At Grandiflora
excerpt In the town square, behind Gustav Café, there is the variety entertainment ale-house with the strange name Bucharest Hotel (it has room only for women-artists), Mr. Cocoşel's winter public house. Ancient house, rather long and low, the hotel twinkles its
A Bohemian
I once saw a wounded crane, dying, on the edge of a forest where he had fallen while his friends were dashing away to the horizon, like a black arrow. The bright eye that ripped the horizon was shaded little by little, his long, powerful legs were sinking into the dust,
Thoughts About A Possible History Of Gaster's Presence In Romanian Literature
In White Moor by Ion Creangă, the Rabelais-tinged philosophy of Gaster (the Belly), (Mikhail Bakhtin) represents one of the tests the main character has to pass in order to marry the daughter of the Red Emperor. As in any fairy-tale, be it in its cultivated variant, nothing
Lent
In General Ionescu's garden, the April dusk brought a harsh wind and sprayed dust in the horizon like a bluish mist, spreading heaps of apricot tree flowers over the fresh vegetable beds. Ion, the general's first orderly, in charge of sweeping the flowers laid
The Romanian Death Iconography Or A Different Kind Of Assisted Death
In the field of iconography the rhetoric of the end manifested itself initially as a history of silences, the absence of the motif being possibly equally significant as its presence since, as Michel Vovelle demonstrated, images interest us as expression of a selective, oblique
Discovering America - Projecting A Myth. Mircea Eliade's Perspective On The Birth Of A New World
We have been acquainted with the fundamental myths of Romanian spirituality in Mircea Eliade's view and read his comments on the legend of Master Manole, the legend which, according to Eliade, certifies that myth is essential to the process of artistic creation, and
The Herbs Under The Cross
Healing plants grow under Christ's cross and out of the blood of our Saviour. People in Germany and Norway believe that the grass of Sânziene (Hypericum) grew roots from the Saviour's blood drops. Other legends tell that the same plant was born from the blood
The Architect
Emil Popescu was an architect. His specialty was the oil factories and we can say, without any exaggeration, that wherever in the country an oil factory had been built in the last five or six years, one could easily tell it was the work of architect Popescu's skilled
The Way To The Wall
excerpt During such hours, hundreds of hours, was the final thought born. Sitting like that, like a murky statue, between the bed panel and the door, so that Florica, when she opened the door, did it carefully, not to hit him. But he didn't move an inch and the chair
A Concert Of Bach's Music
excerpt After Lica's departure, Mrs. Vera had vainly peeked from behind the curtains, trying to see whether they turned their heads one after the other. Lica hadn't turned his head, so Mrs. Vera reached the banal conclusion that all men deride women, and that
Don Juan
excerpt Nobody listened to him or did so intermittently, the Russian mumbled something, excited by the other's mumbling, Mr. A. V. Emilian was drinking, capitalizing on the exaggerated attention the strange guest was receiving from the little old lady. This one-nighter,
Tache Of The Velvet Manor
excerpt A lens-like sky distorting the lingering stars as they grinned their incongruous grins descended upon the frail, yet unmitigated, blue of the world at large. When he woke up, the way you may wake up when you've slept off a death, Mammon the old sighed the sigh