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Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Machado de Assis

Machado de Assis (1839-1908)
pintado por Henrique Bernardelli, c.1905
(source: wikimedia)
no copyright infringement intended

Machado de Assis is a genius, a realistic writer with a very biting sense of irony comparable to Voltaire's. If you like Voltaire, I think you'll surely like Machado; of course they are centuries apart but they share this delicious irony about them (Filipe Ponzi).

Well, I knew one or two things about Voltaire, but the name of Machado came totally as a surprise. And from what followed I must say it was a wonderful surprise. Machado de Assis was, no more, no less, the greatest Brazilian writer of all time, known in his country as O Bruxo de Cosme Velho (the Wizard of Cosme Velho), porque fazia coisas mirabolantes com as palavras [answers.yahoo] (the things he was creating with words were too wonderful to be considered other than magic).

I looked immediately for some of his writings, and I found very easily three of his short stories, in a collection of Brazilian Tales translated into English. I read them, and at least the first one (The Attendant's Confession) gave me the feeling of a great writer, a wizard, a magician, and not only of words, also of situations, of sentiments, of a whole universe.

I looked then to find some of his novels. I ordered on Amazon The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas, and it will come here sometime in September. I found then a Romanian translation of Dom Casmurro at a bookstore nearby. It is a little fuss with it, they have only one copy, actually they are not sure if they have it anymore. So I'm waiting for their final say.

And anyway I'll come back to Machado, there is a lot to talk about.






(dedicado a Filipe Ponzi)


(Una Vida Entre Libros)

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Monday, August 29, 2016

Víctor Lapuente Giné

Víctor Lapuente Giné
(source: Libre Mercado)
no copyright infringement intended

profesor de Ciencias Políticas de la Universidad de Gotemburgo; sus intereses principales son el análisis de políticas públicas, el funcionamiento de las administraciones desde un punto de vista comparado y las causas y consecuencias de la corrupción (fuente: El Diario). Aquí está su más reciente editorial publicado en El País: Poetas de Salamina






(Una Vida Entre Libros)

(Zoon Politikon)

Alma Guillermoprieto

Alma Guillermoprieto
(source: Daily Princetonian)
no copyright infringement intended


Mexican journalist writing extensively about Latin America for the British and American press; has worked for The Guardian, Washington Post, Newsweek (South America bureau chief), The New Yorker (as a freelance writer), etc.; published Samba (1990), The Heart That Bleeds (1994), Los años en que no fuimos felices: crónicas de la transición mexicana (1999), Al pie de un volcán te escribo (2000), Las guerras en Colombia(2000), Medellin 1991 (2000), Looking for History (2001), Mexico City 1992 (2002), Dancing with Cuba (2004), Garbage (2004), La Habana en un espejo (2005), Ciudad de Mexico 1949 (2007) [info source: wiki].






(Una Vida Entre Libros)

(Zoon Politikon)

Borges, El Tango Alegre

portada del libro inédito de Borges
(fuente: El País)
no copyright infringement intended


At its beginnings the tango was not sad, rather a joyful dance played by pairs of men (not by women). Far from being about the nostalgia for lost amours, the tango expressed full joie de vivre. At least according to Borges: el tango no surge en los barrios bajos, sino en los prostíbulos, las casas malas, donde había compadritos, de origen humilde, pero también niños bien buscando diversión. Los primeros tangos se tocaban con piano, flauta y violín. Después se agregó el bandoneón, de origen alemán. Si el tango hubiera sido orillero, popular, entonces el instrumento habría sido el instrumento popular por excelencia: la guitarra. A comienzos de siglo había parejas de hombres bailando el tango al compás del organito. Porque las mujeres conocían la raíz infame del tango y no querían bailarlo (El País).





A book by Borges, so far unpublished! It's just been printed by Lumen: El tango, cuatro conferencias. A book that mezcla erudición, sabiduría popular y humor para hablar no solo de la música sino sobre todo de su ciudad, de Argentina, de la vida de esos “guapos" (pendencieros) que protagonizan las letras tangueras. (El País).


Y otro espléndido articulo del País, donde Borges, Bolaño, Rosa Montero (entre otros ejusdem farinae) se encuentran: El otoño de las librerías.





