It started as an answer to my friend’s question on his blog post about autobiographies: “The most respectable way to lie is perhaps the autobiography” but I soon realized that my comment became as long as the post itself. And we all know that it wouldn’t be proper to post your own full length ramblings on someone else’s blog so I decided to write my own post.
The question(s) : What autobiographies have you read? Whose autobiography would you be interested to read?
Let's see. The most recent autobiographical, or somewhat-autobiographical books I had read are :
Persepolis- Marjane Satrapi ( read orig. French)
Reading Lolita in Tehran – Azar Nafisi ( a memoir in books)
Running in the Family- Michael Ondaatje ( a fictional memoir)
Infidel - Ayaan Hirsi Ali
My favorites are Reading Lolita and Running in the Family, but according to their critics and authors these are rather memoirs than autobiographies. Perhaps this is why I liked them more.
From my oldest readings, there were only two books which I did recall effortlessly. Is it that I only liked these two books or … Maybe I do have a really bad memory and it’s a good thing that I started to record the books I read recently.
Amintiri din Copilarie –Ion Creanga (Childhood Memories, read orig. Romanian), but what kid who grew up in Romania would not recall Creanga?
Si le grain ne meurt -Andre Gide (If it die , read orig. French). I confess, again, Gide is for me an author-obsession, i.e. I do not chance to recall the full plot of the story and have no idea who wrote it.
Or is it because I am confused about the genre and its sub-genres? Am I the only one unable to exclude memoirs, edited diaries or autobiographical essays from her list? I even thought about a few poems that grown an autobiographical aura over the years ...such as Plath's Lady Lazarus, Bishop's One Art or Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.
So what about two of my favorite diaries The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank and "Jurnalul Fericirii" (The Diary of Happiness, read orig. Romanian ) by Nicolae Steinhardt.
I mentioned Anne Frank a week ago.
Steinhardt's experiences in the political prisons of the communist regime, his discovery of the deep humanism encompassed by the Christian faith and his unassuming praise of an author in spite of said author's sexual orientation are not only interesting from a historical point of view but may make a good counter argument against the restrictive evangelism as we know it.
There is also the autobiographical fragment from Anne Ranasinghe's At what Dark Point .
Thor Heyerdahl “The Kon-Tiki Expedition” as well as Fridtjof Nansen “Farthest North” are ample accounts of the authors' vision, hardships and the determination leading them to organize successfully the expeditions which brought them the fame and public acknowledgements. And such these are more than just simple travel books, even though they focus on the Kon-Tiki, respective Fram trips which they describe in detail.
I must have re-read The Story of San Michele by Axel Munthe at least three times, and I can recall quite well his detailed accounts on the beginnings of serious psychiatric research by Charcot. Another memoir, rather than formal autobiography, built as a collage of vignettes and offering witty insights in the lifestyle of the upper classes.
Or Richard Henry Dana,Jr's memoir of his two years as a simple sailor in the US commercial marine Two Years Before the Mast. This unromantic, down to earth account of life at sea describes the abuse that common sailors would often suffer from the hands of their officers.
Alfred Sloan- “My Years with General Motors”, can get quite boring at times but is essential for anyone interested in the history of America’s automobile industry.
And last, but no least there is Carolyn Jessop – Escape , worth mentioning just because the way it pairs with Infidel . In the last section of Infidel, Ali praises the western society for offering women the ability of self-development and an equal access to justice in contrast with her experience as a Muslim woman in a Muslim country. Jessop's story starts with her memories of growing up in a family belonging to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and later to the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Her story bears several similarities with Ali's. Her father, in spite of remaining active in the church, is described as open-minded. Her mother is captive in an arranged marriage. The author is forced to marry a church leader against her will, but fortunately she gains permission to attend secondary school and earn a Bachelor degree. Unlike Ayaan, Carolyn is able to escape only after years of abuse from her husband and only after she bore him eight children...children she could have lost during her escape and the embittered custody battle after...Unlike Ayaan Carolyn lived all her life in Utah and Arizona.*
And the person whose autobiography I'd like to see written. Hmm...
