The closed eye -Ana Blandiana

Today, I would like to present to you the poetry of Ana Blandiana.


Her poetry was censored and its publishing banished during the communist years due to political reasons. She continued to be an active presence in the political environment after the fall of the Eastern regimes in 1989, and she took over the presidency of P.E.N. Romania in 1990.

Yet what I like most of her poetry is the melancholic voice and feminine gracefulness of her language. Here is a poem I recently found online (in Romanian ) and translated for you.[1]

The Closed Eye

Not for a moment did I dream to close my eyes

for fear that

I will crush the world between my eyelids,

I will hear it crumble with a loud crunch

a peanut between my teeth.

How long can I steal my sleep?

How long could I

keep it alive?

I watch gaze with despair,

work up my pity for

this defenseless universe

that will perish in my closed eye.

1. The original "Ochiul inchis" can be found here.

Today the question is....

To act or not to act?

Confession Tuesday: Name. Identity. Culture.

Reading “Anil’s Ghost” for the South Asian Reading Challenge* I had an eerie feeling . There were no details from Anil’s past or present to help me identify her in terms of her Sri Lankan past beyond what she seemed willing to reveal. And that was very little…


The name, especially the name. Her given name –a boy’s name she had chosen for herself and bought from her brother. Her surname that tells the reader no more than Portuguese roots may suggest that her family was neither part of the Sinhala majority or the Tamil minority but … When I tried to trace a Tissera family and their relations I was attempting to materialize Anil's ghost (one of her ghosts to be more precise). But I was not able to find many clues. Not because the European surname but because Ondaatje chose on purpose a name that will be hard to attach to a specific family. Had he chosen a name such as Fonseca,De Saram or Da Silva it would have been much easier for me to incorporate the imaginary character within the histories of a real family, ethnic group etc. **



Why my obsession with the name? After all ,
“what's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
Shakespeare, as usual. Take it out of the context and you may wonder as I do – when did we came to act so casual towards names?

Names used to be magic. You recall the way Adam participated to the act of Creation by naming animals and plants.

It was customary to baptize again a child considered sickly or unlucky because it was believed that the bearer of a new name is going to be a new person as well.

Emigrants to the new world would often change their names in order to become members of a new nation, new culture and often, a new language.

In South Asia surnames often indicate one’s caste or social status.

In many European countries people took the name of the trades they were passing down from generation to generation to define their family trees.

But how often do you think about your name as it were no different than what you are. The culture. The self. The person. How often do you wonder, what's in my name?

I had done it quite often recently, because I am like Anil. I am occupying a “dis-located” position in terms of

my nationality: no longer Romanian but white or South Asian or Hispanic or… (depending on the eye of the beholder)

my family: each time I try to pull it around me and wear it as a proud denomination it keeps on crumbling, fragmented, spread all over the world.

my name: Ana is nowadays such a common name – it could be Hispanic, Italian, or add an "n" and it is British, Scandinavian, Hungarian...
 or Romanian. And, in Romanian, Ana turned to be gender neutral as it turned into a gender exclusive name living no option for the possible male offspring but to be born female.( It used to be anna, annas).

As for my surname: well I had to Google that too, because I am still (and in spite of it all I read) a classic when it comes my obsession for the notions of self and identity. But the results were not defined by one language – it seems that the same three phonemes were chained one to another by different tongues and different cultures to call

actions, weapons, brewery tools,
volume units for liquid, time.
Malaysian princes , a Swedish Model, a British sculptor.
Some of my own ancestors among whom one is the mayor of a village, lost now but
 once the nest of a blooming Neolithic civilization.
An ill reputed Chinese writer
– ill reputed from my point of view because he was a member of the Communist party,
fortunately this is only one and the least usual transcription of his name-
and , why not?
 part of the valley of the Thousand Buddha Caves and singing sands.

Such an ubiquitous name. Perhaps the reason why I had to reinvent myself ,and since:I am the brood

of mixed blood, the offspring of contingency call me Ana, Anaïs, Ieronim
or ,if you wish, you could call me

A lány neve Annamari.

I live in a foreign

language.

Notes:

* Book review coming soon.

