RETOLD VERSE

                      

                        George  Anca

                        RETOLD  VERSE

                        

                        Nefertiti & Borges

Tango

August 1 – July 2004/4002

The hoary nymph. Zen citizen. Milonga, the precipice edge. El rey de copas. Martin kills the Negro in the seventh and slaps the widow. Jail only for killing. The first is the second, Helen of Troy, the first daughter of God. Austral white. Kabbal ball. Bassarabia, Argentina. Returned equal to its legend, milonga flared up.

Edda’s dodii, kennigar. The malice pelagus. Hronard (whale’s way, the sea) in Beowulf-Borges. The mariners on Danube will row again. At South of his story’s town a blind rivulet flows.

Humbling labyrinth I sleep yeaster (s)pool. Hamlet wouldn’t get blind any more. Medea would psalmodize the children. Bandaged Melanchton. Atma-atmosphere, what do you have to do, girl, with the Botoshani? You stay in this country only for Eminescu, it was communism. Camoens in Maputo. Puritan cricket. Buscaba un alma que mereciera participar en el universo. Far from Vila Borgese. Heraclit of Pont. Qaphqa. Funes el memorioso. Plinio el Viejo. De un laberinto a otro. En el Indostan. Mil y Una Noches. La Calle Rosetti. Los Dorna. Lămâine. Alma atma. Ayodhya non impugnando. Nympha Ashvinia. Das eigene selbst. Homeric epitete, preposition. Persistence in reflection, Verweilung b(ei) d(er) uberlegung. Uttara-uttama, intimus-extimus, emission-imission. Se leapădă vocalele finale ale pozitivelor , iar vocala silabei întâie se gunează. (The final vowels of the pozitives are left out, and the vowel of the first syllable gets gunned. Bopp-Eminescu). White horses face Indra.

Apoia argo sin embargo buena casa blanca. Again a girl through Botoşani. Cămaşah. In it, in the photo of a year ago. The painting on leather fron the halima. Valhalla-Valahia-Alahia. Diplomate, you didn’t know with Schopenhauer. Of god’s sleep in longing’s lever fire’s pampa gauchesc relativity Borges echo in Eco arabesque old Albu walked corpse like in Faulkner like Vetala non/lecture softwhite alblând librarians in a fadoin blinding Marquez assassinated by strawberry between the lips the freckled Tierra del Fuego via Maillane thousand nights and a night mille nuits et une nuit Arabian nights  hotels and other farms of animals.

Argentinian passion of friendship apud Lugones vide Borges in Dante. More stars in Austral emisphere than in the Boreal. For ever and a day. Ultra auroram et Gangem. No more the gallas of the old, the liking for box is gone. Tango in miring-milonga. On paths of labyrinth bifurcated in Babylon’s garden.

               May 22 – July 31

Suddenly the brevity danced me. Telugu, as you have been assassinated Shivaramya. Some prisoner, the recognition at personam. I had had moroccoed. (Idea) (condor) (sap). Yet however I don’t know to tell you how should I act if Lucypher would be to tempt me directly.

Svidrigailov is the punishment of Raskolnikov. Reckless deed of  the queen wounded profoundly young Hamlet. Theese are the words possessing his death. Satan: better lord in the Hell than servant in Paradise. The courtesan teaches him to don’t do any more some things. I know that, if the name of Orpheus would have extingished, you would write it on sky with tears of cherub. Orpheus’ bleeding wounds, instead of closing, let themselves read by improbable butterflies, like Rilke’s poems on battlefield and turned over by the wind. In the night’s miracle it is heared weeping the admirable page of solitude told by Shakespeare’s rainbow. To arrive at thirty years plus to read The skilful Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha (Trivium). And it is only the first year, the 60^th. Euridicervantes. Swedwnborges.

The horse on hill, on hill, the hill under horse, under horse. Resignation from water of glaciation. The imprescriptibility of devanagary therapy, divine letter. The light siftes the rain darkening to our twilight the blakening of the early. Come oafo out of coafor. Opponent mates. Nonpsicological sizes. El monumento Cervantes. The real wants you. The Gipsy woman adopted by legionaries, on indemnification, to Hell with Germans. Challenge yourself. Bullet courtiers. Hurry on. I was dead. Again a Vaslui, come on that you will file, defile the bombe, at ten not at villa, with prosecutors. Written on the dead line of my life, neither heavy, nor bad, nor habeat. Missing little book. Now wolves, now sheeps. Comas shot from all sides. As if the atavstic beauty wouldn’t exist. The small  mouth makes you claustrophobia. What much censorship, gabors. Countries are no more, crock’s froth. Girl calls from Greeks, fighters not like Romanians. Disappearance of the character, not only in the painting of Cilievici. The genes of loosing against those of destroying. Induced the voluptuousness of being crushed technologically.

The space cracks under paper, if trees still grow, if it would write on leaf. How many houses robbed. At autumn, I will speak again literature. How Eminescu was destroied on the scaffold of native souls. Psychology regenerates, Culianu told me. Inerdiction of country and patriots. Butterfly downward, the precipice cleaves, you have no more where to go, you are put only in the situatuion to loose. Any time your halter disappears. Fishhead spoils world. At Stângăceaua, baba plays fifa to babu. Mai dire mai. Blind chess, orborg. Borges Aires. Aguşoaie. He went at optimum consume, down he puts off speed. What he also to cry:  România. Despreciativo. Cetinică cetnică/little leading needle leaf.

Oneiric old man. De origen ingles y portugues. Siente nostalgia por el glorioso pasado militar de sus antepasados. El tigre, base de su mitologia intima. Temas obsesivos, tales como el devorador tiempo circular, el laberinto, la creacion recurente, las simetrias y los juegos de espejos, la memoria y el olvido. 1941, El jardin de los senderos que se bifurcan, 1944, Ficciones, 1949, El Aleph. Director de la Biblioteca Nacional de Buenos Aires (1955). Entre sus ultimas obras citemos El otro, El mismo, El informe de Brodie, El libro de arena, y El Congresso. Jorge Luis Borges nace en Buenos Aires en 1899 (24 Agosto), muere en Ginebra el 14 de Junio 1986. How much conemporary we could have been, also in India and back. En una voluntad de adecuacion perfecta entre los temas y su expresion, Borges se propone extraviar al lector en el doble laberinto de la estructura de la frase y de la estructura de la realto. El letor pierde tambien sus referencias de espacio y de tiempo, a semejanza de los protagonistas que se pierden en laberintos espaciales o temporales. Para ello, Borges opta, casi sistematicamente, por un vocabulario ya culto ya “orillero”, por palabras insustituibles cuyo frecuente sentido etimologico contribuye a confundir y a deconcertar al lector. El empleo privilegiado de ciertas figuras retoricas (en particular el hiplage) tiene la misma finalidad.(Bezault-Chambaut).

1956, doctors interdict to him to read and to write.1975, Prologos con un prologo de prologos. 1976, Que es el budismo? With Alicia Jurado (cf. Schopenhauer, Eminescu). 1985, Los Conjurados. He dies on 14^th July (not 14^th June?) 1986.

Le cosmopolitisme de J.L.B. Versiones-reversiones-inversiones. La dialectica de la identidad. Art of Allusion. B. et la Kabbale. Cervantes y Borges: la inversion de los signos (cf. semnul întors/reversed token, at Eminescu). Una estetica del silencio. El juego transcendente. Irony in Joyce and J.L.B. (cf. initials of de Quencey & G.B.Show). El estilo de la eternidad. Realidad y superrealidad. Poetica de la prosa de J.L.B. (cf. E.A.Poe, Swedenborg). El laberinto del universo. B. y el pensiamento nominalista. El conocimento come invencion. De la duda a lo eterno dudoso. Poeta circular.