Octavian –what about your fictional memoirs? I can recall some fragments from your blog and I can say I really liked what I read. Plus, in my humble opinion, one does not need to be old and famous to write his or her memoirs. And in most cases is more important how you write than whom you are writing about.
* another reason for which I mentioned Jessop's book are the recent news about Jeff's overturned conviction by an Utah supreme court.
Showing posts with label if you like it. Show all posts
Showing posts with label if you like it. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Walk through New York City...
…or take the subway. The city as a kaleidoscope; different shapes and colors, languages flow one into the other. In the subway I sit by a guy checking his messages on a Vertu. A girl reading a paper in hanzi (script) or maybe kanji. A handy man and his tool kit. In fact there is probably more dissociation, more disconnection among this people than it meets my eye. But I look them through my “I had lived too long in this little city” lenses: a kaleidoscope.
Subway: Downtown is on the bottom of the map. Uptown is on top of it. The guy I asked for directions makes sure I got it:
“if you want to go from the 28th to the 84th , what direction do you go? “
“Uptown.”
And somehow he manages to sound concerned rather than patronizing.
Lower East Side. She does not know where this street I am asking for is. But wait, she can use her cell phone as a GPS. I felt welcomed. This is a city still happy for foreigners.
There are imperfections in this world, ugliness, like a franchised coffee shop where they ask you to pay extra for the coffee coming with the combo offer. Beggars. Petty theft. Crime. But I decided to let my kaleidoscope lenses filter the reality beyond. When in vacation! only
Morning colors are faded memories of a scarlet ibis: dirtied red, scarlet and orange, washed out by the smog. A dim translation of the rusted peel of Anish Kapoor’s Memory vanishing in the vapors of city life. We are lodged on the 25th floor – if you chose Manhattan for your location be sure to choose the upper floors, where the height muffles the sounds of the city or you’ll have a hard time sleeping.
Progress is convenience[1]. Fat tamed squirrels running in Union Square. The subway two blocks from your house. Indoor running water. The shower.
Do you write letters? What if you receive a letter from her ?
…is the smell of her hair.
She must have placed it down between sentences
and thought, and driven her fingers round her skull
gathered the slightest smell of her head
and brought it back to the pen.[2]
In Central Park, a luscious jungle is contained in one of the zoo buildings. There are no glass walls inside, no nets. A scarlet Ibis swings on a tropical plant above our head. I almost wrote : free as in an illusion of freedom...
But what is freedom?
[1]Tino Sehgal - What is Progress
[2]Michael Ondaatje -Burning Hills
Subway: Downtown is on the bottom of the map. Uptown is on top of it. The guy I asked for directions makes sure I got it:
“if you want to go from the 28th to the 84th , what direction do you go? “
“Uptown.”
And somehow he manages to sound concerned rather than patronizing.
Lower East Side. She does not know where this street I am asking for is. But wait, she can use her cell phone as a GPS. I felt welcomed. This is a city still happy for foreigners.
There are imperfections in this world, ugliness, like a franchised coffee shop where they ask you to pay extra for the coffee coming with the combo offer. Beggars. Petty theft. Crime. But I decided to let my kaleidoscope lenses filter the reality beyond. When in vacation! only
Morning colors are faded memories of a scarlet ibis: dirtied red, scarlet and orange, washed out by the smog. A dim translation of the rusted peel of Anish Kapoor’s Memory vanishing in the vapors of city life. We are lodged on the 25th floor – if you chose Manhattan for your location be sure to choose the upper floors, where the height muffles the sounds of the city or you’ll have a hard time sleeping.
Progress is convenience[1]. Fat tamed squirrels running in Union Square. The subway two blocks from your house. Indoor running water. The shower.
Do you write letters? What if you receive a letter from her ?
…is the smell of her hair.
