Culegerea de poezie “Poems, Poems, Poems” de Mariana Popa din Toronto
Scurta prezentare a culegerii de poezie “Poems, Poems, Poems” de Mariana Popa
Este greu sa faci o prezentare a unei carti cand esti chiar autorul: ori vrei sa spui prea multe, sa explici prea amanuntit cum si in ce fel ti-a venit in minte ideea de a scrie, ori ti se pare firesc ceeace ti s-a intamplat si nu consideri oportun sa profiti de atentia cititorului dandu-i explicatii inutile.
Eu am fost norocoasa sa am profesor de romana in liceu pe poetul Florin Mugur, care mi-a insuflat nu numai dragostea de cuvantul scris dar si curajul de a asterne pe hartie chiar eu, ganduri si trairi personale. De atunci au trecut multi ani pana ce am indraznit sa trimit cateva versuri unor situri de internet ce publica poezii ale poetilor amatori. Vazandu-mi randurile acolo am prins curaj; am lucrat, am refacut, corectat, regandit si pus in forma de tipar aceasta culegere de poeme scrise pe o perioada de patru ani. Nu am sa fac o prezentare a fiecarui poem, doar am sa spun ca cel cu care am inceput, “Nostalgia”, imi este cel mai drag; cu el am incercat sa-mi explic cum se face ca parfumul teilor, asa de eluziv, ni-l amintim toata viata. Dar oare acesta este scopul poeziei, sa explice ceva? Nu! si nici nu sustin ca am reusit. Am continuat cu alte poeme iesite din prea plinul sufletului meu sau nascute cu ocazia unui eveniment care m-a impresionat in mod deosebit.
Sigur ca s-a scris destul si randurile mele nu aduc poate nimic nou cititorului, dar daca acesta s-a oprit o clipa sa mediteze la intelesul poeziei si poate chiar si-a regasit un gand, o traire, o idee intre randurile mele, atunci cuvantul meu si-a atins telul si a purtat cu succes mesajul. Care este mesajul? Este acela ca trebuie sa incerci ca sa reusesti, sa ai incredere in tine si in prieteni, sa nu te deprime “azi” pentruca va fi mereu un “maine” mai bun si mai plin de speranta.
IN A FLEMISH GARDEN
Van Dyck; Peter Brugel; van Brussel; Jacob Jordaens
Colors: light green; medium green; olive and dark green;
Light: morning light; a beam of light through foliage;
silver light; small crystals shining on the grass.
Lives: small lives; small stems; long stalks;
Flowers: blue flowers; blue petals; red flowers; red petals.
yellow here and there.
Steam.
Fog awakened from the earth.
A Flemish Garden before dawn.
Silence.
Stale deep silence of the great moment.
Cricket silenced
Waiting.
And then
Explosion!
Triumph of a Flemish Garden at dawn.
NOSTALGIA
On a golden day of June as dozens before,
The lime flowers' perfume permeates into the air
Enveloping my brain, my heart and my soul.
From where does Nostalgia come?
I try to catch the golden day of June;
The day walks away from me and I end up
Empty handed; I hang in the air sick of lime flavour.
From where does Nostalgia come?
On a golden day of June as dozens before,
The lime flowers' perfume casts a spell on me
And I know the golden light, the smell of flowers,
are not here to stay.
I'll grab the golden day of June and keep it
And every June from now I'll smell the lime's flowers.
On a late afternoon of June as dozen before
I bear witness to the metamorphosis of the
Golden June's day into an azure day of July.
On an azure day of July as dozens before,
From where does Nostalgia come?
THE RIVER
Do you remember
the green and smelly waters
of our river?
I woke up this morning
Almost suffocated by the river's odor:
The mud exhales a pungent smell;
The gray sand heavy with smells sings its song;
The moss, the roots, the leaves all smell.
Do you remember
the scent of the river?
This morning
I was embraced by the river.
The sweaty smell of fish and algae
Almost suffocated me!
The muscular body of water,
Its supple legs and arms caressed me;
The green hair of algae
All over my body
Almost suffocated me.
Do you remember our river?
This morning the river almost suffocated me.
A HOUSE WITH CHARACTER
We found the house ideal for us and bought it
An interesting façade:
Two awnings looking like half closed eyelids
Over the windows.
Two rounded bushes in front of the house
And a spruce tree with its baby spruce beside it.
The backyard - a miniature of a country hill
A tall maple tree and a gray-green filigree spruce.
The other maple tree has under custody
The side yard and secured it from the world.
Looking up one can see the sky through
The exquisite finger shaped maple leaves,
A mosaic of green nuances
In a continuous movement.
I could see with my imagination eyes
The umbrella and chairs
Not far from the wood shed.
The place looked happy and we moved in.
We had a lot to do to make it home
But time we had; there was no rush
We thought over every thing twice
And when the work will be finished
We’ll be happy in this place.
Nota redactiei;
Culegerea de poezie “Poems, Poems, Poems” de Mariana Popa din Toronto, a vazut lumina tiparului de curand.
Cartea Marianei Popa, colaboratoare a revistei si a cenaclului Observatorul va fi prezentata la urmatoarea intalnire a cenaclui
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Observator 7/4/2005 |
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