** More details on the  name-identity-culture in Ondaatje's "Anil's Ghost" in  this paper about transnational identity I discovered grace to Sakura from Chasing Bawa.

U.S. versus Romania

The graph above how exports of raw agricultural materials compare with exports of manufactured goods as percentages of total merchandise exports for a sample of 48 countries from the low, middle and high income groups.

Sampling criteria: availability of complete data, proportional representation of each group.

As you note (if you have really good glasses) , in 1995 Romania was exporting a little bit more in manufactured products than the US. Not that bad. It means we always had goo potential.So why is the US at least thrice as developed as Romania? Well, it is a matter of gross product -or how much money these exports actually bring in.

The GDP data was not considered for the graph as I only compiled it for a paper about issues related with food exports for low-income countries so it only had to point out the fact that in these countries food exports are a highest percentage of the total compared with middle-income (Romania) or high-income (US).

Original Data: UC Santa Cruz. (1995) UC Atlas of Global Inequality Database retrieved from http://ucatlas.ucsc.edu/query.php

Winter translation

Decembre
G.Bacovia

Te uita cum ninge decembre,
Spre geamuri, iubito, priveste -
Mai spune s-aduca jaratec
Si focul s-aud cum trosneste.

Si mana fotoliul spre soba,
La horn sa ascult vijelia,
Sau zilele mele - totuna -
As vrea sa le-nvat simfonia.

Mai spune s-aduca si ceaiul,
Si vino si tu mai aproape, -
Citeste-mi ceva de la poluri,
Sa ninga ... zapada ne-ngroape.

Ce cald e aicea la tine.
Si toate din casa mi-s sfinte, -
Te uita cum ninge decembre ...
Nu rade ... citeste-nainte.

E ziua si ce intuneric ...
Mai spune s-aduca si lampa -
Te uita, zapada-i cat gardul,
Si-a prins promoroaca si clanta.

Eu nu mai duc azi acasa ...
Potop e-napoi si-nainte,
Te uita cum ninge decembre,
Nu rade, citeste-nainte.




and my translation:

Decembre

You see the way Decembre snows…
Just look out the window, my love –
May you send for more coals
Then I shall hear the fire crackle.

May you move my armchair near the mantle…
By the chimney I’d listen to the thunder
Or my days- doesn’t matter-
If I only were their symphony to discover.


May you send for the tea as well
Why then,you come too, and sit closer,-
Read me a book on the arctic pole,
Let the snow fall … snow us over.

It feels so warm within these walls.
As all your household were sacred for me,-
You see the way Decembre snows…
Keep on reading…please do not chuckle.

It’s daytime yet what darkness…
May you light now the candle –
You should see the snow pillars outside,
And the frost as it seized the door handle.

Today I shan’t be going back home…
The deluge washed out before and after,
You see the way Decembre snows…
Keep on reading…please do not chuckle.


Now it is decided that I will take grammar classes in the summer, but by then a winter poem belongs to an winter post. I'll have to re-edit it once I become more familiar with the subjunctive though...

The Castle

(PhotoCredit Raiden2)


"She will get in her boat and sail to the other side. The sail is pulling and the sun is out . Now is nothing about her but water. One thing is certain;she can't go back"
.............................................................................................................................................
"Families , real ones, are chairs and tables and the right number of cups, but I had no means of joining one, and no means of dissmising my own; she had tied a thread around my button, to tug when she pleased"

From Jeanette Winterson -Oranges are not the only fruit

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

Bucharest -its beautiful face

Two photots - 69 years apart ...
Since I was a child, these is one face of the city I had been in love with...And I love it even with it was the sad, tired face of a city that was fortelling a half century of war, Soviet occupation and communism scaring...

recunoasteti cladirea?

Poza - parte arhivei on-line a revistei Life- e datata 1940. Spital modern in centrul orasului, explica o scurta nota descriptiva. Mie ,caldirea mi se pare foarte cunoscuta, dar asta si din cauza stilului arhitectural destul de comun pentru perioada '30-'40 in Bucuresti.

Recunoste cineva spitalul cu pricina?

