Romanian poetry 10/09/2010
Unless you're Romanian, you've probably never heard of Mihai Eminescu. Which is really your loss. Eminescu was one of the last Romantic poets, and he's brilliant. And today I discovered a wonderful poem of his that I plan to use in my novel. Nothing like working a few lines of poetry into your plot to really ground a novel in its setting. Here's the poem, translated by Corneliu M. Poepescu. A Dacian's Prayer When death did not exist, nor yet eternity, Before the seed of life had first set living free, When yesterday was nothing, and time had not begun, And one included all things, and all was less than one, When sun and moon and sky, the stars, the spinning earth Were still part of the things that had not come to birth And You quite lonely stood... I ask myself with awe, Who is this mighty God we bow ourselves before. Ere yet the Gods existed already He was God And out of endless water with fire the lightning shed; He gave the Gods their reason, and joy to earth did bring, He brought to man forgiveness, and set salvation's spring. Lift up your hearts in worship, a song of praise en freeing, He is the death of dying, the primal birth of being. To him I owe my eyes that I can see the dawn, To him I owe my heart wherein is pity born; When ever I hear the tempest, I hear him pass along Midst multitude of voices raised in a holy song, And yet of his great mercy I beg still one behest: That I at last be taken to his eternal rest. Be curses on the fellow who would my praise acclaim. But blessings upon him who does my soul defame; Believe no matter whom who slanders my renown, Give power to the arm that lifts to strike me down Let him upon the earth above all others loom Who steals away the stone that lies upon my tomb. Hunted by humanity, let me my whole life fly Until I feel from weeping my very eyes are dry; Let everyone detest me no matter where I go, Until from persecution myself I do not know; Let misery and horror my heart transform to stone, That I may hate my mother, in whose love I have grown; Till hating and deceiving for me with love will vie, And I forget my suffering, and learn at last to die. Dishonoured let me perish, an outcast among men; My body less than worthy to block the gutter then, And may, o God of mercy, a crown of diamonds wear The one who gives my heart the hungry dogs to tear, While for the one who in my face does callous fling a cloud In your eternal kingdom reserve a place, o God. Thus only, gracious Father, can I requitance give That you from your great bounty vouched me the joy to live To gain eternal blessings my head I do not bow, But rather ask that you in hating compassion show. Till comes at last the evening, your breath will mine efface, And into endless nothing I go, and leave no trace. Add Comment Fun with alternative history 09/19/2010
Today I'm moving the boundary between Romania and Hungary (sorry, Cluj-Napoca, but you're Kolozsvar again), studying the history of Baia Mare--oops, I mean Nagybanya--and creating a mining accident. Alternative history is so much fun. Did you know that cyanide is regularly used in gold mining? Wouldn't it be great if I could work that into my mining accident? But it's not dramatic enough. All the cyanide spills I can find were ecological disasters, not instant ones. Water poisoning and destruction of ecosystems, not miner deaths. Sorry to sound so callous. But I gotta have the threat of instant death hanging over my characters. Writers are evil people. So, it's either an explosion or a roof collapse. Much more dramatic. Over the past week or so I've been researching more than rewriting. The setting of my novel was a recent addition in the revision process, and putting a fantasy novel into a real place and time in history necessitates some research--even if it is a place where I've lived before. It's not like I lived in Romania under Ceausescu, and a lot had changed when I was there. So I've been reading some great books (my favorite right now is The Hole in the Flag by Andrei Codrescu), learning about the history of Romania in 1989 and the events of the real revolution. I'm trying to get as much as I can into the mindset of Romanians of the time. And, of course, that will also mean getting into the mindset of a communist--because not all of my characters are good guys. So today, when I saw some men handing out propaganda fliers for the American Communist Party at the East Atlanta Strut festival, I actually wanted one. Of course, getting one wasn't hard, since they were handing them to everyone. All my friends were obviously uncomfortable, not sure how to politely refuse the paper but reluctant even to touch it. As though the words might make their hands dirty. I, on the other hand, accepted it eagerly and immediately started reading it. One of my friends looked at me sidelong, a bit discomfited by my eagerness. "This will be great for my novel," I told her, and she looked relieved. I skimmed through it eagerly, looking for catch phrases and ideas that might help my story. Later, I was still reading it when I saw a police officer walk by. He looked at me suspiciously as he passed, and for a minute I felt afraid. But no, this is America, not Romania in 1989. We have free speech here. Nobody's going to arrest me or even start spying on me for reading anything I want. I didn't even need to defend myself, to explain to him that my interest was purely academic. But I'll probably get a bit more defensive and explanatory about my research if I ever start writing crime thrillers. |
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