This Palermo of 1989.

Calle Cangallo, 131, Buenos Aires.

I was visualiying, seeing, oblicly, the text, in verse, I didn’t know what it contained, only that it is by Borges. In that house from Montserrat… Paradise with form of a library… Groussac, blind, like me… A third director of the library, also blind, Jose Marmol (cf. Perpessicius)… The blindness as way of life… Homerus, Tamiris, Milton… The Greeks said that Homerus was blind in order to show that poetry must not be visual, but before everything, auditory (Oscar Wilde)… Eyless in Gaza, at the mill, with the slaves, en la noria, entre esclavos (Milton)… Joyce: out of all things happened to me I believe that least important is the fact that I remained blind… Then will disappear from the planet the English and the French and even the Spanish. The world will be Tlon… Notes on 23rd August 1944 (the news of liberation of Paris)… Ehych asher ehych…Intellectus naturaliter desiderat esse semper (Thomas of Aquino)… No man had a life more real than Swedenborg (Emerson)… The whole hell has the form of a demon, and the haven form of an angel. (Swedenborg)… It is interesting that Herodotus imagined the Danube as an antistrophe of the Nile, its inverse correspondence …

ZINA

loving her Aurobindo

among viscera Savitri

sculptured aurora Zina

Alina had added

quit to hell molly

of soul of dolphin

violet violated in Parma

devi perhsps in Jawlamuki

cut to the she born the double

on the name of mother

and don’t awake mock me

to the grass dinanzi al Dio

(He/she) steals all weddings on trembling Zina, you said. Leave it, we keep too much on her. occult cult. We get free also of sins, we reach also aura. No much longer. Zina forest fire water Carmen Sylva. Marian orgasm in parked flowers. Neither tango. What brother? Only in movie, in dream. Devil takes us anyhow. So many, same to as many, neither a fantasy nor magic. The novel has chapters from Swedenborges.

Imago magus. Ponderal Pond. Godess, Zina, dirt. The anatomy of hallucination. Ilie out of Maria.

June 8, 2004

(I will write a story with the title)

SCHIZOPHRENIA

I can’t say you’re a scholar. Then, what? A communicator, you attract women and madmen.

Perhaps she, too, at competition with marijuana, but I refused her in Village, while in the little resturant in Lisbon we ate fish.

Fehresc is a virus. See also my book Fear of the Orient. She had asked me, after 20 years, if books she came across in Toronto were mine. The shot of Sankrit anticommunist Cassanova had been announced, conjugal, from Teheran, for Bucharest, by replies to words in Delhi and Moscow, in ten years, now more ten.

I didn’t pass her in the collegium of Trivium. (After The Buddha, Carmen even didn’t write me any more, because: you wind it up in the novel).

Acacia trees almost didn’t show this year, and the blue ones, perhaps of neem kin, dried. White forests towards Apuseni/Western Mountains, via  Râmnic, when we were bringing the pianist girl to the monastery, short-haired, returned from Pasărea, which was in fire as soon as she walked there. 

I arrive to the subject. Fumigations on Orpheus’ hymns. I receive answer to Shakespeare verse -

Orpheus with his lute made trees,

And the mountain-tops that freeze,

Bow themselves when he did sing.

                   Having no more what to write to you, I go to India to search your shadow. Till then, you search me there where you will find me always: in the inmost depth of your own disquiet, in that fertile realm of solitude, with magnificent corollas and strange perfumes by where we wandered together in hours of Saturday, reinventing filosophies and all melos of world.

I know that if the names of Orbheus would get extinguished, you would have written them on the sky with tears of cherub. Don’t forget it, look deeply in the drawer where you keep your pens and , if you find the viper, kiss her on my behalf.

Carmen, who refuses to go India, because an oldish Indian had violated her in her room, opposite Zagreb station, tells at telephon to Alicia, the sister of her revolutionay Mexican: Jorge has no where to stay in New York and he came to me.

FUMBELL

Near by the banana tree in the corner of D4, toward Chhatra, between passes, with ball, he told you he will go on the sea. You had fallen in love. You were ten years old.

So important me that I must be liquidated from ten to ten years? The mariner’s girl, at Greecs.

Top 100 Novels of All Time – Quijote-Crusoe-Gulliver-Emma-Frankenstein-Copperfield-Moby Dyk- Bovary-Alice-Karenina-Karamazov-Huck-Jekyll-Jude-Nostromo-Ulysses-Gatsby-USA-Plague-Solomon-Haroun-Austerlitz.

HOR-hai LWEES BHOR-hays. True/False:  The first novel written by Jorge Luis Borges has never been published. (Liver cancer).

To have grown old in so many mirrors

and to have seen nothing, or almost nothing

except the face of a girl from Buenos Aires

a face that does not want you to remember it.

Oh destiny of Borges,

Perhaps no stranger than your own.

Borges was busy in the basement planting the seeds of postmodernism.

Fervor de Buenos Aires, 1923, Historia universal de la infamia, 1933-34, Historia de la eternidad, 1936.

Turismo tanguero. Argentine last tango Paris. Todo tango. El lugar de la mujer en el tango. El hombre conduce pero la mujer non es una marioneta. Ist Tango ein Macho-Tanz?

Lunfardologia. Y veo Gandhi, Teatro San Martin.

Un pensamiento triste que se baila.

El cancionero de Gardel por 759 temas diferentes (entre ellos 514 tangos).

Payada, remarkably similar to the tenso and jocs partitz of the Provencal troubadours of long ago.

Borges famously wrote: “The composition of vast books is a laborious and imoverishing extravagance. To go on for five hundred pages developing an idea whose perfect oral exposition is possible in a few minutes! A better course of procedure is to pretend that books already exist, and then to offer a resume, a commentary… More rsonable, more inept, more indolent, I have preferred  to write notes upon imaginary books” (10 November 1941).  Hypertext “Borgesian Book review” contest. In the spirit of Borges’ remark, write a book review of an imaginary book. The book may be from any time period, it may be fiction or non fiction, and it’s author may be either an invention or an actual writer.

- ? Quien eres, solitario viajero de la noche?

- ! Yo soy el postrer gaucho que parte para siempre,

de nuestra vieja patria  llevando el corazon!                     

Ruben Dario

Soy gaucho.

Mi gloria es vivir tan libre

Come el pajaro en el cielo

Jose Hernandez

To have seen things that men see,

death, the sluggish dawn, the plains,

and the delicate stars,

and to have seen nothing, or almost nothing

except the face of a girl from Buenos Aires

a face that does not want to remember it.

Oh, destiny of Borges,

perhaps no stranger than your own.

                   

Jorge Luis Borges

“The original is unfaithful to the translation”. “Any writer creates his own precursors”. “Can you imagine that I not even know the date of my death?” “I have done my best to be a Jew”

Augustin: “And then I told to all creatures encircling the gates of my senses: tell me about God, if you are not He. And they cried with strong voice: He made us”.

Nos hes imposible satisfacer su pedido.

A secret pact killing Romanian course.

Los Japoneses saben mas de tango que nosotros.

Dame de lata de 1866. Lata Mankeshkar. Dolce tango. Falungong. Tango recreates Buenos Aires every day.

Mi Buenos Aires  querido,

quando yo te vuelva a ver

no habra mas penas ni olvido.