She must have placed it down between sentences
and thought, and driven her fingers round her skull
gathered the slightest smell of her head
and brought it back to the pen.[2]
In Central Park, a luscious jungle is contained in one of the zoo buildings. There are no glass walls inside, no nets. A scarlet Ibis swings on a tropical plant above our head. I almost wrote : free as in an illusion of freedom...
But what is freedom?
[1]Tino Sehgal - What is Progress
[2]Michael Ondaatje -Burning Hills
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Once upon there...
Once upon there... in the realm of my childhood.
Incepusem sa scriu in engleza pentru ca povestile noastre incep cu "a fost odata" care se refera la un timp trecut si povestea mea cu zane si doici si vrajitori nu se intampla intr-un timp trecut .E un alt taram- un spatiu care coexista cu realitatea. Inceputurile povestii au fost deja uitate si sfarsitul inca nu s-a intamplat.
Se mai intampla ca timpul sa fie rotund sau apoape rotund . Asa cum se intampla sa fie un castel (aproape rotund) in care am copilarit. Un castel cu turela, gradina de trandafiri, pod in care isi faceau cuib porumbeii si o pivnita cufundata in intuneric si mister.Cu porti care incuie lumea afara cu un lant ruginit -din casa portarului. O curte interioara dominata de un stejar in masculinitatea lui magnificenta de copac adult. Sub ferestrele mele creste un smochin - un copac roditor e sfintit.
Un vrajitor a plantat smochinul -un vrajitor care poate face o vioara sa vibreze si un smochin sa rodeasca. Sotia vrajitorului imi este doica . Si ca orice doica stie sa teasa hainute si povesti care nu au fost inca cuprinse intr-o carte. Mai stie si cum sa spuna de deochi:
Fugi deochi/Dintre ochi /Sa ramana curata/Luminata/Ca soarele...
Vrajitorul are doua surori. Amndoua au facut scoala de dascali asa ca fara voie le-am devenit invatacel.
O sora e foarte tacuta, dar ma duce cu ea in locuri in care daca deschid bine ochii si urechile sunt multe de invatat. Locuri precum :muzeu, galerie de arta, teatru, scoala de muzica. Si daca tace, nu e pentru ca nu are ce spune ci pentru ca i-au ars cuvintele in razboi si de atunci trebuie sa le masoare de teama sa nu se sfarseasca si sa amuteasca intr-o zi.
O sora e foarte vorbareata, de la ea am invatat ca tirbuson e de fapt un tire buchon. Si am mai invatat ca daca pornesti pe un drum pieptis si simti ca nu mai poti face un pas :sa te presti sa plangi ca sa poti merge inainte.
Mai sunt si zane. Unele locuiesc in castel - sunt vecine cu vrajitorul adica. O zana ne aduce benzi desenate, alta reviste din Franta. Altele vin doar in vizita - ciocolata din Elvetia sau carti . Una dintre zane aduce cadouri de cate ori isi face aparitia pe la noi -asta pentru ca e nasa mea si in povesti nasele-zane aduc cadouri.
Cele mai multe cadouri le aduce insa zana mea cea mai buna. E cea mai buna pentru ca m-a invatat sa calaresc o bicileta si indulceste ceaiul de musetel. E cea mai buna pentru ca e a mea...
leapsa furata de la Andrei
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Once upon there (2)
Once upon there... For it is not a time past , but another realm. One I co-share with my real reality. The time of the story already forgotten, there was no beginning and no end is in sight.
Contingently time could be round or almost round. Like the castle of my childhood. The castle has a watch tower, rose garden, a dusted attic for the pigeons’ nests and a dark underground of mystery. There are gates to lock out the world with a rusty chain from the gatekeeper’s cottage. The courtyard’s inwardness is dominated by the magnificence of an oak tree in his manhood. Under my windows grows a fig tree - sacred is the fruit bearing tree.
