George Anca
IN SEARCH
OF JOY
How is joy between man and God?
"The Ode of Joy", both
Schiller's verses and Beethoven's music may surprise out of Europe, for
instance as "folklore" in a program of Korean minority in China, or
during the mess in any church in the world. Religious joy and human search for
it are subject to some gene indicating the type of God according to inborn
creed. Can indeed one change religion inherited from parents with a new one
belonging to the other? Can one live down the joy of a belief with another
quite different from the former? Has a man as Panait Istrati writes four lives
in one? Is child Krishna in Mathura, the seducer Govinda-cowboy in Vrindavana,
and coachman of Arjuna in Kurukushetra war of Mahabharata one and the same god, one and the same man? The fear
turns into joy especially when music and dance, poetry and drama, prayer and
silent meditation, all beauty of the world energizes the happening of life and
death. The joy of death is not compulsory for heroes or avatars, but an epitome
of purpose of man in the world, eventually his Dasein, with Heidegger's
concept.
In fact, it is difficult enough to
follow the joy on life or in a specific culture. It is like a lie in front of
truth or sorrow. Or is it the truth itself in some momentary eternities of
perishing being? One can die out of joy, other can enjoy death of many or few.
How can be conceived the joy of a murderer? How can be compared to the joy of
the victim? If everybody kills everybody, while God is dead, what more remains
for joy? Who says let no human realization including self-killing, be out of
joy like a black hole.
The city of Florence is giving joy
to mankind. If only its lilies will remain after Apocalypse some joy is still
flourishing. Some girls are called Gioia. La
Blache Ophélia flotte comme un grand lys. (Rimbaud).
The Apocalypse has in its name the
very lady author of Pralaya, Kali, mother and destroyer of the world, giver of
joy.
Anthropology of Non Recognition
There is no need to say that making literature as
anthropology and anthropology as literature one loses one’s chance to be
recognized within either of them. But the theme of recognition itself can be a
joint topic, on top of it may be Kalidasa’s “Recognition of Sakuntala” (Abhijnan Sakuntalam). Even after some
two thousands or one thousand and a half years it seems that Dushyanta
recognizes his deserted wife almost for the sake of their child, successor to
the throne.
A
XIX century’s replica is Cãlin, poem by Mihai Eminescu, in which the
recognition of the deserted bride, after years, starts by meeting the child.
Philosophy
of recognition in modern times includes patterns drawn by Hegel, Pascal or
Lacan. An anthropology of recognition would record also discrimination between
cultures and their representatives to the extent of cultural cannibalism,
colonialism-globalism, glocalocalism, etc. To be recognised during or after
demise is very little related to one’s will. It seems rather an outer concept.
It is quite hard to enjoy the non-recognition, but after all, then it is time
to find God. Does God recognise a person unrecognised even by self? Is it
possible to get God’s message when all expectations are transformed in lost
obsession of Divinity?
Two
poems of different ages and others reveal the devotion-recognition to Goddess
or simply Woman. Shankaracharya’s Saundaryalahari
and Dylan Thomas The Ballad of Long
Legged Bait are almost at the antipodes one from the other, yet they may
meet either in Shakta cult or in surrealistic mysticism of woman. Sanskrit
worshipper makes a cosmic prayer to the Divine Mother on the whole and part by
part, while the Welsh ballad writer thinks of woman in pieces thorn apart by
sharks and lovers. While the religion – recognition of Uma, Daughter of
Himalaya attracts hotly tantric and advaitin followers, the woman-bait is
recognisable only through song recreation of the victim in tune with legions of
raped and kidnapped heroines like, for instance: Kira Kiralina of Romanian
ballads and Panait Istrati’s novels, in which the heroine kills herself in
order not to be captured by the rapists. In another ballad by Ionel Zeana,
hundred virgins chose to kill themselves instead of entering the harem of the
invaders.
The
woman is recognised as Goddess and as a bait almost in the spiritual
inspiration, once an enthusiastic devotion, twice even still more literary as
empathic ballad. The joy and sorrow come together as the characters are
concerned, but both works convey either advaita-nondual, or Donne’s love
canonization in the same move as prayer and chatarsis causes- effects.