Carlos Gardel – Alfredo Le Pera

duraran mas alla de nuestro olvido;

no sabran nunca que nos hemos ido

Jorge Luis Borges – Alina Diaconu

Copa a copa, pena a pena, tango a tango

Homero Manzi

El ultimo tango perfuma la noche,

un tango dulce que dice adios

Homero Esposito

y asi lleva el tango

a tierra nipona

Luis Alposta

Bailar el Tango es dar al alma al bailar,

quando la orchestra es como un pulso interior

Horacio Ferrer

Bandoneon/hoy es noche de fandango. Rifaste my virginidad. El fango hasta el altar. Spots on sun to get him married pinguins embrace on glace. Tristezas de la calle Corrientes. Tu ansiedad de distancias. Baptism of petals ocean inverse refrain. Amores de estudiante, amores viejos. Ella es triste como un tango. Milonga di Martin Fierro. El tiempo pasa de largo / quando te abrazo en un tango. Bailando el tango in Buenos Aires asi, / un paso y dos y tres, la pausa y seguir. El primer tango en la gracia sacramental / de Eva y Adan del arrabal. Bailando el tango te encontre, / Bailando el Tango te perdi.

ALILUION

Fernando in Lunfardo

coupa santa bardo

en la barba en el tango

Jorge dries for Elena

the gipsy girl’s tear

poppy pampa face

azul on all fours jazz

bandoneon

 band of Ion

tango in sleep

bardo beard of Tagore

en catalan y provencal

left in hoary wall

milonga burt me all

melancholy extol

aliluion all o’ Ion

guitar in Pantelimon

on foxtrot & cancion

I call you on phone

from a chameleon

satyricon sanskiticon

Sergiu by pen

extracts my cerumen

sanatana grain

VEIL

moon ship

drowns sword

ah afraid am I of moon

crazy caravel

veil danced

bullet’s weave

 

bride from bride

ray armour

swims heart

minimum anima

fugue milonga

tango conga

pace grazes

horse relics

grass gun

gulps down

don’t dance again

veil sword

posse sympathy

vitriol revives

in needles berreta

quickly Margareta

don’t leave awa’

gaucho opera

young old

amour I murmure

glance race

on moon’s cross

veil sets free

grass on scythe

DRAGON

you swept stage

 sea arena

pairs the sand

with no love

girl boys are

dragons’ sons

don’t enamour

to son anchor

dance yourself

verse yourself

combatant

on the toes

mother hears of

 other nymphet

as swept

tyrant sole

keep your breath

sea breaths you

kill any

dragon many

in Spanish

in Creole

in cabaret

at concert

ANGEL

angel angeliono angelicatta of orange trees

pair to self dances sings recites tango

haiku without people but la cumparcita over dictator

it’s in vain doctor you listen Net King Khole

Maria Anghel ah Yamini Krishnamurti

tandava Raja Reddi wife daughter

at mill at Făgădău in Moulin Rouge

Mireio in Maillane Fausto in Colon

doctor in vain you listen Net King Khole

compose Rumi the music for the unwritten

embraced icon vergin

Vincent van Gogh d’Indy d’Onofrio

sapphire violet blossoms Parma

Vincent van Gogh d’Indy d’Onofrio

doctor you listen in vain Net King Khole

make paces Pasi vero on paper milonga

heart Sicily Tasmania Tierra del Fuego

pirouette the last spiral inferno

only now through angels China

in vain you listen doctor Net King Khole

 IN MILONGA

in milonga in Cobia

puberty tango

with monastery girl

in Buenos Aires

in arena’s arms

in bramble pea

brambleberry harevest

over leg of ears

the sun rises

mother tango

Orzari Ferentari Berceni

wind me tender

with closed eyes dumbing

old whisper my little eye

now only tango

tango hamlet tango townlet

tango silver suburb

what Paris didn’t see

 how we cured of cancer

how we join La Plata

in milonga in Palermo

in gallery with Sciascia

under Calcutta’s bunyan

in parolace in blood

in tango

DO

do bring horse bring me

mad Thule

clay heart

chess amour swell

he doesn’t bear

my paces forfeits

killing foetus

of old guard

  

su spina

or dictates

nervousness

broken jugs

dance on legs

you fall on back

horse

to bear

lasso colossus

pityless

mangle me

ruminate me

mujercita

mioriţa

compose me

dance me

dance pawn

on pole throne

re patron

port on Rhone

we will flower auras

you harvest us Moor

we will fade as bulls

corpses of Moors

NEFERTITI & BORGES

 clouds’ pyramid

dribbles

 rains’ face

 your face

eyes almonds

unhappy

Nefertiti

may be not she

may be not you

tigerless Jorge

defoliated horse

exorbitated  Pharaoh

pam-pam pampa

sweetheart

Nefertiti

 you dance spiral

parainfernal

Beatricean

cin-cin ocean

she may you may

olvido

Ovid

retractile tact

pace the act

pyramid dribbles

figure on figure

cloud on cloud

tango on tango

when you’d wash

weep face Nefertiti

Jorge dragon

in milonga longa

                        

                                  Retold verse

Friday, September, 3, 2004. Back from Buenos Aires - see prohibition of Latin script in Voroninistan -, I have to go out of house, with this old laptop – gold and bronze but argentum for Argentina – lacking Romanian script, and so using another kind of language, playlike, translating excerpts. To start with the end, gaucho-tango notebooks are already out of touch, too, like myself as selfobjects. What way to feel what?

Transbudhvana transcribes fronm The Buddha and others. Here still less. Why? Pedantry? Survival? Pass to Maiasra then, to dodii. Again? Just instead of reviewing Tharoor’s Nehru. Such escapism, final. Take from references injuries and translate - trans-/Dneister. Recognition may be clarified inentinally. No novels, just novelty of selfrecognition, at last. Nobody cares, Sakuntala-Argentina (changes again Europe!). One word.

               Morocco after father

Morocco has on back cover a photo of my father between his father and mother. Here is for the first time written this, to be known. In fact, I searched vainly Dietrich’s and mine staying at table in Maillane bistro Progress. I am not sure he escaped in troubadours land like others in Latin America. Well, caballeros, I am looking forward to finding an exile in my own writings, some of them, unknown, unrecognizable, unfoundable.

Annie suffered not to have said something of Freud but for being repulsed why that, after feeding us and giving books to kids and retreated. Founding chronicles and portraits of presidents all offended even cocarde  in hands of bored inventors, in horns of bulls at once. The mayor and Vercingetorix voted one way but collages flooded on to Fisher aesthetic further, surely so mythems  in widowed homosexual, exposed valachianly.

Southern –sur – drinking of strong wine with corrida meat, but troubadour got blindness from juntas if we may compose endlessly odes to gnomes, words for hallucinations, suspended rotten palomitas. Own south, spring in February Provence, September Patagonia. This machine is for cutting uneducative  writings, Le Pen for children, may I, adult, have, no permitted, no large vision for blind, no all Romanian music at sight as some may be given to borrowers, God give them happiness and to their families and pleasant Camargue joc.

Vamos, Samos. From the characters of vast omission you gathered on high with a carabine. You hit yoga, hit Eliade, you hit ahimsa, hit Gandhi. More you escape with life, with medal from criminal. Maldoror, Gardel. When one enters your head you make it that happens. I kept your wife hot. I dreamt I were arrested on a text of posted terza rimae. I greet you, herr doctor, the train is coming if you are not even late. Afrca, salesman.

If I were girl I were married with the richest. If she had an elder sister. She is my cousin sister and is like my sister, I can’t refuse her. At 18 with two children, so I like it, bet she takes an Italian. Americans have the right to disappear. On traces of Leon Panteleev. No one Romanian in own blood. Kill us to relax us if even us haven’t cares, expansion eastward. You didn’t start with you combustion of repression in abyssal cascade.

I even loved peoples I applauded the silence. It lived well until suicide, it remained little from grace of longing. You, killer, blocked Olt depresses me with drowned envied that something could happen to them, a life hardly to be recognized, hardly we great each other. Country not country neither government nor Americans back into village sword in scabbard grave. Unwillingly we renounce to identity with indigenous knowledge.

