Adevărat a înviat?

55 Responses to Adevărat a înviat?

  1. ”Îsi dadu duhul! Si cui si-l dadu? Unde se afla el astazi? Unde viseaza? Unde traieste? Care este abisul întelepciunii în care se vor odihni sufletele vindecate de visul vietii, de nebunia de a nu muri? O, Doamne Dumnezeule! Tu, care ai dat viata si suflet lui Don Quijote, în viata si sufletul poporului sau; Tu, care i-ai inspirat lui Cervantes aceasta epopee profund crestina; Tu, Dumnezeu al visului meu; unde aşezi sufletele celor ce trecem prin acest vis al vietii, loviti de nebunia de a trai în vecii vecilor? Ne-ai dat setea de renume si de faima ca o umbra a gloriei tale; se va duce lumea. Ne vom duce si noi cu ea, Doamne? Viata e vis! Va fi fiind oare, Dumnezeule, tot vis, Universul acesta al tau a carui constiinta vesnica si nesfîrsita esti? Va fi fiind un vis al tau? Ne visezi, oare? Sa fim un vis, visul tau, noi, visatorii vietii? Si daca asa va fi fiind, ce se va alege de noi, ce se va alege de mine, cînd Tu, Dumnezeu al vietii mele, te vei trezi? Viseaza-ne, Doamne!” – Viata lui Don Quijote si Sancho – Miguel de Unamuno

  2. polihronu says:

    With Amen on my lips, I approach
    Your presence, Father. Not with fear,
    But with a certain respectful fury.
    Do You not recognize my voice?
    I am that part of Man You made
    To suggest his immortality.
    You surely remember, Father?—the part
    That refuses death, that insists on You,
    Divines Your voice, guesses Your grace.
    And always You have heard my voice,
    And always You have answered me
    With a rainbow, a raven, a plague, something.
    But now I see nothing. This time You show me
    Nothing at all.
    Are You listening, Father? You know who I am:
    Your image; that stubborn reflection of You
    That Man has shattered, extinguished, banished.
    And now he runs free—free to play
    With his new-found fire, avid for death,
    Voluptuous, complete and final death.
    Lord God of Hosts, I call You to account!
    You let this happen, Lord of Hosts!
    You with Your manna, Your pillar of fire!
    You ask for faith, where is Your own?
    Why have You taken away Your rainbow,
    That pretty bow You tied round Your finger
    To remind You never to forget Your promise?
    „For lo, I do set my bow in the cloud …
    And I will look upon it, that I
    May remember my everlasting covenant …”
    Your covenant! Your bargain with Man!
    Tin God! Your bargain is tin!
    It crumples in my hand!
    And where is faith now—Yours or mine?

    Forgive me, Father. I was mad with fever.
    Have I hurt You? Forgive me,
    I forgot You too are vulnerable.
    But Yours was the first mistake, creating
    Man in Your own image, tender,
    Fallible. Dear God, how You must suffer,
    So far away, ruefully eyeing
    Your two-footed handiwork—frail, foolish,
    My sorrowful Father,
    If I could comfort You, hold You against me,
    Rock You and rock You into sleep.

    Rest, my Father. Sleep, dream.
    Let me invent Your dream, dream it
    With You, as gently as I can.
    And perhaps in dreaming, I can help You
    Recreate Your image, and love him again.

    Now let me show You a dream to remember!
    Come back with me, to the Star of Regret:
    Come back, Father, where dreaming is real,
    And pain is possible—so possible
    You will have to believe it. And in pain
    You will recognize Your image at last.
    Now behold my Kingdom of Earth!

    I am creating this dream! Now
    Will You believe?
    I have You, Father, locked in my dream,
    And You must remain till the final scene …
    Now! Look up! High! What do You see?
    A rainbow, which I have created for You!
    My promise, my covenant!
    Look at it, Father: Believe! Believe!
    Look at my rainbow and say after me:
    The colors of my rainbow are blinding, Father,
    And they hurt Your eyes, I know.
    But don’t close them now. Don’t turn away.
    Look. Do You see how simple and peaceful
    It all becomes, once You believe?

    The dawn is chilly, but the dawn has come.
    Father, we’ve won another day.
    We have dreamed our Kaddish, and wakened alive.
    Good morning, Father. We can still be immortal,
    You and I, bound by our rainbow.
    That is our covenant, and to honor it
    Is our honor … not quite the covenant
    We bargained for, so long ago,
    At the time of that Other, First Rainbow.
    But then I was only Your helpless infant,
    Arms hard around You, dead without You.
    We have both grown older, You and I.
    And I am not sad, and You must not be sad.
    Unfurrow Your brow, look tenderly again
    At me, at us, at all these children
    Of God here in this sacred house.
    And we shall look tenderly back to You.
    O my Father, Lord of Light!
    Beloved Majesty: my Image, my Self!
    We are one, after all, You and I:
    Together we suffer, together exist,
    And forever will recreate each other.
    Recreate, recreate each other!
    Suffer, and recreate each other!

    – Leonard Bernstein in Simfonia a treia (Kaddish)

  3. polihronu says:

    I’m sure I’ve posted a version of this years ago, but here we go again.

  4. taranprost0 says:

    La temperatura psalmilor lui Arghezi.

  5. Multumim Polihronu. Un mic cadou muzical si de la mine.

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