6/24

The Nobel Prize in Literature for 2009 is awarded to the German author Herta Müller
"who, with the concentration of poetry and the frankness of prose, depicts the landscape of the dispossessed".(http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/2009/press.html)

the landscape of the dispossessed is communist Romania were she was born and lived until 1987.


Edit:

And since we were talking about literature:
Gingatao found a new place in the PANDORA archive ( the Australian National Library's archive of digital media):
"The purpose of the PANDORA Archive is to collect and provide long-term access to selected online publications and web sites that are about Australia, are by an Australian author on a subject of social, political, cultural, religious, scientific or economic significance and relevance to Australia, or are by an Australian author of recognised authority and make a contribution to international knowledge."

Once upon the milklady and her horse pulled carriage...

Once upon there was a milklady with her horse pulled carriage and I was growing in a month like others in three because I was raised with her milk.


When I was a kid, in my communist ruled country, the states used to "own" all farms and factories. In fact it was like nobody owned them, and definitely nobody cared. The food we could purchase -when you could purchase it - was "treated", thus bologna used to taste like rubber and milk was mostly water.
Fortunately the peasants that were able keep a small parcel from their land, usually the garden neighboring their house, were still growing fresh herbs and produced and were allowed to sell it in the open market. Some, the most enterprising I guess, were growing cattle and selling fresh, untreated milk, butter, sour cream and cottage cheese.
Her name was Maria, and she came by my grandparents' condo building thrice a week, in a horse pulled carriage driven by her husband Ion. She used to deliver us milk twice a week and cottage cheese and sour cream once. I do remember, like it was yesterday, the carriage stopped in the front courtyard and Maria shouting : "The milk! The milk is here...Maria came with your milk". This is why I grew like Prince Charming in one month as much as other in three for I was raised with her milk, cottage cheese and sour cream . My mom was raised with the milk delivered by Maria’s mom and my oldest son was raised with the milk her son might still be delivering nowadays...though now they have a modernized cattle farm and he drives a four-wheeler.

***************************************************************


Here in the United States grocery shops and food plants are owned by big corporations. I won't say they don't care -they do as much as they have - they do care so to balance demand with supply. Their care is quantifiable by economists using complex math formulas. I won't say it's bad, and I won't say is good - I trust my readers can make their own judgment...

But I was missing those fresh garden tomatoes, fresh herbs and fat green papers I used to buy from the open markets. Most grocery shops do not offer them, or offer them at an uncompetitive price. I was worried that farmers' markets are no different-too expensive for a single mom's pocket. Fortunately browsing Art Predator's blog I found out it is not so. I followed her advice and googled Community Supported Agriculture and my zip code. So I found my local slow foods website here. Now I got to browse a little more through all resources to find out how I can have one the local farmers deliver fresh food baskets to my area, but until than I finally decided to pay a visit to my local McGinnis Sisters. The store sells some brand names, but most of their produce, bread and meat is supplied by local farmers, ranchers and bakery shops. Tomatoes and peppers were $1.88/lb. A handful of fresh parsley 99cents. Spicy Italian ham for only $4.99 (they are making their own) and the local apples are only $1.88/lb -better than the grocery store. These is to name just a few things one can choose from a rich selection of products. The meat is more expensive but the fresh fruits, vegetable and herbs are definitely cheaper. And they are not much farther down the road than the local grocery store were I used to shop on a regular basis. Oh, and my kids got the free cookie as well...A shopping experience I shall definitely repeat.

***********************************************************************************

I know that usually I fail making real life stories as interesting as the imaginary ones, but if you made it this far and you do hold dear memories of fresh apples or the once upon a time milkman with his crates and roundmouthed bottles you have to pay a visit to your local community supported website and find that local farm or mom and pop grocery store that can bring all that back ...

