Noi şi egiptenii

Moto: Egiptenii sunt cei mai credincioşi dintre toţi oamenii

(Herodot ─ Istorii)

         Istoria oricărui neam începe odată cu acesta, fireşte, chiar dacă peste el s-a revărsat mulţime de străine practici magice, idei filosofice de natură cosmogonică, mituri străvechi, venite dinspre hinduşi, pe Valea Eufratului, înspre NV Asiei Mici şi N. Africii, îndeosebi spre Egipt, fiindcă, oricât ar încerca Herodot să ne convingă că ,,egiptenii sunt cei mai credincioşi”, părerea noastră, însă, este că acest şuvoi energetic, de natură mistico-teologică, vine dinspre India, NV Iranului şi dinspre Sumer.

             De fapt, întreg acest areal ,,vorbeşte” de Khis şi de Enridu, adică despre locurile unde s-au petrecut primele contacte ce le-au avut fiinţele astrale cu noi, pământenii, iar vestita epopee indiană, ,,Ramayana", nu este decât o confirmare a ceea ce am spus, lucru evocat, de altminteri, şi-n Biblie, unde ni se vorbeşte limpede despre ,,colaborarea" (nu doar culturală, ştiinţifică, dar şi ...genetică, mai precis în domeniul procreaţiei) dintre Cer şi Pământ.

Ceea ce ne surprinde, însă, pe noi, românii (urmaşi ai traco-geto-dacilor şi ai pelasgilor) e faptul că pe teritoriul ţării noastre apar toponime egiptene, după cum prea bine vom vedea cât de curând.

Dar nu numai toponime, ci şi cuvinte ce-au intrat direct în uzul curent, în special al ardelenilor, aşa cum ar fi, să zicem: bai, nemeş, pită, a căror apariţie în spaţiul nostru se poate explica foarte greu!

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Întemeietorii Țărilor Române – verișori primari

                                                                              Moto: Înțeleptul, oricât ar fi de iscusit, să nu se încreadă în dușman.

(Panciatantra ; I, 115 )

            Când un popor e așezat la răscruce de vânturi, toate vânturile-l bat, zgâlțâindu-l cu putere, doar-doar l-o doborî la pământ și-or șuiera peste el, mai departe, în lume, ca și cum nimic nu s-ar fi întâmplat.

            Așa au stat lucrurile și cu acest neam, al nostru, de oameni parcă în veci blestemați de soartă să țină ( cum spunea Ovidiu despre ,,barbarii geți” din Schytia Minor / Dobrogea ) o mână pe coarnele plugului, iar pe cealaltă,pe sabie.

            E drept că nu dintotdeauna așa a tot fost, dar prea multe lacrimi au curs pe obraze de mamă și prea mulți prunci și-au strigat tații, ce adormiseră în roua ierburilor și-a florilor, doar ca acest neam să rămână aicea în veci.

            De altminteri, oricărui popor i s-a întâmplat, adesea, aceasta, chiar dacă, o vreme, stăpâni ei au fost până-nspre margini de lume.

Apoi, apele s-au mai limpezit; vânturile s-au mai domolit; dorurile și jeluirile s-au mai alinat, ca, așa, dintr-o dată, tulburările să reînceapă cu și mai multă tărie, vânzolind totul în calea lor, câci sângele omenesc e ca tunete-n cer, din care, mai apoi, se năpustesc puhoaiele, acoperind totul, fără milă, fără zăgaz.

Și asta, ziceam,mai ales când soarta ți-a dat să fii în calea puhoaielor, în crucea vânturilor lumii acesteia.

            Tot așa și poporul român, din adâncuri de vremi venind, tot venind, asudat și mirat, în același timp, că totul trebuie să aibă un rost!

Neînțelegându-l, însă, cu atât mai anevoioasă-i era cărarea ce-o avea de urcat.

