Agonia.Net | Policy | Mission Contact | Participate
poezii poezii poezii poezii poezii
armana Poezii, Poezie deutsch Poezii, Poezie english Poezii, Poezie espanol Poezii, Poezie francais Poezii, Poezie italiano Poezii, Poezie japanese Poezii, Poezie portugues Poezii, Poezie romana Poezii, Poezie russkaia Poezii, Poezie

Article Communities Contest Essay Multimedia Personals Poetry Press Prose _QUOTE Screenplay Special

Poezii Rom�nesti - Romanian Poetry


Texts by the same author

Translations of this text

 Members comments

print e-mail
Views: 7709 .

prose [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [mircealupu ]

2012-03-07  |     | 

I was just discharged from the army. It's the first day when I can wear civilian clothes. It is February 1989.
It's time to take a walk downtown. I want to pay a visit to a nice bookstore, Mihai Eminescu, which I patronized in high school. Last time when I entered a bookstore was just before enrolling into service, one year and a half ago.
I enter the bookstore and take a deep breath. I like the scent of the books, but I am completely puzzled; there are so many titles on the shelves covering so many subjects, in deep contrast with the simplicity I was used to in the army.
In front of me there is a pretty, slim brunette. She asks for a poetry booklet written by Ana Blandiana
I am in line just behind her and think she hasn't made a bad choice, so I ask for the same booklet.
I knew of course that Ana Blandiana was an opponent of the regime, but it was maybe the brunette's soft hair, and her voice that persuaded me to buy that booklet.
I went out of the bookstore and continued to enjoy my first day of freedom, looking at people, smiling, feeling, tasting the air.
In February night falls quickly. I eventually rushed to the bus station to go home. The streets were cold and empty and light was dim.
I realized that I've come back from the army only to fall into a pit where everything was in short supply, except for the freeze and the poverty.
I got on the bus and opened the booklet to forget the cold rather than to read something.
My eyes fell upon a few lines from a poem:
In winter, the branches write Japanese poems
With a black pencil
On the silky snow
I took a look through the window and saw long branches leaving a black shadow on the snow.
I was thrilled by the coincidence and continued to read more.
I figured the sad people she was talking about in her poem, brought to silence by all sort of fears...
The poem ended in a short sentence: "Today was some other time".
I remember now that after I had come home I read poems all that evening.
Over time I learned tens of poems by heart. It helped me much, especially when the power was cut off at home. They were cutting the power off on a daily basis to save money and entire districts were deprived of electricity every night, two or three hours. On those nights I was lying on the couch reciting the poems I had learned, waiting for the power to be restored. Then the revolution came over in December that year. I rode trucks to the television to defend it together with other young people, after another five years I graduated a college, then took a job with a joint-venture company.
Now I remember no poems but one.
It is the first poem I read sitting on the bench of the bus in that cold night of the year 1989.
In winter, the branches write Japanese poems
With a black pencil
On the silky snow
And it's February again. February 2012. And today was some other time.

.  |

shim Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests. shim
poezii  Search  Agonia.Net  

Reproduction of any materials without our permission is strictly prohibited.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net

E-mail | Privacy and publication policy

Top Site-uri Cultura - Join the Cultural Topsites!