...smile :)

there are websites to collect opinions, and websites to collect poems and there are websites to collect secrets. This one collects smiles:
Sunt prea putini cei care te-au surprins zambind ultima oara. Mai tii minte cand? De ce? Ce te impiedica in celelalte situatii, daca atunci cand ai zambit ultima oara erai doar tu? Cred ca sunt multi cei care ar prinde curaj daca ai impartasi momentul. Poate avem noroc si vor zambi din nou, poate ai noroc si vei zambi si tu, amintindu-ti!
Sunt Octavian si m-am tot gandit la asta, apoi am creat http://zambet.joacadeamine.ro cu ajutorul Posterous (e o platforma de colaborare foarte simpla, ne lamurim spre sfarsit). E un proiect la care pot participa toti oamenii din lume sau doar cativa, trimitand mesaje despre situatiile in care zambesc de obicei sau amintindu-si ultimele zambete. Nu este un site personal, ci un proiect din care probabil faceai oricum parte, impartasindu-ti zambetul din cand in cand. Eu propun sa faci asta online.
Dorinta mea este sa strangem sute sau/de mii de zambete, astfel incat sa aratam ca muschii fetei sunt inca mobili, ca obiectele, situatiile si oamenii din jurul nostru sunt pe punctul de plecare de care avem nevoie pentru o stare sufleteasca pozitiva (oricare ar fi definitia pe care i-o dam fiecaruia in parte).
Mesajele trimise prin e-mail la post@zambet.posterous.com apar automat pe site, conform continutului din fiecare mail. Titlul este dat de subiectul e-mailului. Iar semnatura este optionala, ca parte din continut. Cand vei scrie, vei primi cat de repede o confirmare a postarii textului tau, a imaginii alese, a linkului sau al clipului audiovideo care te-a facut sa zambesti.
M-as bucura sa stie toata lumea cand zambesti. La fel cum te vei bucura si tu ca suntem multi, da vestea mai departe!

Și cine știe, poate într-o zi zâmbetele noastre vor fi toate într-o carte!

Just because each and every smile is precious, the memory of a smile is always worth to be preserved. And , by the way, Octavian is asking when was the last time you did smile?

And yet another translation...

Another attempt to translate one of my favorite poems by George Bacovia. According to his critics, Bacovia started as a symbolist poet who transcends the style in his later works. The poems I did translate by now: "Lead", Purple Twilight and Lacustrine are among his earlier writings and are part of the first volume he published, "Plumb"/ "Lead".
This is the poem used to title the collection, and probably the best from this volume...

Plumb

Dormeau adânc sicriele de plumb,
Şi flori de plumb şi funerar vestmânt -
Stam singur în cavou... şi era vânt...
Şi scârţâiau coroanele de plumb.

Dormea întors amorul meu de plumb
Pe flori de plumb, şi-am început să-l strig -
Stam singur lângă mort... şi era frig...
Şi-i atârnau aripele de plumb.

Lead

The lead coffins were lying deeply-asleep
Beside lead flowers and burial clothing –
I was alone in the crypt … the wind was blowing…
And the lead wreaths used to creak.

My lead amour was curling up asleep
On the lead flowers, so I began to shout at him-
I was alone with the dead… the air would chill…
And his lead wings would dangle.

Again, any suggestions and critiques are welcomed.

And the bonus is a French translation:

a translation for readwriteprompt #90

Since I busied myself with school, work and some translation lately, I haven't wrote anything worth posting. Therefore my contribution to this prompt will be a translation. Well, it is the draft for a translation so i am open to any suggestions. So please hit the small dialogue bubble at the bottom to leave your comments.
Caveat:you need not understand the original language in order to make suggestions, any English idiom that seems misused, and word that you notice out of place, any grammar issues you bring to my attention are welcomed and much needed.


Amurg Violet
George Bacovia

Amurg de toamna violet ...
Doi plopi, in fund, apar in siluete
-Apostoli in odajdii violete -
Orasul tot e violet.

Amurg de toamna violet ...
Pe drum e-o lume lenesa, cocheta;
Multimea toata pare violeta,
Orasul tot e violet.

Amurg de toamna violet ...
Din turn, pe camp, vad voievozi cu plete;
Strabunii trec in palcuri violete,
Orasul tot e violet.

Autumn's Violet Dusk Violet Twilight


Autumn’s twilight, violet... dusk is violet…
Two poplars in the background, flyby silhouettes
-Apostles clad in violet-
The whole town becomes violet.

Autumn’s twilight, violet... dusk is violet…
The trendy passersby are indolent
The crowds seem to be clad in violet
The whole town becomes violet.