(Borges)

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Friday, August 26, 2016

Ang Lee, a Much Faster Film Format for His New Movie






3-D, 4K ultra-high-definition, 120 frames per second: that's the new movie of Ang Lee, Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk. Films have been presented almost exclusively at 24 frames a second since the 1920s (NY Times: Ang Lee Is Embracing a Faster Film Format. Can Theaters Keep Up?).









(Ang Lee)

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Did They Meet in Valladolid?





Neither evidence, nor testimony, just a possible temporal coincidence. It was in the spring of 1605. A British royal delegation was in Valladolid on a peace mission. Shakespeare could have been among them. And the nomadic Cervantes had just settled in Valladolid, together with his sister, niece, wife and daughter.


(Cervantes)

(Shakespeare)

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Thursday, August 25, 2016

Coelho Neto, Os Pombos (The Pigeons)

Pigeon Rhythm
(Rocco DiDonato Photography)
no copyright infringement intended

Quando os pombos sair, desgraça segue
(When the pigeons leave, misfortune follows)

A family of Indians somewhere in the immensity of Brazil. Indians, or rather caboclos, Brazilian métises, with their skin the color of copper. Husband, wife, their little son, and os pombos, the pigeons. The husband takes care of them. A straw hut, cabana de palha as it is named there, and nearby the pombal, pigeonry, amid the Brazilian métissage of bosques, plantações, aldeias, favelas, whichever. La cidad, the city, could be not so far, it doesn't matter, the distance is of hundreds of years.

The little son is dying. He used to be healthy, the sickness has come out of nothing. Is it fate? You cannot fight with fate. Or maybe is it a play of chance? Chance can be negotiated. It follows the rhythm of life, with sudden ups and sudden downs, at total randomness, you can see the signs if you know how to look around. A tree, a rock, the color of sky, can tell you things. Just follow their rhythms.

And the pigeons, you and them live as pairs. If they stay with you, there is a chance. if they leave, there is no more you can do.  Why are they leaving? Are they just little gods, or little demons, with power over your chance? Or are they just your pairs, too delicate to stand seeing your tragedy?

Right now still they did not decide to stay or to leave.

Eles vêm e vão, entrar no pombal e deixar em forma agitada, arrulhar em voz alta; eles circulam acima da habitação, olhar para as árvores, desceu sobre a palha da cabana, descer à terra em vôo em espiral (They come and go, enter the pigeonry and leave in agitated manner, cooing loudly; they circle above the dwelling, look at the trees, alighted on the thatch of the cabin, descend to earth in spiral flight).

And finally they leave.



A subtle little story written by Coelho Neto, this Príncipe dos Prosadores. I learnt a lot from it. Animism, pantheism? Maybe too big words, to describe a simple truth: one should look closely at the rhythms of nature. They tell you things. And you are part of it.

Are they gods, or demons, these trees and birds and clouds, and everything around? Maybe just your pairs. And they tell you things.


No terreiro de sua cabana, fita o pombal deserto, alargando a vista em busca de algum sinal de retorno das aves. Ao lado da mulher, que o descobre lá contemplativo, ainda tenciona chamar uma rezadeira após notificação de Joana em reposta à sua curiosidade de que se haveria cura para isso, a fuga dos pombos. Alguns momentos e Joana torna a casa e de lá rompe um grito de desespero, era a tragédia anunciada. Tibúrcio entra no quarto de onde parte o estridor e vê o filho morto e mãe ao lado desfeita em pranto. Fora, quando percebe o retorno dos pombos, desespera-se na sua revolta e derriba a machadadas o pombal, matando em seguida, entre as mãos convulsas, dois borrachos que recolhe do chão, indefesos e desfigurados. O conto é perpassado pela agonia e apreensão do casal e centra-se no tema da superstição segundo a qual a migração dos pombos é prenúncio de morte. A espera dorida pelo retorno das aves é interrompida pela falecimento de Luís, em razão do qual Tibúrcio extravasa sua dor, quando destrói o pombal. Assim, a esperança de o filho curar-se fica-lhe condicionada à permanência dos pombos.