From
thousand to thousand years, from Sakuntala to Saundaryalahari and ballad
Goddess-bait other characters and feelings are transformed or forgotten also as
recognition of the fact that recognition is not possible.
LA GIOIA (Avoiding murder by life)
Toward ending a novel entitled La Gioia, an own life, dedication “per
la citta di Firenze” appeared in mind both as appropriate in ICAES context and
as key in a possible thriller form according rather to reception than original
narration. The character Gioia, if real, belongs to Florence, if invented, is
an anthropologist’s thrill, i.e. late Romulus Vulcanescu. Out of three sons,
during the years, two hanged themselves, the oldest one, Mihu, did it in Florence,
after Uffizzi was bombed and his nearby accommodation was spoiled. Woman Gioia
fictionally suspected by anthropologist, became la Gioia, as life, free of
murder. The paper continues the novel with an anthropological open epilogue
eventually in Indore, India, and back in Firenze.
Kali and Barbara
Black Goddess Kali is beyond my
series of anthropological novels Indian
Apokalipse, while Barbara is an unanswered name. Indeed, when once I asked
poet Gheorghe Pitut, what’s the name of your daughter? His answer was, I don’t
tell you. Even I had ready more than one novel, the series started, by chance,
via Paris, with Medea (Mother Medea in
Paris). Was Medea another Kali or simply Barbara? But trying to enumerate
the titles of the series I missed one: Fear
of the Orient, either of long time since written, or rather because of
global deconstruction including Orient-Occident double. Having not what to fear
anymore because of unanswered names in the theme of this paper.
Esoterica Left For Fiction
It was the case of young Patricia.
She came to Balkans and proposed to the IUAES, in 80’s, a commission of the
body which was actually the theme of 2002 Inter-Congress in Tokyo. She invited
me in New Jersey for two paid conferences on situation in Romania and also took
me in a drive among Washington facts of arms. She told she left esoterica and
started writing stories. I read and
commented for her next day, missing some deer. It was my last day in my first
America (esoterica). For some reasons I was called in the evening by madame
Esthère who urged me never search Patricia in order to be forgiven.
The paper opposes some literary
works of anthropologists and anthropological works of writers. With special
references to Lucian Blaga and Seamus Heaney.
Hanuman and Baudelaire in Mauritius
Hanuman belongs to humankind as well
as to divine lore of lord Rama. His faithfulness and brave cleverness are epic
epitome of a sanctity soldier. Out of India, his worship turns into a
consciousness of radical ecumenism through which such fantastic, sometimes
humorous monkey-man-god gives happiness to everyone in his/her own way of life
and expectation.
Speaking on Hanuman in the islands
of Mauritius, surrounded by larger ocean – Tagore’s ocean of silence – no
fighting anymore a demon ruling another island, but demons inside ourselves, I
remember a young rebel embarked by his forester father for India in punishment,
and left by the captain of ship in Mauritius to collect him and return. He
eventually remained in modern time an epitome of cursed poet, claming, for
instance in A une malabaraise, Indian
atmosphere for what was, in fact, his imagination in Mauritius. From here, both
Hanuman and Baudelaire guide us to faith.
In Search Of Joy
Florence, XVth ICAES, July 2003
Wulf And Eadwacer
Celtic Poem
It is to my people as if one gave
them an offering.
Will they feed him, if he feel want?
It is not so with us.
Wulf is on an island, I on another;
Closely begirt is that island with
bog;
Cruel men are there on the island;
Will they feed him, if he should
feel want?
It is not so with us.
I waited for my Wulf with
far-wandering yearnings,
When it was rainy weather and I sat
weeping.
When the warlike man wound his arms
about me,
It was pleasure to me, yet it was also
pain.
Wulf, my Wulf, my yearnings for thee
Have made me sick, thy rare visits,
A woeful heart and not want of food.
Does thou hear,Eadwacer? Our
cowardly cub
Wulf shall bear off to the wood.
They can easily sunder that which
was never joined
together,
The song of us two together.