Urgent anthropological research Ranchi symposium to take you to a tribal village which I am sure you will enjoy. People loves you if you have enemies. We travel in alchemist inertia. Only weak faith seeks big things. All my existence an occasion of poor writings. In this war we have not permission to fight. Province of solitude, province of renunciation, Thracians exiled in Montana. What you have done for me by actualization of Antonescu and bringing to Florence of my paper on Brancusi that means you did celebrated me.

Abhijnana anagnorisis. Vezuvius erupts in Petronius. Vague Wagner agni. God brings us where he wants. I walked barefoot in dream like this lunatic woman in medina. Sight of god in jama el fna. I came to see a criminal I thought you have no time – I have. What distinguishes me from this sea girl, perhaps what distinguishes him from the ocean. Such a white bird that didn’t shadow me anymore. The butterfly whited us undressed us of negritude.

You have no choice no things no tears of poet Morocco. Are you writing to journal mister – no miss I am writing books. Drawings by Miloudi Nouiga. I almost renounce to search the criminals. Even in mirror to don’t follow the poet of Marrakech. Father after Maroc three years later between Ladea and Buzinschi unto the meaning Trinidad after mother. We resembled we were near dear I imagine myself Muslim with no crucifying.

(Twice mistaken and spoiled,sunny mad nightmare, counter selected by destruction. No more Maiastra in dodii and Transbudhvana, and full day and wish out of existence. This be a sacrifice from side of the restricting fate, on theme prayers of parents are the best. Trying again what, perhaps chess).

               Maiastra in dodii

Very animal is the war, and captain called Grigorescu, like our godfather (with cross painted by father, followed in the job by alcoholic painter), but fanfare started tears of not being him. Look at dead brother snake, and brother’s father died because he didn’t go to war but crushed by a tree he was carrying, what good should have been the endwar for him.

We the children of dead children

have also other rest

than life after death

our love for our mother

while she takes our life

for making the king suffer

Two tragedies, the child adds, one that Mister  Sergiu Al-George died, and second, at Qutab Minar, the light extinguished and thirty children died; if he wouldn’t go to Bucharest, it could happen also here, to all of us it will happen, also to you and to me.

My being in this world is a bullet.

                   Transbudhvana

I am afraid of what I kill. Why does God kill Man? Death does it saying, God give me something to do.

Nine elephants are lined up in the East Our daughter struck by lightning. In the mountains, I will make for you a real mountain – I’ll take snow and I’ll make it.

Light of the day you are for ever

we are those who die

hold you master maiastra in the sky

washed by the storms your divine bridge

bent over the seas toward horizon with

wings made by me

I’ll balance my journey in the heavens

and in my arms I’ll carry the icon of

your apparition

We love you under the tree of life.

Put me down in the application as a reference, your friend on the falling trapeze. I am back in Buenos Aires. Venice was the nearest we approached to you. I was just wondering if you are interested to work in Buthan. Today there is strike in the bank. Comme vous, je vis pauvrement. No one can escape by realizing the tragedy of the poem.

in love let fall the ghosts

in the leaves of aloe

as to be recognized

by female sorrow

which have to give birth

to dying mask of Shiva

(Plan over?). Some failed readings. Retold what? Trivia.

You’re a stomach like me you’re a bullet. Fear of death in another place than writing. If you feel dying every day death bored like you. Be wise in any language clever synonymy.  Why do you write in English no more Romanian. No matter of language no matter of meaning. Fishing solitudes enlarged by prohibitions. Everything you have to say is for yourself. In our lives we see the best of us in others. Indeed is a wonder to get born and die later. By suffering I understand mainly to be happy. This is the chapter of Buddha Eminescu.

                

In Recognition

It was canceled the trip to Burns’ house. Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands. It rained in Borders bookshop. As many syllables in  Shantiniketa as in Salistea de Sus.

Hanuman is human

no like Gingis Khan

no Yankee American

neithar Janos nor Ivan

Dodii

throwing the mask

throwing his face

the pillar breaks in hand like bread

cut the sun’s mask in forest

bark furrowed by faces

the mask glued to broken pillar

the cutter cuts it in shapes

shadows manifestoes from Hades

he cuts it at paradise’s gate

up he cuts god

                

               Mamma Trinidad

                        Columbus went to India

and reached Trinidad

I came to Trinidad

and arrived in India

lovely but on Indians’ hand

mata ji Jasodara Ramsdeo however

had come to see me like mamma

                

               Mother Medea in Paris

Arhimedea. Astianax between Hastinapur and Hastings. The memory of mother Medea in Notre Dame. Mitterand. Gold, golden number in  destiny of our mother travelling on Argo. You’ll follow from now Mother Medea at Pa(ri)s.

                

               Fear of the Orient

O it’s long time

From May to December,

But time gets short

When you reach September.

                

               White Ants

puthi-katha oi poka

manushke jane boka

boy kena se ye cibye khaena

ei laga tor dhoka

                

               Buddha and the Colonel

Comrade Colonel, may I report you on a question?

before the dinner I added

well by zen one becomes Buddha

by revolution one becomes Judas

and Judas at dinner kissed Jesus

                

               La Gioia

A duality theorem for linear congruences.

               Poeston

Charlestown of Boston in Lincolnshire.

Christ scientist Edgar scientist Mrs. Eddy.

Charles Boston Nirvana of Edgar’s birth.

We like Boston

We were born there

And pehaps it is just

As well not to mention

That we are heartly

Ashamed of the fact

Pelasgos

La crisis de los paradigmas. Discurso del sentido comun en la frontera norte.

Many thanks for your kindness in giving me a chance to read Rethimno guide.

I don’t mind a man runs away with a woman, but I am ashamed when this is my father, at his age.

                

               The Buddha

…ton ‘Parinior’ (from Parinirvana?)

…Try Parinior or Parinirvana during mother’s cancer in this or other chapter. Roc belonged to Rosincrucians,  India, and Eileen, then you all belonged to him.

…It is always nice to inaugurate.

                

               About George Anca

“I had gone together with poet Gheorghe Anca.” (Vasile Vaduva, 1971)

“an invitation to communion.” (Mihai Sora, 1973)

“A Giorgio Anca da Eugenio Montale 1973.”

“I thank you for 10 Indian Poems.” (Mircea Eliade, 1978)

“…correspondence, monad, regarded initially as in Baudelaire and rediscovered in Eminescu’s universe.” (Zoe Dumitrescu-Busulenga, 1973)

“…a remarkable young man, with a vigorous talent, and an impressive power of suggestion.” (Romulus Vulcanescu, 1973)

“I knew young Gheorghe Anca in hypostasis of poet and prose-writer, with pure sound and accent of originality in his generation… from today on…the third… namely the hypostasis of man of culture, of man of science, of literary critic and historian.”(Grigore Popa,1973)

“Gheorghe Anca writes beautifully, handles well information with romantic passion of an autodidactic, who discovers new worlds, has intuitions and observations of great finesse.” (Romul Munteanu, 1973)

“…the accomplishment of Mircea Eliade’s thought in youth to make Eminescu systematically known within Sanskrit world.” (Ioan Alexandru,1983)

“…restituendo, attraverso la lingua, il grande Eminescu alla cultura cui  - mediatamente o no – poeta tanto deve, sia della sua formazione spirituale, sia delle sue scelte esistenziali.” (Rosa del Conte, 1982)

“… a shanti workshop pleading for the awakening of the constructive spirit towards international peace” Ion Iuga, 1982)

“Prof. George Anca’s Gitagovinda is a remarkable transcreation of the haunting rhythm and melody of Jayadeva.” (Sisir Kumar Das, 1983)        

“Anca is a poet of thoughts’ fantesy. ”(Constantin Mateescu, 1984).