(dedicado a Filipe Ponzi)



(Coelho Neto)

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Sunday, August 21, 2016

Mario Vargas Llosa, Los Dragones de Komodo





Indonesia, por lo visto, consta de diecisiete mil islas, cuatro mil de las cuales desaparecen cuando la marea sube y reaparecen cuando baja. Un puñado de ellas, en el mar de Flores, forma parte del Parque Nacional de Komodo. Es un lugar celebérrimo por la belleza de su paisaje, la riqueza de sus aguas con arrecifes de coral y miríadas de pececillos que atraen a buceadores de medio mundo, pero, sobre todo, por sus dragones. Quedan unos tres mil y parece que son contemporáneos de pleistocenos y dinosaurios, unos vejestorios que, por las condiciones climáticas de estos parajes, donde, dicho sea de paso, se han encontrado también los huesos del homínido más antiguo, han sobrevivido a todos los desastres geológicos que acabaron con las especies prehistóricas.

Leer más en El País.



(Mario Vargas Llosa)

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Coelho Neto

Coelho Neto (1864-1934)
O Príncipe dos Prosadores
(source: Portal Luis Nassif)
no copyright infringement intended

Brazilian writer (chronicler, folklorist, novelist, critic and playwright), politician and professor; probably the most widely read Brazilian writer in the first decades of the twentieth century; but, as the belle époque was fading and the Avant-Garde was coming in force, he became to be considered the symbol of the passé, and ruthlessly attacked, he and his oeuvre (famously targeted at the Semana de Arte Moderna in 1922)- info source: wikipedia. Well, that was so long time ago! Now both belle époque and Avant-Garde are old history. I have read a short story by Coelho Neto and it seemed to me extraordinary. I will come to it soon.





(dedicado a Filipe Ponzi)



(Una Vida Entre Libros)

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Saturday, August 20, 2016

Artur de Azevedo, As Paradas (The Stops)

Trolley Daze
(late 19th-century open car)
(source: Brooklyn Historic Railway Association via Asymptote)
no copyright infringement intended


...encontrou uma noite a mulher mais bela e mais fascinante que os seus olhos ainda viram, e essa mulher soriu-ihe meigamente e com un doce olhar convidou-o a acompanhá-la...
(uma peça de comédia sobre sonhos de amor e conexões perdidas)



(Artur de Azevedo)

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Friday, August 19, 2016

Artur de Azevedo

Artur de Azevedo
1855-1908
(source: O Nordeste)
no copyright infringement intended


Brazilian playwright, short story writer, chronicler, journalist and Parnassian poet, one of the representative authors of their belle époque; as a playwright he consolidated in Brazil the genre of comedy of manners (info source: wikipedia). I will try to put here some links to his works, though I found only 2 English translations (and I'm afraid they are not professional ones, rather amateurish - I will give anyway also the link to the original texts). I am interested in some of the authors of this Brazilian belle époque (interest raised by my friend Filipe Ponzi, by the way:) ). I'll come back later. Até breve amigos.



(dedicado a Filipe Ponzi)



(Una Vida Entre Libros)

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Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Gramercy Tavern





A place to visit, next time in Manhattan.



(New York, New York)

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Mikhail Romm

Михаи́л Ильи́ч Ромм
(Mikhail Romm)
1901 - 1971
(source: wikimedia)
no copyright infringement intended







(Russian and Soviet Cinema)

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El MoMA: Retrospectiva de Almodóvar









(Almodovar)

(MoMA)

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Monday, August 15, 2016

Jorge Drexler








(Una Vida Entre Libros)

El País: Escritor Poliédrico y Universal






(Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca)

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NY Times: On the Bauhaus Trail in Germany






(Avangarda 20)

El País: Fidel reaparece en su 90 cumpleaños









(Zoon Politikon)

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Casa Ricordi, 1954

Casa Ricordi, 1954
(source: Benito Movie Poster)
no copyright infringement intended

Nel 1807, a Milano, Giovanni Ricordi, dopo aver comprato a Lipsia una nuova stampante, in cambio dell'impegno a lavorare gratis per il Teatro alla Scala, ottiene tutti i manoscritti musicali che giacciono negli scantinati del Teatro. Ha inizio così la dinastia musicale della Casa Ricordi che vediamo svolgersi per tutto l'ottocento con Giovanni e Tito e Giulio e con i grandi dell'opera italiana: da Rossini a Bellini con la sua morte precoce, da Donizetti a Verdi e alla sua crisi all'avvento della musica nuova di Wagner, per finire il secolo con Puccini all'ombra della torre Eiffel.