Show Me, Dear
Christ, Thy Spouse, So Bright And Clear
John Donne
Show me, dear Christ, thy spouse, so
bright and clear
What! is it she, which on the other
shore
Goes richly painted? or
which rob’d and tore
Laments and mourns in
Germany and here?
Sleep she a thousand,
then peeps up one year?
Is she self truth, and
errs? now new, now
outwore?
Doth she, and did she,
and shall she evermore
On one, on seven, or on
no hill appear?
Dwells she with us, or
like adventuring knights
First travaile we to
seek and then make love?
Betray, kind husband,
thy spouse to our sights,
And let my amorous soul
court thy mild dove,
Who is most true, and
pleasing to thee, then
When she’s embrac’d and
open to most men.
Self-Portrait
R. Raj Rao
I, Raj Rao, 32
Am a festering poet worn
to the bone.
Lice live in my hair,
mice have bitten my toes.
I have protruding teeth,
a fungoid groin.
I smell like a horse.
My nails with which I
sometimes scratch my
verses
Are grown and black in
my and twisted out of
shape.
There are holes in my
teeth that let out slime.
I am a yahoo in sex: I
drink even your urine.
My beard is a stubble.
My feet are huge with
patches of white.
The sputum in my throat
poisons the air.
Worms crawl in my
stomach.
I belch in public, retch
after meals.
I think every day of
death.
Awakened by nightmares,
I often howl at
night.
I claw at my hair, byte
my own flesh
And scream until my
voice cords snap,
Smashing everything I
can lay my hands on.
(From An Anthology of New Indian English Poetry,
Edited by Marakand Paranjape, Rupa & Co, Calcutta, 1993)
The Farewell To The
Brethren Of
St. James’s Lodge,
Tarbolton
Robert Burns
ADIEU! A heart-warm,
fond adieu!
Dear
brothers of the mystic tie!
Ye favour’d, ye
enlighten’d Few
Companions
of my social joy!
Tho’ I to foreign lands
must hie,
Pursuing
Fortune’s slidd’ry ba’
With melting heart, and
brimful eye,
I’ll mind
you still, tho’ far awa’.
Oft have I met your
social Band,
And spent
the cheerful, festive night;
Oft,
honor’d with supreme command,
Presided
o’er the Sons of light:
And by that Hierogliphic bright,
Which none
but Craftsmen ever saw!
Strong mem’ry on my
heart shall write
Those happy
scenes when far awa’!
May Freedom, Harmony and
Love
Unite you in
the grand Design,
Beneath th’ Omniscient
Eye above,
The glorious
ARCHITECT Divine!
That you may keep th’ unerring line,
Still rising
by the plummet’s law,
Till Order bright
completely shine,
Shall be my
Pray’r when far awa’!
And You, farewell! Whose merit claim,
Justly, that
highest badge to wear!
Heave’n bless your
honor’d, noble Name,
To MASONRY
and SCOTIA dear!
A last request permit me
here,
When yearly
ye assemble a’,
One round, I ask it with a tear,
To him, the Bard, that’s far awa’!
(From British Poets and Secret Societies, by
Marie Roberts, Croom Helm, London, 1986)
A Song Of The
Rosy-Cross
W.B. Yeats
He who measures gain and
loss,
When he gave
to thee the Rose,
Gave to me alone the Cross;
When the
blood-red blossom blows
In a wood of dew and
moss,
There thy
wandering pathway goes,
Mine were waters brood
and toss;
Yet one joy
have I, hid close,
He who measures gain and
loss,
When he gave
to thee the Rose,
Gave to me alone the
cross.
Creative Fancy
Rig-Veda 1-6.3
Nature’s beauty is an
art of God.
Let us feel the touch of
God’s invisible
hands, in everything
beautiful.
By the first touch of
His hand rivers
throb and ripple.
When he smiles the sun
shines, the
moon glimmers, the stars
twinkle, the
flowers bloom;
By the first rays of the
rising sun, the universe
is stirred;
The shining gold is
sprinkled on the
smiling of buds of rose;
The fragrant air is
filled with sweet
melodies of singing birds;
The dawn is the dream of God’s
creative fancy.