“George Anca’s rhyme to destructuring (and restructuring?) world we live in.” (Ioan St.Lazar,1994)

“…king of Dodias.” (Ioan Ladea, 1999)

“Gerge Anca is a writing machine who writes at a writing machine.” (Victor Nita, 1999) 

“…founder of a new style and, equally, of an original literary language.” (Ion Soare, 1999)

“This director Anca makes vary good things at Pedagogical Library.” (Sorana Coroama-Stanca, 2002)

“Gentlemen, George Anca is the creator of stylist snow.” (Veronica Anghelescu, 2000)

“In fact, either readers will not exist.” (Alex. Stefanescu, 2003)

“The volume of debut published by Gh.Anca proposes a poet with expressive lightenings, of sensorial source, in search of genuine state of communication with the universe: I invoke the love with a silk/until voids come to cover it/and to move it clearly, floating/shameful. The magic perception is often mimed through syncopation of communication, as if the poet would be an initiated in mysteries he can not translate them otherwise than through unusual combinations of words: Alienate yourself when know/how sleep came from down/being next day able to try/ the same breakable clay/for you didn’t lower living layers/ to the dust and it didn’t spin. From here to the throwing of word in any context according to prosodic reasons, it is but a step, which poet makes with no constraint: And they worked female cloth/and slept at evening like in alcohol/and the Girl’s body too far away naked/lost from their eyes, you elite. The verses aren’t however lackeing a candide freshness, which the author subordonate forcibly to an archaic mentality: Good at ugly with Serpent at neck/on bank unlocked by foot/the greening sweated. Sun on acorns pushed to catch you/reeds bent only in a part/a lotus in sky with underwater cloud, room owner. (Roxana Sorescu, 1980)

“1968 – Gheorghe Anca debuts with the placket of poetry of diverse inspiration, Invocations .It is retained the erotic lyric from the cycle Invocations to sweatheart and to waters, and especially poems of meditation, with naturist implications, from cycle Beyond the water of the dead.

1970 – It appears the novel Eres (Heresy), by Gheorghe Anca, prose in which oneiric-hermetic modalities, with fabulous-esoteric implications from contemporary literarure, reaches one of possible limit, beyond which it can not be continued.

1976 – It appears Poemele parintilor  (Poems of the Parents), experimental lyrics, aspiring toward meditation, on theme of profound ties, difficult to size, between parents and followers or between man an matrix space of forerunners. It resorts frequently to folkloric structures and motives.”. (Dictionar cronologic.Literatura romana, 1979)

“Sibylline, obscure is George Anca’s poetry.” (Florin Manolescu, 1968).

“Anca chooses as his departure point the magic spell.” (Tribuna, 1968)

“Gheorghe Anca seems a hermetic who ignores his own cipher.” (Nicolae Baltag, 1968)

“Gheorghe Anca has a maximum attraction toward the ambiguous.” (Laurentiu Ulici, 1968)

“Hallucinatory confession, ciphered up to the unintelligible, Eres Heresy) is a bizarre make of aphoristic sentences, oneiric evocations, fantastic and lyrical prose, an elliptical tale, an allegory complicated by total anarchy of notations. In an atmosphere of magic spell and charms, metaphorical cogitations are uttered, among oracular syntagmes and incantations with folkloric smack, there are insinuated cold existential precepts, contorsioned meditation on and condition of fulfilment of his desire to conquer the love." (Ion Butnaru, 1970).

”Gheorghe Anca proposes to combine the technique of hallucinatory retrospective of oneiric source, with that of proper autobiographical remembering, plan always perturbed also by nightmares.” (Nicolae Ciobanu, 1970).

“The Eres of poet Gheorghe Anca (Bucharest, Eminescu Publishing House, 1970) belongs neither to present nor to past. It belongs to future. It is a book in which the past is thrown over present, directly in the future, on the hallucinatory  trajectory of a Romanian tale from old, lived truly also by the author, and whose spiritual and cosmic dimensions are always projected forward, like a morganatic fairy after whom one runs, together with the poet, in a warm summer after-noon.” (George Alexe, 1971)

“Some poets adopted them (dodias) already – Marin Sorescu, Ana Blandiana and, very recently, Gheorghe Anca – and tried to surround those without borders, those which can not yet stay and, in the ultimate, those of coming times – synesthesies.” (V.G.Paleolog, 1976).

“George Anca is an investigator of unconventional poetical languages. He recuperates interstitial zones, without being necessarily a vanguardist for he lacks turbulence of terriblysm, being rather a scientist, a solitary, a modeler of labyrinths. One of the main directions of his poetics is the illogicality, the speech in dodii, which translates imperceptible both realities and words as much as to create the fringes of diffraction, that halo which constitutes the special attraction of children talk. In the verses of poet we meet all kind of anamorphoses (the world deformed after savant optic laws, perspectives from most unexpected points o view: of the inanimates, of natural forms, etc.) or permutations of words so unusual that they remember poetry created by computer.The zone of the ludic, of magic and folkloric repetitive is covered as well by poetry of Anca (Marian Popa speaks of “exceptional spontaneity of image by technique of fragment which is not less a galimatias”), twisted thaught and brut lyricism can not be dissociated, the verse engraves in memory as such, with its strange topic and all. Because Anca is also a perfect inventor of the form: his grammatical rocades, throbed but also vapory, produce the state of captatio, contribute substantially to the success of the whole. Spirit tortured by an authentic obscurity, Anca invokes and charms away things of the world just to make them to secrete their own obscurity as the snail its foam and plum trees their glue at joints: only so poet feels that he can communicate.”(Constantin Abaluta, 1998)

“In the Poems of the Parrents, recent volume by Gheorghe Anca, a simple thematic, of source strict sentimental, is submitted to some crisped formal experiments. Not my commodity as reader but the belief that poet complicates himself without anticipated results urges me to reproach his obscurity, forcing of the verse. I think an effort of clarifying lyrical waters should be salutary in what regards him. The intention, which I believe is impeded to realize just by this overbid of blurred metaphors, is to express in technique of folkloric lyrical incantations (dirges, magic spells,etc.) the belief that life of the present individual is written, determined by existence of his antecessors, that at the level of profound sensitivity unalterable communications between parents and sons take place. ‘I write everyday my book.//The forests shake villages/on earth in the autumn.//But autumn isn’t passed in the book/those pages were written before. //From mouth to mouth/under the earth/the old man/sends/the voice/of my today book/as an echo remained between ribs’ (The book)./…/

It can be deciphered in the verse of Gheorghe Anca a sort of exaltation in front of esoteric utterances, of unusual imagistic delirium, fascinatin of a play ‘in dodii’, out of which he tends to do, otherwise, a kind of personal aesthetics. His attempt of restructuration of the real in a flux of fragmentary, insinuating images end, not rarely, with a stammering simulating the reflection. (Dana Dumitriu, 1976)

“Writing a poetry of the intellect, always at the edge of popular poetic creation, Gheorghr Anca outlines a lyric territory for himself” (Petru Romosan, 1976)

“The broadcast Mioritsa of Saturday 8^th January was good, better than ‘Ode to Romanian language’ which included however an emotional moment Iorgu Iordan, better even than ‘Voices of modern art’ (a long discourse full of fine observations, of critic Dan Haulica), better… I am lying: it wasn’t a ‘better’ broadcast, but a good one – and I may explain why. It was so because it felt all the time that the author (Gheorghe Anca) is convinced that making of an emission of half hour at national posts of radio isn’t some pursuit but a work of great days. He chosen thus an important theme (Presnt time of ballad Mioritsa; but the title isn’t enough attractive), obtained the best collaborations (Dimitrie Cuclin, Zoe Dumitrescu-Busulenga, Grigore Moisil, Ovidiu Papadima, Mihai Sora, Grigore Popa, Adrian Fochi) and had care to be an emission, that is a construction, and not a depot of materials” (Florin Mugur, 1976)   

“With his five years long exposure to India and its cultural heritage, he evidently feels spell-bound and fascinated by its philosophical mysticism which unlike religious mysticism is only theoretical or speculative. In Ardhanariswara, several aspects of  love – experimental or real, transitory and eternal and mystic and worldly are delineated. The influence of Eminescu, Lautreamont, Baudelaire, Montale and Gunadin is also manifestd in his poems.