Told in pageantlike fashion, this movie is the story of the Ricordi family, the most prestigious music publishers in all Italy. It was the Ricordis who, for better or worse, came up with the royalty concept, paying artists (and their families) for their work in perpetuity. As the family's fortune grows, the Ricordis rub shoulders with the musical glitterati of the 19th and 20th centuries, including Verdi, Donizetti, Puccini, Bellini and Rossini. Naturally, this allows the film to showcase some of these composers' most famous works--and in true Hollywood-by-the-Mediterranean fashion, the principal influence for these compositions are the various members of the Ricordi family. The soundtrack of Casa Ricordi reverberates with the voices of such musical immortals as Tito Gobbi, Renata Tebaldi, Mario Del Monaco and Gianni Poggi, among many others.


Casa Ricordi, 1954
(source: Italy Movie Tour)
no copyright infringement intended

I saw this movie in my teen years and I enjoyed it enormously. I was an enthusiast of Italian opera, and here was an unbelievable pageantry with all the great names of the nineteenth century belcanto from Rossini to Puccini passing through Verdi, impersonated by actors like Marcello Mastroianni and Micheline Presle, Paolo Stoppa and Danièle Delorme, Roland Alexandre and Märta Torén, Maurice Ronet and Myriam Bru, Andrea Checchi (to name just a very few from a huge cast), supported by such golden voices as Mario Del Monaco or Renata Tebaldi. It was a blockbuster, and I was young and this was what I loved, such a great spectacle with great historical names, great cast, great colors and great music. A bit of humor now and then, a bit of melodrama here and there, love permeating everything .... and glorious belcanto. And Carmine Galone, the director, knew how to make a blockbuster.

I kept the memory of this movie through the years, and I wanted to watch it again. I had this possibility today. Traaveling on a time machine to see how it was everything on your past, your universe of those times, and your own selfie. To see it with your eyes from now. Of course it shows its age this Casa Ricordi from 1954, and I am showing my age, too. But I watched it with joy, a very old friend from sixty years ago.






(Italian Movies)

Tuesday, August 09, 2016

Mujeres a la vanguardia de la insumisión

Lili Brik y Elsa Triolet
portada de la biografía
(fuente: El País)
no copyright infringement intended

Lili Brik y Elsa Triolet: Neruda las llamaba la indomable Lili y una espada de ojos azules. Musas de Majakovsky y de Aragon, las dos hermanas vivieron una existencia tan fascinante como convulsa. María Robert Ramirez nos cuenta sus vidas en un articulo maravilloso publicado en El País:




Lili Brik retratada por Rodchenko
en un fotomontaje propagandístico
el cartel es una de las obras más célebres del constructivismo
(fuente: El País)
no copyright infringement intended



(Majakovsky)

(Una Vida Entre Libros)

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Friday, August 05, 2016

Dziga Vertov, Enthusiasm, 1931

Энтузиазм: Цимфония Донбасса, 1931
(source: vimeo)
no copyright infringement intended


The first sound film of Dziga Vertov, this is a tribute to the first Soviet 5 year plan, opening with the forcible transformation of churches to social and political clubs, filming work in the coal mines of the Donbass region in eastern Ukraine, capturing the sights and sounds of steel and locomotive works, and finishing with some scenes of harvests in the Ukraine countryside. Most of the focus is on work and the potential glories of the new Soviet citizens who promise to exceed the quotas of the five year plan. This is a marvel mostly because of Vertov's mastery of the early sound technology which required cameras that weighed over a ton. With speeches and inter-titles shifting between Ukrainian and Russian, there is no narrative, no actors, no script and only some visual references to Eisenstein's fictional works. It is easy to see why this film was more praised outside of the Soviet Union than inside and why so few of the workers filmed had any interest in watching it.

The movie is subtitled Symphony of the Donbass and portrays the implementation of the first five year plan in the industrial regions of Ukraine. If that sounds unexciting, don't be put off – this is an amazing movie that places sound – the sounds of pulleys and railway wagons, steel plants, the brass bands of the Young Pioneers and the Army, of tractors in the Kolkhoz – at the forefront of everything. Framed by close-up shots of a young women (later shown to be an artist making the finishing touches to a bust of Lenin) listening to the radio via earphones, the soundtrack of the film takes on a life of its own. Its synchronization with the visual content of the film creates a highly atmospheric portrayal of work and of constant, excessive noise – not just the noise of the work itself but of the streets, with their endless parades and ubiquitous brass bands.