Cows
Rig-Veda 6-28.6
Ye cows, you fatten the
emaciated,
And you make the
unlovely look beautiful,
Make our house happy,
you with pleasant
lowings,
Your power is glorified
in our assemblies
(From The Holy Vedas, Pandit Satyakam
Vidyalankar, Clarion Books, Delhi, 1983)
Kotikkulakar
Cuntarar
Why do you live alone
On the seashore battered
by fierce winds?
My sin is great
That I must see you
thus.
Handsome Lord at
Kotikkulakar,
who keeps you company
here?
It is because you once
devoured the ocean’s
poison
that you now favor
Paravai, the sea?
Handsome youth at
Kotikkulakar,
bordered by bush groves,
why do you live alone
here, my Lord?
O supreme Lord who lives
south of joyful
Maraikatu
where many devotees sing
your praise,
Handsome Youth at Kotikkulakar,
where flowering groves abound,
why do you live alone, my Lord?
This is a great wilderness
resounding with the hoot of the
owl,
which terrifies the beautiful
Goddess;
cruel wicked hunters live here.
Handsome Lord at Kotikkulakar,
why have you made for yourself
a temple in this place?
You who share your body
with your spouse with long,
kohl-darkened
eyes,
Lady Ganges lives in the same
frame.
Tell me why you have taken
yet another companion,
the Lady of the Forest,
with bracelets on her wrists,
to live with you
in the temple of Kotikkulakar
with blossoming groves?
Sharing your form with the
Goddess
whose mound of Venus is like a
cobra,
you dwell south of Maraikkatu
fragrant with maravam trees.
Handsome Youth of Kotikkulakar
full of kuravam groves,
my Lord, you live alone
with darkness for your friend.
Dear ambrosia who dances
with the sounding warrior’s ring,
the music of drum and flute,
Handsome Youth of Kotikkulakar
bordered by flourishing groves.
O God, why do you live alone, my
Lord?
Did you find Orriyur a mortgaged
town?
Did you leave Arur,
thinking it a strange place?
O Handsome Youth crowned with the
young
moon,
my Lord of Kotikkulakar,
why do you live alone?
Though Vishnu the Strider
and the god with four heads
could not measure your form,
you wander as a homeless beggar.
Is this the reason, o Lord,
that you have made your temple
on the shore where wild hunters
live?
Those who know these ten verses
composed by the poet of Arur
in praise of the handsome young
Lord
of Kotikkulakar, the shrine at
land’s end,
south of Maraikkatu and many
other towns on
earth,
will surely abide in Shiva’s
glorious world.
(From Poems to Siva. The Hymns of the Tamil
Saints. Indira Viswanatham Peterson, Motilal Banarsidas, Delhi, 1991 /
Princeton University Press, 1989)
Garabi / The Song
Of The Dance
Pir Shamas
Today we found joy in
our hearts,
through the worship of
the True Guide, o!
Do not be led astray, o
foolish folk,
but take the secret into
your hearts.
These temples and idols
are a
deceit, so why revolve
in this circle?
Worship the True Guide,
the Light, the
Light, for the Guide is
the Glorious Lord.
If you regularly offer
the tithe in full,
you will be gainfully
rewarded.
Those perfect believers
will rule
who proceed upon the
True Path.
You may dance by day and
night,
but nothing will be
achieved.
All these idols are of
stone, and
they do not speak at
all.
Why do you let yourself
be led astray in
vain, where these are
man-made objects?
The deity of dance is
false, for
where is Bhavani found
in it?
It is the divine Guide
whose power
is complete, for it is
there that they all dwell.
See how false all the
worldly creatures
are, whom you have known
since birth.
Accept Ali as the true
manifestation,
and you will gain your
reward.
Your sins and faults
will be removed,
and you will attain high
station.
Thus did the true Guide
explain the
truth to them, but they
did not recognize it.
All the people listened
to him,
then spoke in replay:
If you come tomorrow
night,
let us dance together.
Pir Shamas the Guide
spoke thus:
“Proceed in awareness,
o!”
(From Ismaili Hymns from South Asia. An
Introduction to Ginans. Cristopher Shakle and Zawahir Moir, Curzom, 2000/
1992,Unesco)
Nasadiya-Sukta
Translation by J.Muir
Then there was neither Aught nor
Naught, no air nor
sky
beyond.