In his sharp new voice, Anca is pungent, discordant, airs disillusional passion and brevity of human life./…/

‘Parinior’ coined by writer to denote a utopian place is paradoxical because there he creates real life. It has theme, character and symbol setting in India.” (V.K. Gaur, 1982)

“Prof. Anca’s writings are at best described as reactions to his study of the Indian concepts and not as a support for Indian thought.” (Harish Kumar)

“I think that G. Anca is not one from those beati possidentes, he doesn’t possess his books but lets himself possessed by them, like in a crisis never surpassed, like a travail of an endless birth. Groan and convulsion of whose cod is just the show: the jungle, Niagara, typhoon, volcano, BIRTH…”(Mircea Santimbreanu, 1996).

“Belonging, by debut, to Generation of ‘70s – the wing of resuscitated modernism, the writer George Anca seems to live acutely the ‘dialectic’ of the postmodernism, in which the autochthonized  nostalgia meets the search of some alternative sources of spirituality, being added a ‘residual’, interstitial trust in literature.”(Dan Mircea Cipariu, 2000)

“Like Ahab in search of the white whale, poet scans the memory of Boston (for him Poeston) in order to find the grave of genius of American poetry, Edgar Allan Poe, but, due to computer error, he doesn’t find him: ‘Edgar Allan Poe born no more in Boston’ exclaim this disappointed.” (Daniela Iordache, 2001)

“Why Under Bell? Author himself would answer the best. In my perception, the bell could objectualize somehow his working ‘laboratory’, ‘submerged’ somewhere in own depths, to put light on the climbing: the place where ideas are conceived, thoughts are clarified, jewels are built. At the same time, it could be the bell of king Songdok (remembered in the pages of the book, with symbol value of Korean divinities, object decorated with masterly medallions figuring lotuses, flowers, flames and heavenly fairies. A true divine art. Under the sign of bell then…”

“George Anca is a writer unique in his kind (and unrepeatable). Originality in which he conceives his writings, mobility of spirit and legerity in changing register of different literary genres and subspecies confer to him a distinct authority. Luxuriant spontaneity of his verb, even this is often in derive, is counteracted by the other Anca – the subtle, the suave – who absolves him of his ‘wanderings’, sometime, however, sublime. A verse like this has mission to have saved him:  bird so white that/didn’t shadow me anymore “ (Ioan Mihut, 1999/2003) 

“If we’d interpret term apokalipse in its strict sense, we’d go with thought to the New Testament and to the end of world, an irreversible catastrophe. But the term Kali, included in title, sends us to mother Kali, known in Indian mythology under diverse names (Durga, etc), goddess-mother, protector, and, at the same time, also goddess of destruction, burst against the wrong. If we’d dissociate the title in other parts, Apo would send us to the shine of god Apollo, and Kalipso to the spell of nymph Kalipso from well-known 

Greek epic Odyssey. And perhaps as Kalipso retained Ulysses on her island time of seven years (according to others, ten) trying to convince him to marry her, so also India retained the author of ApoKalipse for a similar period, but with no effort to convince him to remain, rather out of author’s desire to know in profundity a world full of mystery which, when you believed you discovered it, it pulls, like the shy maiden, the veil of ‘maya’ “ (Carmen Leocadia-Cotovanu, 2001)

(Poems in translation)

