Ana Blandiana

MALFORMATIE

    DOAMNE, daca ne-am putea bucura! Daca o bucurie ar putea fi primita ca un fruct racoritor din care muscand sa nu ne gandim ce greu a crescut copacul si nici ca undeva, in miez, se misca poate viermele! O, daca am sti sa ne bucuram cum stim sa suferim!
   Imaginati-va ca un locuitor al altei planete, venit printre noi si dornic sa ne cunoasca, ne-ar intreba ce inseamna o mare durere. Nimic mai simplu, am spune noi, si am explica, ilustrand cu sugestive exemple totul. I-am povesti intamplari si i-am rula filme, i-am citi pagini din cartile de istorie. Si mirat, intelegand, si obosit, si inspaimantat el ar evada spre antonim şi ne-ar cere precipitat sa-i vorbim despre bucurie. Ce i-am spune? Ce stim despre ea? Cartile de scoala nu ne invata mai nimic, istoria nici nu-i pomeneşte numele, parintii nostri nu si-o amintesc...
     Bucuria de a avea un copil, bucuria de a umbla prin ninsoare, bucuria de a spune adevarul... Dar eu nu numai prilejurile de bucurie le discut, ci insasi capacitatea sufletului nostru de a le trai. Chiar si atunci, rar, cand ni se da o bucurie, nu stim ce sa facem cu ea, cum actorii lipsiti de talent nu stiu ce sa faca, pe scena, cu propriile lor maini. Exista bucurie pura? Rasul lui Charlot este trist, zambetul lui Molière amar; bucuria de a avea un copil se dilueaza in nelinistea de a-l fi adus pe lume, bucuria de a spune adevarul este mai sfasietoare decat tortura. In bucurie, amintirea durerii din care am iesit nu ne paraseste, in suferintă, bucuriile se incarca de ridicol si dipar. Suntem gresit creati, ne lipseste o dimensiune pe care incercam de mii de ani sa ne-o adaugam. Ar trebui o lunga experienta de fericire, un lung exerciţtu al zambetului interior pentru a echivala traditia indurarii. Ar incepe atunci o arta nouă pe care nu sunt in stare sa mi-o imaginez, dar in care scanteia nu ar fi produsa prin ciocnire. Scopul tuturor revolutiilor a fost de a atinge in bine intensitatea chinului indurat. Dar ce libertate ar putea şterge urmele absentei ei, ce bucurie din istoria omenirii se poate masura in intensitate cu faptul ca Inchizitia a existat?
 

Cosmin Muresan

Ana Blandiana

MALFORMATION

     OH LORD, if only we could rejoice! If joy could be received as a refreshing fruit from which, when biting, we wouldn't think how hard the tree has grown nor that somewhere, in its core, a worm might be moving! Oh, if we could only rejoice as we know to suffer.
    Imagine an inhabitant of a planet, that has come amongst us eager to know us, would ask us what great pain means. Nothing easier, we would say, and explain, using suggestive examples for everything. We would tell him stories and show him movies, we would read to him from history books. So amazed, understanding, tired and frightened he would escape towards the antonymous and nervously ask us about joy. What would we tell him? What do we know about it? The school books teach us almost nothing, history doesn't even mention its name, our parents don’t remember it...
    The joy of having a child, the joy of walking through the snow, the joy of telling the truth... But I don't discuss only the reasons for joy but the ability itself of our soul to live it. Even when, rarely, we are given the chance to feel joy, we don't know what to with it, just like talentless actors don't know what to do on stage, with their hands. Is there true joy? Charlot's laughter is sad, Molière's smile bitter; the joy of having a child is tempered by the anxiety of having brought him into the world, the joy of telling the truth is more agonizing than torture. In joy, the memory of the pain we left behind does not leave us, in suffering, joys ridiculously overcharge and disappear. We are wrongly designed, we lack a dimension we've been trying to add for millennia. It would require a prolonged state of happiness, a long exercise of inner smile to even up with the tradition of sadness. Then a new form of art would begin that I am unable to imagine, but in which a spark would not be the result of collision. The purpose of all revolutions was to reach in good all the hardships that had been endured. But what kind of freedom would erase the trace of its absence, what joy in the history of mankind can compare in intensity with the fact that the Inquisition existed?