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HONEYCOMBS OF DEW

HONEYCOMBS OF DEW

-         HAIKU –

Nicotiana-

Open under the blue skies,

Dear Mother of God.

*

Bitter cherry trees

On the top of Câineşti hill –

autumn in scarlet.

*

Innocent childhood-

Cuckoos in bloom acacias,

Scented violets.

*

A church bell’s calling

At daybreak in Surpate-

Call into heaven.

*

The Fountain Valley

Golden butterflies and mint-

Horses in tethers.

  

*

  Birch trees on the hill,

Bustling, rustling in my thoughts,

Longing for leaving.

*

On Smerci, russet goats,

Guardian, the barefoot child-

Heavens getting close.

*

 In Livadie-

Autumn with John-apple trees,

Glorious sunset.

 *

Running fountains –

Mary Brâncoveanu’s,

Such a sad coolness.

*

The Vârteju glade-

Running through the barley,

Tall up to your neck.

*

Many dragon flies and

So many long and thin reeds-

My dearest youth years.

On the old beech tree,

Voichiţa crucified –

Heathen times of yore.

In Valea Rece,

Grottos and old Jewish men –

Crying tears of blood.

The Crimson River –

Trembling and resounding waves

Filling up my heart.

The birch trees swinging,

Embraces of pliant winds –

A child’s ecstasy.

*

Down, in the clearing –

At the foot of the forest,

Hear horses neighing.

 Father, woodworker –

Poppy red covers and roofs,

Fir-tree resin scent.

My mother’s portrait –

Tantalizing Orient,

Water reflection.

*

Grandfather reading

Malraux’s Human Condition,

Late, tardy autumn.

  

Those tulips, so red,

Summertime in Govora –

Silky rose flowers.

 Up on the Sea Coast-

Flying wild geese in the sky,

Autumn is raining.

The playful squirrels

Up in the wild cherry trees –

Rumors and hubbab.

  

Graves stones, lost in dreams

In Colnic Cemetery –

Cry of a mother.

  

In greenish waters,

Gold filling up large barrels-

Buffalos in moors.

  

Nut tree canopies,

The wavy children scooter-

Ancient village lanes.

Adders and sorel –

The sun in the alder trees,

Growing in the dales.

 Golden rays of sun,

The fountain with a swing-sweep-

Peace in paradise.

Birch trees slumbering

During Midsummer day nights-

White apparitions.

  

Summertime berries

Watching themselves in the flow-

Angels wondering.

  

Shouts of joy, games of

Ruffled kids, gypsy woman

Who plays the fiddle.

  

Riverside meadows,

Scented cobalt violets-

Voroneţ crumbled.

  

Surpate, wedding-

Aloysia as bride- to- be,

Bridegroom in the snow.

  

Adolescence years,

Starts murmuring in the sky-

Barefoot peony.

The spring up in Pisc-

A maiden’s benefaction,

My mother’s pure tear.

 At Udrea, in autumn-

Fugacious nostalgia,

Windows to the sky.

Sour Cherry trees

Enveloped in flower swings-

An infant crying.

It is summertime,

Goat kids in the drousy grove-

Red blood corpuscles.

  

Summer, blackberries-

Our bare feet full of thorns,

Oh, the joyful mouth.

  

Our school teacher-

The lilac tree in the yard

Of primary school.

  

Crossed acacias-

Voivodal chills and shudder,

Mother astonished.

  

At Ferigi, offsprings-

Fox cubs chasing green lizards

Through wild strawberries.

  

Butterflies and birds,

Tender flowers of quince tree-

Eyelashes fluttering.

  

At Ispas, with us-

A blackbird’s young ones flying

Amidst the birch trees.

  

A boyar’s mansion-

Climbing up the gloomy walls

Golden sunflowers.

  

Carts next to horses,

All marching in the sunrise-

Golden fields of rye.

  

Orchestra swallows

On electrical cables-

Such a funny staves.

The beech tree forest,

Stray cornflowers, here and there-

The remote village.

