poem for the World Poetry Contest.

Sources / More info: The Past Perfect of Flight