Autumn’s twilight, violet...
dusk is violet…
And from the tower I see the ol’princes on the fields;
The sires will pass by in violet heaps,
The whole town becomes violet.

The violin

This is my street : no-exit, quiet when I return from work at 9 p.m. It’s a soggy summer evening and as the air convolutes lazily around me, I hear it: the violin.

The player lacks talent and probably takes music classes only in school. So the ninth really screeches in his interpretation. Now I feel soggy inside.

Once upon a soggy summer evening I have been the child scratching the chords of the violin. I took classes for the whole length of the school year and during my summer vacation I fantasized over playing Mozart. And as the sounds convoluted in the air, my neighbors were slowly returning from work.

Lacustrine

Meet on of my favorite poets from high-school. He is not exactly the best among the ones I read during those years ,does not compare to Rilke Rimbaud, Baudelaire or Apollinaire… But, unless you had been Mr./Mrs. Popularity during those years and enjoyed each and every day of high-school you are going to understand why … George Bacovia , considered by most a symbolist poet, born in 1881 in Romania… Here is where you can find an Wikipedia Biography – a start point for the ones that would like to learn more about him. Lacustrine is one of his most known poems, and it is all about rain …

,

Lacustra

De-atitea nopti aud plouind,
Aud materia plingind...
Sint singur, si mă duce un gând
Spre locuintele lacustre.

Si parca dorm pe scinduri ude,
In spate mă izbeste-un val --
Tresar prin somn si mi se pare
Ca n-am tras podul de la mal.

Un gol istoric se intinde,
Pe-acelasi vremuri mă gasesc...
Si simt cum de atita ploaie
Pilotii grei se prabusesc.

De-atitea nopti aud plouind,
Tot tresarind, tot asteptind...
Sint singur, si mă duce-un gând
Spre locuintele lacustre.

Lacustrine

So many nights it had been raining

I hear the matter weeping…

I am alone and I go back thinking

Towards stilt houses.

Like I'd be sleeping on wet beams

A wave is thumping on my back –

I startl' awake, and now it seems

I haven't pulled the bridge from the bank.

This void of history's outstretched,

I find myself in times alike …

And under all this rain I sensed

How heavy stilts start crumble.

So many nights it had been raining

I'm startling still, still waiting

I am alone and I go back thinking

Towards stilt houses.

Note: you will find another translation here. And yet another one here:http://www.fantasypieces.net/translation/2007/10/george-bacovia-.html

I do not know if my translation is better, but I can't imagine it to be worse either…

note 2: and more poetry (original poetry) on the MondayPoetryTrain

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

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 ...)

Readwritepoem #61

Note din perioada de depresie

In saptamana asta de goluri metafizice, chemo si facturi ingramadite pe birou:

m-a inghitit

un timp tampit,

un melc ciobit si rasucit –

din care musc

ca din covrig.

Si-am obosit

sa strig

mi-e sete Doamne de repaos.

Depression notes

In this week of metaphysical holes, chemo and bills piling up on my desk

A stupid time

devouring me

(and time 's a dinged,

twisted snail).

I bite it like

once I bit

a pretzel.

I'm tired

to yell.

Lord, I long for my reprieve.

other poems for the prompt (your dialect) are shared here.

PS:I had finally figured how to insert the audio file

Despre Stereo(tipi) si Stereo(tipe) [I]

Stereotip: substanitv - genul: neutru. (Un stereotip, doua stereotipuri)

A categoriza, a stereotipiza este la urma urmei un act natural. O unealta a mintii umane necesara supravietuirii : animale pe care le mananc versus animale care ma pot manaca. Lemne cu care pot sa fac focul: aici -lemne care nu sunt bune pentru foc: acolo. Stereotipul face posibila cunoasterea (si fizica, si uneltele si lumea asa cum o stim). (1) Noi toti, in masura in care suntem oameni, filtram lumea prin stereotipuri si, la urma urmei, nu e nimic rau in asta. Atata timp cat intelegem ca stereotipul e un construct mental - ca nu apartine lumii ci ne apartine noua. Atata timp cat realizam ca doar pentru ca noi am determinat ca toate lebedele sunt albe (si pentru secole toate lebedele cunoscute noua erau albe), nu inseamna ca nu exista lebede negre. "Toate lebedele sunt albe" inseamna, de fapt, ca noi nu am descoperit inca Australia (2).