(With Enthusiasm) Vertov undertook a suicidal double challenge – to make a political film that would both show (with image and montage) and song (with sound taken from nature and machine) the heroic, dramatic struggles of the state to industrialize at any cost – while pioneering the use of untested sound recording in the field. The finished film was received with derision and incomprehension.He believed that a decisive, poetic work made of pieces of life caught red-handed may reverse the tide not only of the history of cinema, but of Soviet Reality itself. How could he not see what was happening around him? Simple, he was always looking through his camera and at his strips of film. He never trusted his poor human eyes, anyway. He was wrong: the cinema’s most beautiful loser.





Some see Vertov's Enthusiasm as a masterpiece. Many others consider it a failure. I think that even as a failure Enthusiasm is a great experiment, one of the greatest in cinema history. It was Vertov's first sound film. And he tried with the soundtrack to do the impossible. In Человек с Киноаппаратом, the camera had been the main actor (maybe the only actor), constructing the film in front of the spectators' eyes. Here in Энтузиазм, the sound was the only actor, controlling an insane counterpoint of ballets on industrial themes, radio and railroad infrastructure, political meetings, huge demonstrations, coal exploitation, steelmaking, kolkhoz with tractors and stuff; all these seamlessly metamorphosing one into another, becoming the avatars of a unique reality. And as a symbol of sound supremacy, the power of the radio.

This movie is a perfect demonstration of конструктивизм: the old culture (religion and alcohol - here Vertov was the most orthodox avant-gardist) replaced by a new culture, where the art (of course, Constructivist) is generating the whole new society: policies, infrastructure, industry, agriculture, and above all, Stalinist enthusiasm. A huge difference from the actual reality, which also meant forced labor, Голодомо́р, repressions (even one of the political leaders of the epoch, showed in the movie at a demonstration, Stanislav Kosian, the infamous organizer of the Ukrainian famine in the thirties, would become himself a victim of the Stalinist purges, in 1939). Carloss James Chamberlin is right: Vertov believed in his own reality, based on his filmic montage, always looking through his camera and at his strips of film. But that's the way the history goes, with the Avant-garde of the cinema: all of them, Eisenstein and Vertov among others (and also Riefenstahl by the way, on the other side) were politically very committed.

And as an irony of history this ultra-Communist film was not agreed by the Soviet officials either: the epoch of Socialist Realism was beginning, and Constructivist art had become to be viewed as a bit too formal, a bit too decadent, definitely too unhealthy, in one word too bourgeois. Sic transit gloria mundi.



(Dziga Vertov)

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Thursday, August 04, 2016

Two Calls for Common Sense

Katrina vanden Heuvel
photo by Sigrid Estrada
(source: Feministing)
no copyright infringement intended


In their zeal to defeat Trump, Democrats are getting in the gutter with him — and as a result are on the verge of becoming the Cold War party, with Trump, ironically, becoming the candidate of détente. Many of the same people who mercilessly mocked Republicans for their fear-mongering about Russia in the last election are now resorting to a radical rhetoric. Together with neoconservative Trump opponents who see an opportunity to regain relevance, Democrats are turning the Orange Menace into a new Red Scare. This is both preposterous and dangerous. A very important article by Katrina vanden Heuvel in Washington Post:



I want to add here also an article (in Romanian) by Alina Mungiu-Pippidi, published in România Curată (and reproduced by Adevărul and România Liberă. Putin vorbește. De mai multe ori în acest an s-a exprimat mai locvace și mai clar ca de obicei pentru a prezenta punctul său de vedere. Putem, desigur, să considerăm că tot ce spune el e propagandă și să nu îi dăm nici o atenție. Dar ar fi o eroare:




(Katrina vanden Heuvel)