               on the next day

on next day I ran to the mill

listening its beating I hadn’t

even a fist of flour and the meal

you remember rats ate it

how we killed all in wedding night

twelve they were and had stolen dishes

in a hole near cold oven nay

eleven as the twelfth went

under piglings’ hogsty and finding

match oh how we killed them

with younglings how we caught also fox

in cellar I met a serpent

but I had pity to kill it

why so woman god left

if a madman digs cellar

you’re mad too if leave serpent

he wasn’t so mad poor fellow

he never mixed with any until

let him now madman died

and we remained who put you

I didn’t think when my clock rung

to become orphan I had got old 

a grandson swung in cradle

a rain started to pour

covered court and house hall

entered garden cradle got cold

grandson followed lightning

to meet at once my father

and falling his ancestor he ran away

over pound courtlike but gardenless

let snake lie let thank god

woman come in mind now your house

increased and deserted feeds

flees of god’s lit summer 

it was a night only light

wolves ate sheeps in forest

and good father on their trace passed night

bringing in village halves of sheeps and ewes

bow before foreign woman

beauty you understand the word

see is a whisper from heavens

for your ignorant hearing

perhaps I am cursed so

my love be ushered in all rooms

and resound up to mountains peak

but seeming not understandable to you

you know also translators opposed me

and lie by now under my white flags

dead man woman you have nobody alive

tortured by hate the buried kin

listen don’t guard so much

soon hunger will ugly you

as beauty hungers you today

why destiny would rest indebted

to you only from sons of disappeared empire

your forgiven brother alone gave his death

before he’d order in your language

to live more in memory of all

Zalmoxe is named your son

if you’ll conceive I put custom

all you fellows to bear names

given before and so dearly dreamt

Zalmoxe call him tell Zalmoxe

and come to senses don’t forget

Zalmoxe mark in your mind

and break yourself as if this

is your gift from my love

Zalmoxe is your gift Zalmoxe

this is enough to know in winners’ language

nobody would talk to you

on behalf with name of Zalmoxe

don’t cry don’t Zalmoxe

be his birth giver be Zalmoxe

don’t perish Zalmoxe

resurrect yourself Zalmoxe

throw devil’s mask

throw devil’s mask

 he crosses self

glues face of demonic face

shadows thicken he grins at them

tears up his face shadows thicken

then he play to them a pantomime

throwing mask

throwing his face

pillar breaks in his hand like bread

cuts sun’s mask in forest

bark furrowed by faces

mask glued by broken pillar

cutter cuts it in shapes

shadows manifests  in Hades

cut him at paradise’s gate

cut up god

first around saint decibels

my face got covered in a dream

I have cut tree mask maker bark

pillar with mask on face

ghosts imagine

black mask on white body

devil Salomea laughs

he had cut Ion’s head

devil laughs cut head

on a skinned pillar

the cut on whited

devil weeps on rot of paradise

cuter throws him

mask maker don’t speak to him

mask maker is cuter

but pillar falling

face falls at earth

buried by saint ghost

no mask maker no cuter

only shadowing body

under shadows of décor

he shows all décor of some surrounding

and extinguishes extinguishes extinguishes to be stronger 

god don’t light candle

in capillary masks’ skull

that a child in front of him rises

when didn’t cut neither woods nor in bark masks

you to await in mask in wood await

and world’s strongest falls again on mask

don’t let pillar fall for badly would hit him

he was dreaming manly on weeks

mountains traveled by a colombina

broken of love and she was of wood

born from passionate flesh

to be loved firstly with eyes

sweetheart sweetheart sweetheart

he was manly dreaming sweetheart

and in forests traveled with axe

and cut perfect trunks

up to blameless pillar

his axe became mute from before

and they started up on a side

above where forest weren’t

oh if axes would be heard singing

over heavenly silence mirrored in pitch

if they would be heard and they aren’t

and they run and at once fall asleep

beyond a tree axe takes shape of serpent

and whistles only for forest’s virgin

whistles beautifully that fruits fall

in flute’s bed by cuter followed

if axes would be heard singing

he dreamt to awake from dream

mask maker had parted from sorrow

he remained to whistle to that shape

perfumed saint mother

with saint child who from saint ghost whines

but he doesn’t heard him sights fly

and descend only for babe

is perhaps she babe and perhaps whines

of her longing when was saint

like now but another time

with god at face

mask maker sold his masks

forest shaved its cutting

perhaps is time you come

but how with shadows Christ

 a child is in player’s being

and one near him less wept

us to weep or one from up to weep us

and perhaps man of secret laments by heart

good-for nothing connoisseur beautiful child

a cuter on this world still existed

and in heavens climbs rumble of forests cut down

and axes beat not to get roots

in world’s hearing the wept by lord

mask maker walks softly like in dream

to wear his last mask far away

between flutes deadly deafening

mask maker I play he played in last mask

black he surround himself by demon

red in wept eye trembles

feces submerge in forests

cut by wood cutter

before to discover the abyss

his life didn’t end

or he didn’t live his end

he scattered his mask namely

to follow it himself until meet it

and demon smiles to him at crossroad

cutter’s pillar rises

on way where angel had fallen

why wouldn’t be cheerful mask maker

when his mask flutters unblackening itself

with eyes in golden sight

rejoice even in you would rest

ghost what ghost you patched

in ox’ skin in lamb’s fur

in pork’s hair in coal

enjoy you mask maker

and he doesn’t he made it to me

prayer to gladden me

when I’ll play him also author was

at face but this had broken a hand

see how man broke his hand like bread

he said I intern my hand in hospital

it is worth to go to hospices

at once with your demiurgic hands

demons flow from fingers

and said go and see what people

gathers believing that I harlequin

doctor will come to heal them 

from a movement of eyebrow

a tale with a mask maker I asked from him

and his last mask

he took our word

didn’t decide himself and let me free

for he was thinking to a child

carrying  mask full of fear

he turned it in profile

it was an axe to cut

had teeth saws

beat it child

to put it on my face

and take it out and play

he says to me

I want to die under mask ravished

to bury him burying me

and mask immortal laughed wept

face profile my face

I am afraid to let it in palms

how afraid am I of a cut palm

 venerable faces you still remember

masks of the old

mask maker and cutter parted

mask alone shined

it makes mask maker’s face

cudgel grows body

saints peels off ghosts

then poor starts poor it

                             From mill

from mill toward village a half

of kilometer unloaded rambles

a man returning from town

far off as Fagaras Mountains

he looks it’s night says nothing

speaks what speaks deals

with a woman unseen if she threats

 him for in sleep is dripping wet of sweat

he doesn’t start to right as churches wait for him

on left unrotated earth stops him

he still to mill feels going

but wouldn’t grind his bones dear

will it indeed enter something his hand

or in vain we wait him to strain in basket

firstly he thinks himself barefoot loving dust

his cloths fall cranium remains

on it wind thoughts to thin him

until it will dispel living flour

he tries trees if not shot into ears

he wants in arms mother in arms wit small child

he wants with his ribs to root side

better than dead in world mill

light off he will preserve in window

for so much he asks a life from branch

only that branch sends him to not stay

alone grinding mill on bad weather

hey did you take your salt birds are

ready eggs to knead bread

come on dead village loves you in dead mill

flour in sack also I for what mouths to carry

from mill towards village looks Gica

through wave of wheel he feels is moving

and sometimes even walks among men

by bald miller dismissed

they all with eyes to a horse at once

from palms beat when its limb undo

miller turns his had

to know who didn’t applaud his horse

while there reckoning Gica

laughed as cartilage in horse doesn’t quite pull

oh what a pleasure life as it is

if he could live it in world mill

cigarettes formerly smoked on pool’s bank

sparkle nets with fishes on bottom 

saline blows in them from under ground

beheaded moving loch’s taste

fried to roll it in stripe of meal

like in heated room what a life

Messages

Dear George ,

I have enjoyed participating at the IFLA-Buenos Aires 2004 (photo 054: myself with Irene Wormell who has started the sub-committee for Knowledge Management, wonderful Librarian: dedicated, eager and enthusiastic to spread knowledge); meeting other librarians from all over the world and sharing experiences, getting to know new publishers and new products useful for Libraries.

-          Specially that during this particular event, we had a delegation from Alexandria, Egypt, photo attached with The Librarian of Alexandria, Ismail Serageldin (www.serageldin.com) in the middle of the group after his presentation introducing our new born, Library in Alexandria (DOB: 16 October 2002) which was conceived as the Revival of the ancient Library of Alexandria, in its ideology and role in the Region and throughout the World. in a plenary session. Other people appearing in the photo: the Ambassador of Egypt in Buenos Aires, and other managers from the Library of Alexandria known as the Bibliotheca Alexandrina (Photo 047) - Please consult: www.bibalex.org

But having these international meeting in different countries, also give us the opportunity to know more about this particular country.

During my visit to Argentina, after the conference, I can say that:

We are all human beings sharing the same hopes, same agonies, and similar believes expressed in different ways and different languages, we enjoy beauty as I have enjoyed seeing those flowers every morning going to the IFLA convention at the hotel where it was held, as shown in (Photo 053) and music as I have enjoyed hearing different concerts and Tango everywhere.

  1) - In Buenos Aires, I met with Madres de Mayo group http://www.madres.org/ and was fascinated by their movement, how they handled their tragic destiny after loosing their children in a shameful way, by just marching silently in the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, every Thursday, wearing a white scarf to identify themselves and inviting other mothers in the same situation to join them. They are still doing that since and implanting the feeling in new generations to follow their path.

 It is not always by long speeches, fights or war that one can win a case. I was thoroughly impressed, I admire and respect this group of women.

 It is one of the greatest Women and Peace movement. (Photo 079, 080)

   2) - I also enjoyed in my tour visit the area called Camanita-La Bocca, (Photo 006) and how this low income housing area was turned into an Arts center visited by local and international people where street arts exhibitions were held, I had to visit it more than once and brought back lovely art work as souvenirs.

   3) - One of the greatest shows I have enjoyed is the Tango show that they present so professionally. (Photo 059, 063)

  4) -  As a librarian, I was also impressed to see in the downtown area of  Iguazu Falls, which is a very small city, that a shop was turned into a Library (Photo 108) and an art exhibition area plus a place for Youth to enjoy, meet and study in an encouraging environment. It was kept by a Librarian from Argentina who lives there and felt it was her duty to equip natives with books for reading and acquire knowledge.

Needless to mention the beauty of this National Park – Iguazu Falls and the millions of picturesque photos which you can see and the ingenuity of the architect, who designed the walking bridge (I would really love to know his name); which takes you all over the park and from each corner you stop, you can see one of those fantastic and wonderful view, to say the least. (photo 008, 012,    -  018 friendly butterfly standing on my arm).

I will attach here some pictures to add to your stories. You can call it "A Librarian Reflections from Alexandria to Argentina".

I had the privilege and the challenge to establish the Library Services Department of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina during the construction phase from 1993 and until December 2004 when I was Director of the Library Services Department.

Bio available upon request.

Best Regards,

Dear George,

Buenos Aires left many nice memories and interesting events. Two stories really stick to my mind.