What covered all? Where rested all?
In watery gulf
profound?
Nor death was there, nor
deathlessness, nor change of
night
and day.
That one breathed calmly,
self-sustained; naught else
beyond
it lay.
Gloom hid in gloom existed first –
one sea eluding view.
The One, a void in chaos wrapt, by inward
fervor
grew.
Within it first arose desire, the
primal germ of mind,
Which nothing with existence links,
as sages searching
find.
The kindling ray that shot across
the dark and drear
abyss –
Was it beneath? or high aloft? what
bard can answer
this?
Those fecundating powers were found,
any mighty
forces strove –
A self-supporting mass beneath, and
energy above.
Who knows, who ever told, from
whence this vast
creation
rose?
No gods had then been born – who
then can e’er truth
disclose?
Whence sprang this world and whether
framed by hand
divine
or no –
It’s Lord in heaven alone can tell,
if even he can show.
(From Invitation to Indian Philosophy. T.
M. Mahadevan. Arnold Heinemann, 1974,
1982.)
Lawrence’s Florence
Apud D. H. Lawrence
(Cipriano
with Evening Star and all Eminescu.
Marchesa. Aaron’s Rod vs Blow-Up)
Florence-Firenze-Fiorenze – the
flowery town; the red
lilies.
The Fiorentini, the flower souled.
Flowers with good
roots
in the mud and
muck, as should be; and fearless
blossoms
in air like the cathedral and tower
of David.
I love the cathedral and the tower.
I love its pinkness
and
its paleness, it is delicate and rosy, and
the
dark stripes are as they should be, like the
tiger
marks on a pink lily. It is a lily not
a
rose: a pinky white lily with dark tigery marks.
And
heavy too, in its own substance: earth-substance
risen
from earth into the air; and never forgetting
the
dark, black fierce earth – I reckon here men
for
a moment were themselves, as a plant in
flower
is for the moment completely itself.
Final
Of Ballad Of The Long-Legged Bait
Dylan
Thomas
Down,
down, down, under the ground,
Under
the floating villages,
Turns
the moon-chained and water-wound
Metropolis
of fishes,
There
is nothing left of the sea but its sound,
Under
the earth the land sea walks,
In
death beds of orchards the boat dies down
And
the bait is drowned among hayricks,
Land,
land, land, nothing remains
Of
the pacing, famous sea but its speech,
And
into its talkative seven tombs
The
anchor dives through the floors of a church.
Good-bye,
good luck, struck the sun and the moon,
To
the fisherman lost on the land.
He
stands alone at the door of his home,
With
his long-legged heart in his hand.
Guzman
Apud Nonsense
Verse and Winter
We’ll
go home by water, says Brian O’Linn
Carabi
Toto carabo Nambi-Pamby’s never old picking
gold
Sonnet
found in a deserted mad-house by anon
Cameleopard
Thomas Hood you are old father Lewis
Humpty
Dumpty Yonghy-Bonghy-Ba Hoddy Doddy
Parabonzi
Bonzi-ba
cold are the crabs reci raci poet of nonsense
Dorinda
Hilaire animula vagula blandula bog dood
Iris
Murdoch our Lord was a Jew our Lord was the Son
of
God
Kingsley
Amis if anyone in the Mess admired
Mussolini
Doris
Lessing I saw Mrs. Fortescue going off to work
Alan
Sillitoe I walked through the mountains and
Woods
of Transylvania over the high Carpathians
Across
the great plain through Bucharest and across
The
Danube again vide Guzman, Go Home
(Joy
Alone Is Ours)
Appar
We are slaves to no man,
nor do we fear death.
Hell holds no torments,
we know no deceit.
We rejoice, we are
strangers to disease,
we bow to none.
Joy alone is ours, not sorrow,
for we belong for ever
to Sankara, who is the supreme
Lord,
our king who wears the white
conch earring on
one ear,
and we have reached
his beautiful, flower-fresh feet.
The wide world is our home,
generous householders in every
town
give us food.