A wizard had planted the fig tree. A wizard that can make any violin reverberate and a fig tree bear fruits. His wife is my nanny. As any other nanny she can tailor clothes and stories you couldn’t find in books. She also knows the words for breaking down the spells:
Fugi deochi/Dintre ochi /Sa ramana curata/Luminata/Ca soarele...
The wizard has two sisters who were studying the teachings. So I had to be their student.
One kept mostly to herself, but she took me places. Museums, galleries, theaters… And though she was rich in knowledge, she became poor with words when hers burned during the war. Since she fears that wasting her words will make them reach an end line and she will be forever mute.
One was a chatterer. She thought me that cream fondue is in fact une crème fondue. She also told me that no matter how steep the road is one is allowed to stop and cry but never to turn back.
The fairies are many a kind. Some lived in the castle –the wizard’s neighbours. They bring comics and French magazines. Some just visit us - books and Swiss chocolate. My fairy godmother brings gift each time she is materializing at our door –after all this is what fairy godmothers are supposed to do.
Most gifts are received from the fairy that’s the best off all. For she taught me how to ride a bike and she knows how to sweeten the tea. But mostly because she is my own.
Contingently time could be round or almost round. Like the castle of my childhood. The castle has a watch tower, rose garden, a dusted attic for the pigeons’ nests and a dark underground of mystery. There are gates to lock out the world with a rusty chain from the gatekeeper’s cottage. The courtyard’s inwardness is dominated by the magnificence of an oak tree in his manhood. Under my windows grows a fig tree - sacred is the fruit bearing tree.
A wizard had planted the fig tree. A wizard that can make any violin reverberate and a fig tree bear fruits. His wife is my nanny. As any other nanny she can tailor clothes and stories you couldn’t find in books. She also knows the words for breaking down the spells:
Fugi deochi/Dintre ochi /Sa ramana curata/Luminata/Ca soarele...
The wizard has two sisters who were studying the teachings. So I had to be their student.
One kept mostly to herself, but she took me places. Museums, galleries, theaters… And though she was rich in knowledge, she became poor with words when hers burned during the war. Since she fears that wasting her words will make them reach an end line and she will be forever mute.
One was a chatterer. She thought me that cream fondue is in fact une crème fondue. She also told me that no matter how steep the road is one is allowed to stop and cry but never to turn back.
The fairies are many a kind. Some lived in the castle –the wizard’s neighbours. They bring comics and French magazines. Some just visit us - books and Swiss chocolate. My fairy godmother brings gift each time she is materializing at our door –after all this is what fairy godmothers are supposed to do.
Most gifts are received from the fairy that’s the best off all. For she taught me how to ride a bike and she knows how to sweeten the tea. But mostly because she is my own.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Atonement
Hey, Mr. Koestler
I’d like to be one of your call girls
sum up my happiness from fractions of hope
move up my condo in the quadratic range
curb up demand sans supply slope.
Yes, Mr. Koestler
I’d like to receive invitations for diner
at a Swiss resort. I prefer Zauberberge
where Andre shall play the piano for me
(forget Ali).
If Mr. Koestler
does decide on me I promise
his progeny shall be called ANN
with her brilliant web of synapses fluorescing
beyond the translucent skin
a triumph arched over each radical skinner
if you know what I mean
a quizz poem instigated by Paul and the last blah, blah, blah about "isms" ... and no hard feelings? I hope
and if want to get on the train too.
I’d like to be one of your call girls
sum up my happiness from fractions of hope
move up my condo in the quadratic range
curb up demand sans supply slope.
Yes, Mr. Koestler
I’d like to receive invitations for diner
at a Swiss resort. I prefer Zauberberg
where Andre shall play the piano for me
(forget Ali).