  

The afternoon nap,

Rhinoceros in the blood-

The savannah’s grass.

  

The pond with willows

Bowing before waters-

Sweet years of childhood.

My mother’s fine hand

Caressing silky flowers-

Tardy remorse.

  

A log-tailed lizard

Lying on the palid stones-

Buddha lost in dreams.

  

The wild shepherd’s thyme,

Crickets on a holiday-

Summertime buzzing.

  

Beneath the nut trees

In Ispas place, in springtime-

A shower of gold.

  

Yellow cornel tree

Under the sour cherry -

Mother and her son.

  

The wild geese rowing

Amidst the orange twilight-

The village in flames.

  

Dash through strawberries-

Big stars twinkling in the sky,

Ruby coloured lips.

  

Centuries old oaks

At Dintr-un Lemn, on the hills,

A monk hanged himself.

 Colnic, in winter-

Icy cold blue snowstorms,

Barefoot mother.

Long hair in the wind

Chasing navy butterflies-

Freckled little one.

  

Ciuleandra under the nut

Tree, circles spinning-

Violins playing.

  

Mum, in the lamp light

Weaving carpets at he loom-

the wolves in the snow.

  

The faithful black sheep,

Florea, the friar, limping-

The flute at his waist.

  

Cuckoos in gentle,

Somnolent polpar meadows-

The village at dawn.

  

Poppies lost in dreams

In the middle of the day-

Fluttering of wings.

  

Eyes of a sweet girl-

Beads of dew on the flowers,

Thrills of eyelashes.

Innocent childhood –

Bathing in brackish waters

In a warm summer.

  

The sweet nightingale,

The monastery’s meadow-

A friar weeping.

 Talica-on the porch-

Fuchsia and oleander,

Mother, far away.

  

The bluish crosses-

Shadow over the mountains,

Memento mori.

  

At the lake of Stags,

Deers waiting in the reed-

Honeymoon blossom.

  

Surpate at dawn-

Snowy pigeons in quince trees,

The Athos Mountain.

  

Father on the houses,

In the mantle of daybreak-

Mountain peony.

 Summertime shower,

Rainbow over the spinneys-

Heart boiling in thrills.

  

Flocks of navy birds

On the spire of the church-

Snowfalls of yore times.

  

A violets’nest

The village of Şerbăneşti-

Hung by a rainbow.

  

Dusk in the summer-

Taciturnities wrapped in

Venetian velvets.

  

Lake in Bărcoasa-

Seagulls nesting in the reed,

Flight of dragon flies.

Children, cherry tree,

Stories from the Orient-

Seraglio elope.

  

Bishop in decline-

Orchestrating a swan’s song,

Side by side with God.

  

Child, shepherd of geese-

Water’s looking glasses and

Willows hide the wind.

 The Fountain’s Vallez-

Horses bounded to birch trees,

Badgers in a heat.

  

Alders, in summer-

Peacocks of monastery

Mantes and nuns.

The magnolias –

Sat on the Brancovan porch,

Wild strawberries jam.

Pann under willows-

The Hospital of Love,

Ancuţa laughing.

 Grandpa in the oaks-

Sturdy saps climbing up,

Tubes of an organ.

  

Fields wrapped in yellow-

Modesty becomes fairies,

Longing for Florence.

  

The Palace of Dukes

Veronesse, San Marco-

Late emotions.

  

At Racşa, in fall-

The cloche with ostrich feather,

Plums coated in frost.

  

On Grand Canale-

Tintoretto and Judas,

The red turban on.

  

Moscow, summertime-

Kremlin, so red the tulips,

Accordions, vodka.

Tarskoe Selo-

The tzar, immaculate swans,

Artesian wells.

Autumn in Gruzia-

Fleshy figs and rosy wines,

Delicate eyebrows.

  

In Azerbaidjan-

Persian women with ankles

Of creamy chocolate.

Baku, on the shores-

Velvet Persian carpets,

Camels, trampling on.