Mai e un aspect al stereotipului care a inceput sa ma intereseze de curand: relatia lui cu perceptia noastra asupra normalitatii. (3)

Si am inceput sa ma privesc ca un punct undeva in acel continuum albastru. Un punct definit functie de deviatia standard fata de stereotip. Stereotip delimitat ca functie a distributiei normale a mediilor.

Acum, daca sterotipul este : " femeie". (4)

Feminitatea femeii definita de abilitatea ei de a fi gospodina.(Imagine standard : camera vraiste cu haine aruncate pe scaune si ziare lasate sa cada pe masuta de cafea sau coltul canapelei - "ii trebuie o mana de femeie")

Feminitatea femeii definita de abilitatea ei de a functiona ca secretara - cea care isi aminteste intotdeauna toate zilele de nastere, de aniversare si toate programarile la doctor.

Feminitatea femeii definita de abilitatea ei de a alege hainele potrivite, a le tine impaturite , calcate -mereu rujata si pusa la punct ...

Si daca casei mele ii trebuie o mana de femeie si mie imi trebuie o secretara ? Cat despre ruj -aproape s-a uscat in dulap , ca nu-mi aduc aminte sa-l folosesc cand plec dimineata intr-o graba mereu , umita decum a zburat timpul si inca nu treaza de tot...Asta inseamna ca nu sunt femeie? Si cum barbat (biologic) nu sunt, aunci ? Poate ca sunt anormala, sau poate ca sunt un punct undeva catre periferia distributiei normale atunci cand ne raportam la stereotipul "femeie". Pana la urma tot femeie sunt, doar ca aceasta necunoscuta nu este reprezentativa pentru stereotipul femeie.

Si daca stereotipul este "barbat". (5)

Masculinitatea barbatului definita de lipsa de simt estetic. Ca si cum a -si educa gustul atunci cand vine vorba de carti sau muzica il va face mai putin barbat.

Masculinitatea barbatului definita de agresivitate si daca esti bland atunci esti tantalau si nu barbat.

Masculinitatea barbatului definita de capacitatea lui de a cuceri si/sau proteja o femeie. Si daca partenerul ideal nu e femeie?

Si daca lui ii plac cartile si opera si barbatii? Si daca se mai intampla sa fie si dulce si bland? Atunci, cum poate fi barbat? Si cum (biologic) nu e femeie, ce poate fi decat anormal. Sau un punct , undeva, catre periferia distributiei normale. Pana la urma el este barbat, doar ca acest necunoscut nu e reprezentativ pentru stereotip.

Iar daca stereotipul este "om" - tu unde te regasesti?

(1). Pentru mai multe detalii: papa Kant , de pilda, ofera cateva.

(2). Despre lebede, paradigme si stereotipuri: T.S.Kuhn e un inceput.

(3)Statisticienii spun ca in majoritatea cazurilor in care e descrisa o populatie reala va rezulta o distributie normala a variabilelor. Intr-o distributie normala, populatia - adica noi, oamenii astia pe care ii intalnesti pe strada - se regaseste intr-un continuum simetric. Intr-o distributie normala peste 67% din populatie se regaseste la o deviatie standard de medie, o majoritate covarsitoare (aproape 95%) la doua deviatii standard si peste 99% la trei deviatii standard . In cazul une populatii suficient de largi media insasi nu e o valoare fixa, ci e definita printr-o distributie normala: stereotipul, paradigma. ( si din nou populatia suntem noi, oamenii astia pe care ii vezi pe strada).

(4). Despre dulapul nostru si dezordinea din el

(5) Pentru ca discutia cu mine insami a inceput dupa ce am citit asta. Si a continuat cu un prieten care, intamplator, e homosexual...

nota la nota: a fi adhd si a fi homosexual nu e unul si acelasi lucru. Au insa in comun relatia fata de stereotip si poarta o anumita "stigma sociala"...