If Mr. Koestler
does decide on me I promise
his progeny shall be called ANN
with her brilliant web of synapses fluorescing
beyond the translucent skin
a triumph arched over each radical skinner
if you know what I mean
a quizz poem instigated by Paul and the last blah, blah, blah about "isms" ... and no hard feelings? I hope
and if want to get on the train too.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Six things that make you smile
" you're it" from to-morrow
Six things that make make me smile:
1. my kids
2.kind people (kind gestures, surprise gifts)
3. Charlie Brown
4. Whoopi Goldberg
5. Peter the pumpkin eater and other nursery rhymes
6.my own silliness (sometimes, because other times it just makes me bang my my head on the wall)
si leapsa merge la andrei, octavian, domnul Doctor, runbaby, earthwalker, raluca
Six things that make make me smile:
1. my kids
2.kind people (kind gestures, surprise gifts)
3. Charlie Brown
4. Whoopi Goldberg
5. Peter the pumpkin eater and other nursery rhymes
6.my own silliness (sometimes, because other times it just makes me bang my my head on the wall)
si leapsa merge la andrei, octavian, domnul Doctor, runbaby, earthwalker, raluca
Saturday, January 31, 2009
A tale of two cities
City 1
În vara lui 1999, pe linia lui 35 –eu si cu de'alde Pătru.El le reparase unora computerul – o favoare pentru prietenul unui prieten – şi acum trebuia să le returneze oamenilor placa de memorie la care meşterise.
Și uite aşa am ajuns noi ȋn Giuleşti – zona cu blocuri, nu aia de case. Dupa ce le remonteza computerul, oamenii ȋl ȋntreabă pe de'alde Pătru: "Cât ȋți datorăm?" El :"Nimic". Aşa că ne-au dat şi ei ce aveau prin bucătărie: nişte piersici. Acum nu ȋmi mai aduc aminte de ce nu le-am mâncat ȋn apartament ci ȋn fața blocului, fapt e că ne-am trezit pe refugiu ținȋnd strâns ȋn pumn sâmburi de piersică. Stingheri.
Vi-a-vis pe trotuar era un coş de gunoi. Singurul din toată zona de altfel. Și cum tramvaiul ȋntârzia, am trecut strada şi am aruncat sâmburii ȋn coş. Eu dau să mă ȋntorc când ȋl aud, domol aşa cum vorbea el:
"Hai să ne facem că ne uităm ȋn vitrine ... "
city 2.
Nothing really happens. People are bound to their TVs today -go, steeeelers! (27-23, they did it ...)
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Poetry and Politics
This is an answer to this post:http://blackeyedsusans.blogspot.com/2008/09/writers-meme.html
If you believe the personal is political, how is this reflected in your work or life?
The personal is political. I grew up under a dictator's regime and I know how life looks when there is so much fear and so little freedom. Now,issues such as diversity and immigration do affect my every day life, and these issues do reflect in my poems.
A song for Luis Jimenez is one of my obviously political poems
Are there any dominating themes, images or ideas prevalent in your body of work?
I think religion (or my religious view) dominates my poetry. I had been raised by orthodox grandparents in one of the most traditional forms of Christian belief, and my religious upbringing is a source of constant conflict with my liberal views. But, in spite of my liberal views I stay deeply religious. Love (in all occurrences) is another one. Beauty is the third in line. I am definitely enthralled by beautiful people and things and landscapes - Beauty for me is the expression of God's Love.
What theme(s) or idea(s) have you avoided in your work? Why?
I am starting to view writing poetry more and more as craft rather than therapy, so experimenting is essential for my work. I try not to avoid any themes or ideas.
Are you drawn to any particular themes, ideas or styles of poetry?
As mentioned above: religion, love , beauty and of course, the issue with accepting diversity.
Like in this Waltz, that is also a tribute to Andre Gide among other people.
As for poetry styles , since I am still just trying my hand...I do not find any that fit me better than others, yet...
Who are some of your favorite poets (writers) and why?
Dostoevsky and Gide for their perspective on our souls split between sin and religious belief.
Rilke for the way he sings God's beauty.
Khayyam for his lines on wine and the beloved.
