"Despre frumusetea uitata a vietii"

"Despre frumusetea uitata a vietii" de Andrei Plesu

Daca ma gandesc bine, reprosul esential pe care il am de facut tarii si vremurilor este ca ma impiedica sa ma bucur de frumusetea vietii.

Din cand in cand, imi dau seama ca traiesc intr-o lume fara cer, fara copaci si gradini, fara extaze bucolice, fara ape, pajisti si nori. Am uitat misterul adanc al noptii, radicalitatea amiezii, racorile cosmice ale amurgului. Nu mai vad pasarile, nu mai adulmec mirosul prafos si umed al furtunii, nu mai percep, asfixiat de emotie, miracolul ploii si al stelelor. Nu mai privesc in sus, nu mai am organ pentru parfumuri si adieri. Fosnetul frunzelor uscate, transluciditatea nocturna a lacurilor, sunetul indescifrabil al serii, iarba, padurea, vitele, orizontul tulbure al campiei, colina cordiala si muntele ascetic nu mai fac de mult parte din peisajul meu cotidian, din echilibrul igienic al vietii mele launtrice. Nu mai am timp pentru prietenie, pentru taclaua voioasa, pentru cheful asezat.

Sunt ocupat. Sunt grabit. Sunt iritat, hartuit, coplesit de lehamite. Am o existenta de ghiseu: mi se cer servicii, mi se fac comenzi, mi se solicita interventii, sfaturi si complicitati. Am devenit mizantrop.

Doua treimi din metabolismul meu mental se epuizeaza in nervi de conjunctura, agenda mea zilnica e un inventar de urgente minore. Gandesc pe sponci, stimulat de provocari meschine.

Imi incep ziua apoplectic, injurand "situatiunea": gropile din drum, moravurile soferilor autohtoni, caldura (sau frigul), praful (sau noroiul), morala politicienilor, gramatica gazetarilor, modele ideologice, About the forgotten beauty of life

by Andrei PlesuThinking more, the essential reproach that I have to make to my country and to the time being, is that they dont allow me to enjoy the beauty of life.

From time to time, I realise that I have been living into the world with no sky, trees or gardens, with no bucolic bliss, water, meadows or clouds. I have forgotten the deep mystery of the night, the radicalism of the noon, the cosmic chill of the twilight. I cant see birds anymore, I cant catch the whiff of the dusty wet smell of the storm anymore, I cant sense anymore, being suffocated by emotion, the miracle of the rain and stars. I dont have any organ to feel the scents and breezes. The rustle of dead leaves, the nocturnal translucence of the lakes, the indeciphrerable sound of the evening, the grass, the forest, the cattle, the murky horizon of the field, the cordially hillock and the ascetic mountain dont belong anymore, for a long time, to my quotidian scenary and to my hygienic balance/ equilibrium of my inner life. I have no time for friendship, for the cheerful prattle, for the peaceful party.

I am busy. I am in a hurry. I am irritated, racked, overwhelmed with disgust. I have got a pay office existence: I am asked for services/ favours, orders are made for me, I am asked for interventions, pieces of advice and complicity. I have become a misanthropist. Two-thirds of my mental metabolism is getting low because of the nerves of the conjuncture; my daily schedule is an inventory of minor emergencies. I think less, being stimulated by low-down challenges.I begin the day being apoplectic, swearing thesituation: the holes in cacofoniile noii arhitecturi, demagogia, coruptia, bezmeticia tranzitiei. Abia daca mai inregistrez desenul ametitor al cate unei siluete feminine, inocenta vreunui suras, farmecul tacut al cate unui colt de strada.

Colectionez antipatii si prilejuri de insatisfactie. Scriu despre mizerii si maruntisuri. Bomban toata ziua, mi-am pierdut increderea in virtutile natiei, in soarta tarii, in rostullumii. Am un portret tot mai greu digerabil. Patriotii de parada m-au trecut la tradatori, neoliberalii la conservatori, postmodernistii la elitisti. Batranilor le apar frivol, tinerilor reactionar. Una peste alta, mi-am pierdut buna dispozitie, elanul, jubilatia. Nu mai am ragazuri fertile, reverii, autenticitati. Ma misc, de dimineata pana seara, intr-un univers artificial, agitat, infectat de trivialitate. Apetitul vital a devenit anemic, placerea de a fi si-a pierdut amplitudinea si suculenta.

[]Suntem napaditi de probleme secunde. Avem preocupari de mana a doua, avem conducatori de mana a doua, traim sub presiunea multipla a necesitatii. Ni se ofera texte mediocre, show-uri de prost-gust, conditii de viata umilitoare. Am ajuns sa nu mai avem simturi, idei, imaginatie. Ne-am uratit, ne-am instrainat cu totul de simplitatea polifonica a lumii, de pasiunea vietii depline.Nu mai avem puterea de a admira si de a lauda, cu o genuina evlavie, splendoarea Creatiei, vazduhul, marile,pamantul si oamenii. Suntem turmentati si sumbri. Abia daca ne mai putem suporta.the road, the habits of the native drivers, the hot weather (or the cold weather), the dust (or the mud), the morality of the politicians, the grammar used by the journalists, ideological models, the cacophony of the new architecture, the demagogy, the corruption, the giddiness of the transaction. I can hardly notice the stunning shape of any womans body, the innocence of any smile, the silent charm from any corner of the street.I collect antipathy and opportunities for dissatisfaction. I write about squalor and trifles. I grumble all day long, I have lost my trust in the nations virtues, in the countrys fate, in the worlds sense. I have got an even harder digestible portrait. The patriots on the parade sent me to the traitors, the neoliberals to the conservatives, the postmodernists to the elitists. I seem to be frivolous for the elders and reactionary for young. after all, I have lost my good mood, the lan, the jubuliation. I have no productive leisure, daydreams or authenticity anymore. I move day in, day out throughout an artificial, agitated and infested with triviality universe. yhe vital appetite has become anaemic, the pleasure of existing has lost its proportion and taste/ succulence.

[] We are overwhelmed by slight problems. We have got minor preoccupations, unimportant leaders and live under the multiple pressure of the necessity. We are offered second rate texts, vulgar shows, humiliating life conditions. We come to have no more feelings, ideas or imagination. We got ugly and entitely left the polyphonic simplicity of the world, the passion of the entire life. We have no power to admire and to boast, with a genuine devotion, the splendour of Creation, the air, the sea, the earth and people. We are tipsy and depressed. We can hardly stand/ tolerate ourselves.