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Monday, August 01, 2016

Poveste din Irkuţk

(source: wildwalk)
no copyright infringement intended

Trenul gonea spre est. Pe la miezul nopţii ajunsesem la Ungheni, a durat vreo două ore până ce vagoanele au fost puse pe alte boghiuri pentru şinele late ruseşti. Pe la opt sau nouă dimineaţa am ajuns la Chişinău. Trenul a stat acolo vreo jumătate de oră. Am rămas în vagon. Cineva îmi spusese odată că oraşul era străbătut de trei bulevarde largi care înaintau în paralel, Puşkinskaia, Alexandrovskaia (în cinstea lui Alexandru cel Bun) şi Leninskaia (care probabil că acum se numea Ştefancelmarskaia). Nu am putut să verific, rămânând pe data viitoare. După vreo douăzeci de minute am trecut Nistrul. La Tiraspol s-a suit un tip la a cărui vedere am tresărit. Era cam de vârsta mea, purta nişte blugi găuriţi la genunchi, o geacă, ochelari, avea oleacă de barbă ... doamne, ce să caute aici? I-am zis tentativ, ce mai faci bade?, mi-a răspuns, eh, bătrâneţe grele. Îmi răspunsese în româneşte, dar avea un accent rusesc foarte puternic. S-a aşezat lângă mine. Nu numai accentul, dar şi mirosea a rus. Ciudată întâmplare. Văd că ştii româneşte, i-am zis. Moldoveneşte, m-a corectat. Păi ce, eşti rus? Mai degrabă rusofon mi-a răspuns cu un zâmbet ambiguu. Băi să fie, am pufnit eu, aş fi jurat că..., dar lasă, asta este. Trenul plecase din Tiraspol, văzusem statuia lui Lenin din goană pe fereastra compartimenului, mergeam acum spre Kiev. Nu a mai urcat nimeni, de parcă toată lumea acolo n-ar mai fi avut vreme de trenuri şi alte şmenuri.

Am mers mai departe, La Viniţa îşi avusese Hitler statul major, am trecut şi de Viniţa, la Moscova trenul a luat-o pe o linie ocolitoare, mergând direct spre Siberia. Se simţea de acum aerul tare al Uralilor. La Novokuzneţk nu am oprit. Păcat, i-aş fi arătat vecinului meu de compartiment, enigmaticul meu vecin, cartierul construit acolo în anii treizeci pentru inginerii americani care veniseră să ridice fabricile. Oraşul se numea pe atunci Stalinsk.

Am trecut şi de Krasnoiarsk. La Irkuţk trenul s-a oprit de tot. Locomotiva nu mai avea cărbuni. Ne-am dat jos şi am intrat în bufetul gării, am cerut câte o votcă şi ceva de ronţăit. Îmi cer scuze, i-am zis, am uitat să mă prezint, este impardonabil. Numele meu este Rădulescu, şi m-am ridicat în semn de respect. S-a ridicat şi el, Rimuleaşkin

I-am zis, domnule, vorbiţi bine moldoveneşte, dar aveţi un accent rusesc atât de puternic că vă dă de gol. A zâmbit, Domnule dragă, am pierdut tot: şi industria, şi agricultura, şi vapoarele, şi pădurile, şi aurul, mai avem oleacă şi o să ne pierdem şi izmenele de pe noi, de-o să ne fută-n cur oricine, şi europeanul, şi americanul, şi chinezul, şi turcul. Un singur lucru nu putem să-l pierdem, tu-i mama mă-sii, ca să putem să intrăm şi noi în Europa chiar aşa cu fundul gol, accentul, pe ăsta nu putem să îl pierdem, să fie al dracului. I-am zâmbit, Sunteţi un nostalgic. Ei domnule, mi-a răspuns Rimuleaşkin, pot eu să fiu nostalgic cât poftesc, dar cu ce să refaci imperiul? Cu basarabenii, aceşti tata rus, mama rus, şi Ivan moldovan? Cu ucrainienii, aceşti europeni de ziua a şaptea? Cu ruşii!? Un singur loc a mai rămas pe lume unde oamenii vorbesc ruseşte fără sclifoseli englezeşti şi se consideră ruşi adevăraţi, dar nu-i aici, e foarte departe, n-o să vă vină să credeţi. Am un prieten acolo cu care mai corespondez, Adam îl cheamă. N-a mai apucat să îmi spună unde era locul ăla, că a trebuit să ne suim la loc în tren, mecanicul făcuse rost de cărbuni.


(A Life in Books)