Anna Akhmatova for trying to picture that terrible world with so many beautiful words, trying to make the others understand.
Michael Ondaatje for his view on parenthood and the way he sings a human body's imperfections.
Nabokov for making it possible (to write a great book in a completely foreign language)
Eugen Ionescu for his first short essays on how art is in the eye of the beholder (he's mostly know as Eugène Ionesco whom wrote about the Rhinoceros)
Mihai Eminescu for his music, rhythm and learning how to die and burn with love.
Marin Sorescu for being whimsical and tragic at the same time.
and the list can go on, and on, and on...
If you believe the personal is political, how is this reflected in your work or life?
The personal is political. I grew up under a dictator's regime and I know how life looks when there is so much fear and so little freedom. Now,issues such as diversity and immigration do affect my every day life, and these issues do reflect in my poems.
A song for Luis Jimenez is one of my obviously political poems
Are there any dominating themes, images or ideas prevalent in your body of work?
I think religion (or my religious view) dominates my poetry. I had been raised by orthodox grandparents in one of the most traditional forms of Christian belief, and my religious upbringing is a source of constant conflict with my liberal views. But, in spite of my liberal views I stay deeply religious. Love (in all occurrences) is another one. Beauty is the third in line. I am definitely enthralled by beautiful people and things and landscapes - Beauty for me is the expression of God's Love.
What theme(s) or idea(s) have you avoided in your work? Why?
I am starting to view writing poetry more and more as craft rather than therapy, so experimenting is essential for my work. I try not to avoid any themes or ideas.
Are you drawn to any particular themes, ideas or styles of poetry?
As mentioned above: religion, love , beauty and of course, the issue with accepting diversity.
Like in this Waltz, that is also a tribute to Andre Gide among other people.
As for poetry styles , since I am still just trying my hand...I do not find any that fit me better than others, yet...
Who are some of your favorite poets (writers) and why?
Dostoevsky and Gide for their perspective on our souls split between sin and religious belief.
Rilke for the way he sings God's beauty.
Khayyam for his lines on wine and the beloved.
Anna Akhmatova for trying to picture that terrible world with so many beautiful words, trying to make the others understand.
Michael Ondaatje for his view on parenthood and the way he sings a human body's imperfections.
Nabokov for making it possible (to write a great book in a completely foreign language)
Eugen Ionescu for his first short essays on how art is in the eye of the beholder (he's mostly know as Eugène Ionesco whom wrote about the Rhinoceros)
Mihai Eminescu for his music, rhythm and learning how to die and burn with love.
Marin Sorescu for being whimsical and tragic at the same time.
and the list can go on, and on, and on...
I like
Since Raluca wanted to know:
I like:
I like:
- To read. A well written story, a smart newspaper article, a good poem, a funny add on
- Craigslist, some of your blogs…
- To listen classic music on the dark
- Red wine
- Men that can smile (from their hearth)
- Long fingers
- Men with undulating hips
- Red wine and dark chocolate. And sweets in general
- My mother’s tomato soup that I could not replicate since I moved to US
- To walk
- To talk no-sense for hours
- To dance when I am alone
- To lay on green grass
- Big cities
- Scarves
- Old Hollywood Movies
- To spend time with my friends
- To play with my youngest children
- Turtle neck sweaters
- To travel by train
- My son’s drawings and my daughter’s paintings
- To tease the people I love
- To write
- To pace things
I do not like
To drive - Men that want to control my life
- Ignorant people
- Tithing
- To do accounting homework
- Housekeeping
- To organize papers
- To be pushed to do things fast, faster
- To be interrupted when I try to organize and file important papers
- Women that proliferate the idea that somehow they are inferior to men
- People that think that they should not pay child support, and expect you to feel sorry for them
This is a short list, I might go back and update some stuff.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
If you like it (Paul)
If you asking for subject matter I would be interested in your native language and how you feel it differs from English.
