26 February 2012

Vampire - Vasile Alecsandri

I came across this poem by accident in one of the oh so many books I have bought en have not yet read. I didn't even know I had it in my collection but when I saw it I felt proud. Vasile Alecsandi was one of the most famous poets in the Romanian culture and I give him a great salute for writing this poem. Enjoy.

Vampire

Near the cliff's sharp edge, on high
Standing out against the sky,
Dost thou see a ruined cross
Weatherstained, o'ergrown by moss,
Gloomy, desolate, forsaken,
By unnumbered tempests shaken?

Not a blade of grass grows nigh it,
Not a peasant lingers by it.
E'en the sombre bird of night
Shuns it in her darksome flight,
Startled by the piteous groan
That arises from the stone.

All around, on starless nights,
Myriad hosts of livid lights
Flicker fretfully, revealing
At its foot a phantom, kneeling
Whilst it jabbers dismal plaints,
Cursing God and all the saints.

Tardy traveller, beware
Of that spectre gibbering there;
Close your eyes, and urge your steed
To the utmost of his speed;--
For beneath that cross, I ween,
Lies a Vampyre's corpse obscene!

Though the night is black and cold
Love's found story, often told,
Floats in whispers through the air,
Stalwart youth and maiden fair
Seal sweet vows of ardent passion
With their lips, in lovers' fashion.

Restless, pale, a shape I see
Hov'ring nigh; what may it be?
'Tis a charger, white as snow,
Pacing slowly to and fro
Like a sentry. As he turns
Haughtily the sward he spurns.

'Leave me not, beloved, tonight!
Stay with me till morning's light!'
Weeping, thus besought the maid;
'Love, my soul is sore afraid!
Brave not the dread Vampyre's power,
Mightiest at this mystic hour!'

Not a word he spake, but prest
The sobbing maiden to his breast;
Kissed her lips and cheeks and eyes
Heedless of her tears and sighs;
Waved his hand, with gesture gay,
Mounted--smiled--and rode away.

We rides across the dusky plain
Tearing along with might and main
Like some wild storm-fiend, in his flight
Nursed on the ebony breast of Night?
'Tis he, who left her in her need--
Her lover, on his milk-white steed!

The blast in all its savage force
Strives to o'erthrow the gallant horse
That snorts defiance to his foe
And struggles onward. See! below
The causeway, 'long the river-side
A thousand flutt'ring flamelets glide!

Now they approach, and now recede,
Still followed by the panting steed;
He nears the ruined cross! A crash,
A piteous cry, a heavy splash,
And in the rocky river-bed
Rider and horse lie crushed and dead.


Then from those dismal depths arise
Blaspheming yells and strident cries
Re-echoing through the murky air
And, like a serpent from its lair,
Brandishing high a blood-stained glaive
The Vampyre rises from his grave!



And to all you Romanians out there:

Strigoiul

În prăpastia cea mare,
Unde vântul cu turbare
Suflă trist, înfricoșat,
Vezi o cruce dărâmată
Ce de vânt e clătinată,
Clătinată ne-ncetat?

Împrejur iarba nu crește
Și pe dânsa nu-și oprește
Nici o pasăre-al ei zbor;
Că sub dânsa-n orice vreme
Cu durere jalnic geme,
Geme-un glas îngrozitor.

Când e noapte fără stele,
Mii de flăcări albăstrele
Se văd tainic fluturând,
Și prin ele crunt deodată
O fantasmă se arată,
Se arată blestemând.

Călător nenorocite,
Fugi de-acele căi pocite
De ți-e calul de bun soi,
Că-n mormântul fără pace
Și sub cruce-acolo zace,
Zace singur un strigoi!



Într-o noapte-ntunecată
Dulce șoaptă-namorată
Prin văzduh încet zbura.
Două umbre sta în vale,
Ce, cuprinse-n dulce jale,
Amor vecinic își jura.

Iar pe-o culme-n depărtare
Se vedea mișcând la zare
Un cal alb, copil de vânt;
Coamele-i erau zburlite,
Ș-a lui sprintene copite
Săpau urme pe pământ.

Nu te duce, nu, bădiță!
(Zicea blânda copiliță

Cu ochi plânși, cu glas pătruns)
Ah! te jur pe sfânta cruce!
Stai cu mine, nu te duce...
Dar voinicul n-a răspuns;

Ci, strângând-o cu-nfocare,
După-o dulce sărutare,
Repede s-a depărtat
Și, sărind cu veselie
Pe-al său cal de voinicie,
În văzduh s-a afundat.




Cine-aleargă pe câmpie
Ca un duh de vijelie
Într-al nopții negru sân?
Cine fuge, cine trece
Pe la ceasul doisprezece?...
Un cal alb, cu-al său stăpân!

Vântul bate, vâjâiește,
Falnic calul se izbește,
De se-ntrec ca doi voinici.
Dar prin neguri iată, iată
Că lucesc pe câmp deodată
Mii de focurele mici.

Ele zbor, se depărtează.
Zboară calul, le urmează,
Pășind iute către mal.
Stai, oprește!... de pe stâncă,
În prăpastia adâncă
Au picat stăpân și cal!

Și-de-atunci în fund s-aude
Gemete, blăstemuri crude
Care trec pe-al nopții vânt.
Și de-atunci ades s-arată
O fantasmă-nfricoșată
Care iese din mormânt!

04 February 2012

My world, your world

Every time I want to start a sentence with 'have you ever?' I have the feeling I am talking to myself and that everyone around me thinks 'there she goes again.' But that does not stop me from doing it:

Have you ever felt like you belonged some place else?

I do feel I am not the only one in this thing even though my world is probably so much different than yours. But, all my life I have felt like I was born in the wrong place and wrong time like I was supposed to be somewhere else and someone just misplaced me. I still have the feeling like I am living in two worlds, one foot in each: the regular world and my world. My world can sometimes be so strong that it overrules the regular world and it changes my whole perspective of life. Sometimes the regular world just makes me so depressed because it's so...common and real no matter how far you travel and how much you have seen. I mean how many of you walk in the building they work in and think of being stabbed at that moment by an assassin then being rescued by their story hero? And that's just a slight glimpse of my daydreaming.

I guess, I sometimes feel like we work, shit, fuck, sleep in the regular world but that there is so much more in us we cannot express in the regular world because we are held down by society, the people around us, duties and just the way we were raised. In conclusion we cannot be ourselves. And some can be themselves, say whatever they want, do whatever they want, then I guess for those people this is their world. For the rest, the ones that think that they could be so much more in different circumstances and who feel they have never truly been themselves in this world, well, those are my people. There are men and women who look at themselves in the mirrors and feel ugly, yet from the inside feel like they have so much to offer if given a chance, others feel pretty from the outside but hope they are not only judged by their looks as they can be so much more. Anyone getting this?

When I was younger, around 12,13 I used to spend hours staring at the sky. Just staring, looking at the stars and dreaming away. Sometimes I would even feel like I was waiting for something or someone...who or what? I have no fucking idea and yet that feeling never seized. Even now I sometimes just dream away and think 'what the fuck am I doing here?' and the answer is always 'where the shit are you supposed to be then?'

I don't know maybe I am thinking it too much through or maybe it's because of that strong Romanian  booze I just drank but I just felt the urge of sharing this with you. Please tell me I am not the only one because if I am...I guess I need to visit that shrink that everyone so eagerly has been recommending me :)