The first was going around the congress and the reading room for members. We had to go around the building before we got in. Then, as we stopped and various rhings were introduced and explained myself and an American lady started asking questions out of interest. People got annoyed and asked us to stop.  So we did and asked our guide afterwards.

The second story happened within the tour itself as well. One of our interperters offered to send me some info on the Argenetian society especially as I was very much interested in the formation of the national identity and the assimilation as well as the inclusion of several groups and the position of gay group in a catholic society. He was very much interested and I am still waiting for this info. However, the most interesting event in the same tour happened when the same interpreter was translating between my conversation with the congress person, the langauge barrier was no longer there and we could communicate through professional experience.

I hope this is useful.

Thanks
Ahmed

Bonjour George,

Ce fut un grand plaisir pour moi d'avoir participé au Congrès d'IFLA de Buenos-Aires. J'en ai gardé de trčs bons souvenirs, entre autre en voici un qui peut vous paraître bizarre. C'était ma première fois de fouler le sol Argentin. Donc j'ignorais tout de là-bas, y compris le temps qu'il y faisait. Alors, je parachute à Buenos Aires sous une température trop basse pour moi. Vous savez que je suis du Mali, un pays Subsaharien, avec une température de plus de 30°C. Je n'avais pas été informée du temps qu'il faisait à Buenos Aires. Donc je n'avais pas pris de mésure pour me couvrir ŕ chaud. Alors dès que je suis arrivée à Buenos Aires, j'ai ouvert ma valise et j'ai porté tous les habits que j'avais apportés. Vous imaginez en ce moment la masse que cela me donnait ! Je ressemblais à un petit hippopotame !

Salut !

Malado, depuis le Mali.

Estimado amigo y colega George Anca,

un saludo desde las alturas donde vivo La Paz - Bolivia.

Sueńo y esperanza

El Congreso del IFLA siempre te deja con un gusto a parte, de satisfacción y esperanza de un mundo mejor. Mi sueńo todavía no lo realice, pero lo estoy trabajando y compartiendo con otros colegas y amigos.

Sueńo que en un futuro, que las bibliotecas de mi país (BOLIVIA) se puedan acceder la población de escasos recursos, campesinos obreros, etc. Sueńo que mi profesión sea parte de la solución de los problemas de mi país, como la educación, la pobreza, la corrupción, la desigualdad, la discriminación, etc. y que la información que manejamos los trabajadores de la información  sea una necesidad como el agua, la luz, los alimentos, etc.

Hay mucho por trabajar, pero también hay mucho por vivir.

Espero George, que te guste y me des tu opinión.

Chau, un abrazo desde las alturas, la llanura y el oriente boliviano.

Un amigo

Dear George,

Its a wonderful idea to make a book from that conference and the place. I was also full of inspiration and impression when i came back from there. I attach 2 fotos of what was important to me - tango dancers in la boca, samantha and mariano - who dance there in a coffeehouse. They are so nice beautiful people - and when they danced they made life a dream - just for some time.

The other one is a couple who danced at the flee market in san telmo.

I have many demonstration fotos of piqueteros - also from the plaza mayor - when it was closed by the police and nobody could go in. i found a way!

If you want those fotos, please give me a mail, then I send you.

Are you planning to go to oslo too?

From which library are you coming?

Good wishes for your project!

Eva

Hello, 

I apologise for not replying before, but since I arrived from Italy my life has been very busy (I wish I could go back to Andalo). As you request me to send my impression of the conference, I will say that it was one of the most interesting and nicest experiences in my whole professional life. I had to opportunity to meet people I usually read their books and be in contact with the community of people with the same interests and professional fields that I have. Also it was nice meeting the colleagues of my age from different countries and sharing some lovely time. In general I say that this is an experience I will try to repeat and also invite some friends to enjoy it.

Look forward to hearing from you soon,

Kind regards,

Ana

Dear Goerge,

thank you very much for your email, It is my pleasure to include  my Andalo feeling in your book.

First of all, I was very glad to participate in ISODARCO Seminar, it is great to comunicate with the other part of the world, which is not your own comunity, but we should lestin to each other carfully, respect the other, and to beleive that every one on the surface of the ground is our friend, with out discrimination toward , color,gender, religion, location. the life is given to the human being by God and no one have the right to take it except God.

ISODARCO group discuss a very important issue,terorrisim, but no one talk about peace, we should find out the ways which we can achieve peace for every one and the ways that make all on one heart against the new enemy the Terorrisim with out naming it with islamic or Christian terorrisim.

I hope every one of ISODARCO group will live in peace and we in Palestine too, hope we will have our peace and freedom of the dam occupation, which is the highest level of terorrisim.

Best Regards

Mohammed

Dear George, 

Aloha from Rainbow Hawaii!

It was so special to see you again in Isodarco.  I could not believe it after all these years ... Since you are such a well known writer in Romania, I would like to subscribe Taiwan Journal for you, if you wish.  It's a weekly paper (only 4 pages) with news, culture, history, economy, etc. on Taiwan.  Even though your country and mine are so far away, we still can connect together and even work together.

Thank you for inviting me to express my feeling toward Isodarco in Andalo.  You are so ambitious that you undertake such huge project in such short time.  Congratulations *_*  I noticed on the bus to Milano that you were thinking and writing and contemplating.  A great writer!

The main concern for this Winter Course is "Terrorism," rather a sad phenomenon for the world society.  But we are able to gather together and discuss about it and try to find solutions to minimize it, if not able to eliminate it completely, especially to the young participants who are leaders of the next generation.  It is an ideal place to have sessions and fun and good food with good people.  Oh, but, did you attend the extra session for 911 and it's conspiracy on Friday?  Clyde presented it in such convincing way that I almost believed it.  (He is going to write it up soon.)  If I do, I would grieve for such matter to happen in a democratic nation like America.  If it could happen here, it could happen everywhere.  We must do everything to prevent it happen again.  After all, we all strive to bring truth and honesty in our fraternity world-wide to achieve peace for us.

Well, I had good time and good thinking (and inspiration) at Isodarco as always even though so many people got sick with intestinal flu.  I almost got it too.  Do let me know if you like to have Taiwan Journal by mail (It can reach you by email too).  Mahalo, Susie

Shu Yuan

Formosa is a beautiful country!

Dear George,

thank you for writing me in this matter!
This is a great idea and indeed I would like to send you my souvenirs and wishes for your book. Just give me an impression that I get your project right:
You are writing a "Pugwash novel", that means a book on SODARCO (or Pugwash altogether?) and its history and to give their comment and good wishes for ISODARCO?
So how long do you allow the statement to be: a three-to five liner or longer? Do you think of a concise reference to any organiser or a rather general statement?
Sorry to be that worrysome about writing the right thing, but I would be very happy if in the end my statement would suit into your book.

Best regards back to Bucharest from Tübingen!
Yours, Ulrike.

Dear George,

I was in Andalo for a total of 10 hours, just enough to enjoy a very cordial atmosphere amongst people with different backgrounds.

I would have liked to stay longer, had I had the oppotunity to do so.

Best regards,

Daniele

Starnberg,
Dear George,

thank you very much for your letter. Andalo reassured my intention to find useful elements for good governance. I am sure, that it has been fruitful to have met you and I think, that a cooperation for the preparation of a  succesful project of science advice to the government on education and efficient social integration could be possible.
My direct proposals would be, that you identify the consultant role of the Library of Congress in Washington, that you inform yourself on the US Whriting Academy, that you begin a cooperation with the library of the Max Planck Institute for Education Research in Berlin, that you inform yourself about the Institute for the Natural Science Education in Kiel, (Schleswig-Holstein), and that you prepare your library to develop an international discussion on PHD training in pedagogy(including economic pedagogy and pedagogy in public health).
The best for you,

            your Jörn Behrmann