Romanian is an Indo-European language form the Latin group. It is similar to Italian, Spanish, french...however, what makes it unique are the influences from Slavic and Magyar/Turkish.
Thus it has quite a flexible structure, chaotic one might say. This makes it very difficult to learn.
It is this flexible structure I miss the most in English, for I have the tendency to move words around in a sentence or try to change the meaning in the middle and that does not always work.
On thing I find interesting about Romanian is the concern with words for relationships. One cause was the effort that some leaders made in the past to regain the Latin roots by importing words from other languages. The other cause...hm mm, maybe we are particular about how we define relationships. For example we have two different words for friendship and three for love and/or lover...English has only one and that is limiting one's ability of expression, but it does enhance one's imagination...
Now for difference here is an example I had in mind today:
Not long ago
I longed only
for your smooth silky voice
to caress my inner year.
Nowadays,
I SMS you to death.
Oops, I crashed the train.
(on a news line about a train engineer that caused a train accident because he was texting)
Nu demult
mi-era dor
sa-ti aud vocea doar
mangaindu-mi matasos auzul.
Azi
Iti trimit mesaje pana la moarte.
Na ca facui trenul praf.
(/corrected/Ups, am facut trenul praf. )
or on an word for word translation:
"not long ago / (equivalent of miss, long)/ to (your) hear voice only/caressing (my) silky hearing./ Today/ to you send messages until death./ Oops, made the train crash."
On a first note : yes, there are no subjects, you can just imply them if if you feel like it and it is grammatically correct.
to (your )hear voice only could be translated as "sa aud vocea ta doar" (to hear your voice only). Your can take both positions in the sentence, the first form is simpler and closer to the spoken language, therefore it brings more melody to the poem.
Silky voice is stock in Romanian, inner ear is to long and it does not sound well in the context, silky caressing that sounds totally awkward in English is just right here.
When writing poetry in Romanian - the rhythm, the melody, the way words sound is very important, for the culture since the oral forms go way beyond the written ones....
Romanian is an Indo-European language form the Latin group. It is similar to Italian, Spanish, french...however, what makes it unique are the influences from Slavic and Magyar/Turkish.
Thus it has quite a flexible structure, chaotic one might say. This makes it very difficult to learn.
It is this flexible structure I miss the most in English, for I have the tendency to move words around in a sentence or try to change the meaning in the middle and that does not always work.
On thing I find interesting about Romanian is the concern with words for relationships. One cause was the effort that some leaders made in the past to regain the Latin roots by importing words from other languages. The other cause...hm mm, maybe we are particular about how we define relationships. For example we have two different words for friendship and three for love and/or lover...English has only one and that is limiting one's ability of expression, but it does enhance one's imagination...
Now for difference here is an example I had in mind today:
Not long ago
I longed only
for your smooth silky voice
to caress my inner year.
Nowadays,
I SMS you to death.
Oops, I crashed the train.
(on a news line about a train engineer that caused a train accident because he was texting)
Nu demult
mi-era dor
sa-ti aud vocea doar
mangaindu-mi matasos auzul.
Azi
Iti trimit mesaje pana la moarte.
Na ca facui trenul praf.
(/corrected/Ups, am facut trenul praf. )
or on an word for word translation:
"not long ago / (equivalent of miss, long)/ to (your) hear voice only/caressing (my) silky hearing./ Today/ to you send messages until death./ Oops, made the train crash."
On a first note : yes, there are no subjects, you can just imply them if if you feel like it and it is grammatically correct.
to (your )hear voice only could be translated as "sa aud vocea ta doar" (to hear your voice only). Your can take both positions in the sentence, the first form is simpler and closer to the spoken language, therefore it brings more melody to the poem.
Silky voice is stock in Romanian, inner ear is to long and it does not sound well in the context, silky caressing that sounds totally awkward in English is just right here.
When writing poetry in Romanian - the rhythm, the melody, the way words sound is very important, for the culture since the oral forms go way beyond the written ones....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