Winter at Coştiui-

Mary, school in the castle,

Plane trees missing leaves.

Innocent childhood-

Mulberries laughing on cheeks,

Knees choking with tears.

 Hip roses on hills,

Wild cherry trees – such dancers,

Autumn at its peak.

Minarets, kebab,

Vae Victis, Byzanthium!-

Christians in blood.

My mother crying-

Sweet and sour gooseberries,

Pure soul of a child.

  

The Kursk submarine-

Nuclear guided missiles,

Sailors and mothers.

  

Paris at twilight-

Rodica Iliescu-

Lily stained windows.

  

Dragoş Vrânceanu-

The house below the forest,

The dandelions.

  

At Boişoara-

The mountain peony,

The rams in a heat.

During September-

Passage birds and clouds  gliding,

Gold mulberry trees.

Surpate, summer

The wild strawberry plants and

The snakes on the rocks.

  

At Stânişoara-

The monastery in the skies,

Monks in the flowers.

 It’s hunting time-

Brâncoveanu’n Surpate,

Princesses, wild boars.

  

Grandmother’s cottage-

Sour cherries marmalade,

Goat kids on the porch.

Magi on camels

Infant crucified on lily-

Gentle brilliance.

  

The Danube Delta

Pelicans, Lippovans and

Lotus on water.

Road through sobs and tears-

Turks carrying green banners

Tartars in a shout.

  

Uncle Alexandru-

Stories of bluish phantoms,

Awake night with stars.

The Field of Turda-

Voivod Mihai’s head, Basta,

The honves on horses.

 Summer in the groves-

Gypsies picking blackberries,

Red head kerchiefs.

In the afternoon-

Van Gogh, absinth, the field of

Blooming sunflower.

  

On Nevski Prospect-

Sergei Esenin, reddish

Boots, rubashka.

Air raids and shelling-

The beautiful Serbia,

K.F.O.R. troops.

  

Easter, ungrated

Apricot trees blossoming-

Jesus in orchards.

Otăsău in summer-

Geese in the water, willows

Swinging in the wind.

Story in the grass -

At the fountain’n Bărcoasa,

Under sycamores.

 The peace in the soul-

Goshawks circling in the sky.

Bloody wild poppies.

 Sky-blue overalls-

The Chemical Factory,

Tulips and chlorine.

  

Roman encampments-

Shiny helmets and copper shields,

Silver poniards.

Autumn fog and haze-

Sunday sadness and sorrow,

Green salamanders.

Oil bearing ground-

Derricks, wells, a field of  rye,

Oily hip roses.

 Springtime at its peak-

The monastery peacocks,

Peach trees blossoming.

The sheik with a hawk-

Bedouin nostalgia,

Scheherezade.

  

Clearings in the woods-

Adoration elegies,

Linden tree fragrance.

Beneath late snowfalls-

Hazelnut tree catkins and

Vermilion foxes.

  

Father, Mariuşa,

The block station with lilac-

Odessa in flames.

Râmnic with orioles-

A drilling machine, orchids,

Mendicant poets.

  

Releases of books-

Human shapes wrapped in haze,

Barbiturates.

  

Wind blowing in groves -

Swinging in its way birch trees

Housing nests and chicks.

Baby trout sleeping,

Spring in the river thicket-

Scented violets.

Hamlet in the woods-

The Burnt Hermitage, Tartars,

Heavy snowfalls.

Kasatchock, vodka-

Russian armoured cars crossing

The wild berries glade.

  

The cornel trees glade-

Mowing men having a rest

In lavender fields.

 At dawn daybreak dew-

The roe deer with its offspring

Through the fairies.

Silence in the ferns-

The fox cubs sunk into deep sleep,

Oh, sweet chilliness.

Nuns at the river-

Blood-stained and scarlet roses,

Honeycombs of dew.

August 2015

                          Translate at Prof. Ştefănescu Alina Petruţa