Public halls are our only
shelter; we sleep
in Goddess Earth’s loving embrace
–
all this is true.
The Lord of the warlike bull has
taken us.
We lack nothing, our trials are
over now.
Why need we listen to the words
of men who parade themselves in
silk and
gold?
We are innocent men.
We do not consort with women;
we rise before down to bathe
and chant Mahadeva’s name,
our sole ornament is the sacred
ash.
Tears, wailing from our eyes like
monsoon
rains,
proclaim the melting of our stony
hearts.
Why need we obey the commands
of kings who ride on elephants?
We are free from bonds!
Shiva devotees are our only kin,
we wear nothing but the waistband
and the
loincloth.
Even our enemies cannot harm us;
all evil is turned into good for
us,
and we never will be born again.
Our tongues chant “Hail Shiva!”
good name of the Lord
with the sweet, golden konrai
wreath.
We are devotees of the Lord
whose blazing forehead eye
reduced crocodile-bannered Kama
to ashes.
We will yield to no man;
none on earth can equal us.
We do not follow small gods,
we belong to Lord Shiva’s feet
alone.
Surely we lack nothing!
Deadly disease has fled, leaving
us untouched.
We live on the merit
of having taking refuge
in the good Lord who is crowned
with a garland of skulls.
They alone may rule us,
whose tongues chant the name
of Shiva with the holy coral-red
form,
the Lord whom the thirsty-three
gods
and all beings praise
as the first among the three,
the eight-formed deity.
Even if the king of this entire
rose-apple land
were to command us,
we need no obey –
we are not criminals or thieves.
Our sole duty is joyfully to sing
the glory of him who manifests
himself
as the moving and the still,
as earth, water, fire, wind, and
sky,
as the small and the great,
as hard to reach, yet easily
attained
by his lovers,
as the highest reality,
immeasurably great,
as infinite Sadashiva, as you and
me.
Why should we parrot the words of
devils?
We are blameless men.
Every day we meditate only on the
Lord,
ruler of all the worlds,
king of Himalayan gods,
him who blazed up as fire,
god who bears the white ash on
his red body,
good lover of the mountain’s
beautiful
daughter.
We have since long renounced the
doctrines
that the Jains, who eat standing,
had taught us.
Who are you to us?
And who is your king?
The Lord with the matted hair
and the conch earring on one ear,
with his body adorned by the ash
and the
snake,
bull rider clad in the tiger skin
and the silver-spotted skin of
the deer –
he is the king who rules us, you
see!
We are not servants of the king
who
commands
you and all his troupes –
we are free from all bounds!
We have the good fortune of
singing our Lord
to our hearts’ content,
of repulsing the shameless Jain
monks.
The king of immortals,
the Lord who graciously rules us,
Shiva, the god of gods, who rose
as the flame
which Ayan and Mal could not
know,
dwells in my heart.
If death himself were to declare
his dominion over us and command
us to serve
him,
we would refuse,
for the Lord’s eight attributes
are ours.
(Translated from Tamil by Indira Peterson)
Panthomyotomia
pulchra puellula ridet Venus illa venenum
tevaram satarudriya rayanas Appar
Campantar
Cuntarar
om-namo-Narayanaya Shiva is jiva
jiva is
Shiva
thou art I the seer or the seen
horns of a hare
kasyatyantam sukham upanatam
duhkham
ekantato va (Meghaduta)
yad evapantam duhkat sukham tad
rasa
vattaram joy after sorrow
high way of Aryas Harya Hellas
Helespont Her
Sir
Tara laughs on pyre on lotus
Bhuvanesvari
smiles Bhairavi with book
sukham tvidanim trividham tat
sukham
sattvikam tat sukham
rajasam smrtam sukham
mohanamaatmanah
tat tamasam (Geeta)
om triyambakam yajamahe sugandhim
pushti
vardhanam
urvarukam eva bandhanat mrityor
mukshiya
ma amru tat
oh an Hellespont of cream of
Hereford
we’ll go home by water says Brian
O’Linn
four and twenty ladies fair were
playing at the
chess
cupidinous death the fleecy sun
go back from
Troy Colchis India
the rhime of the ancient
mariner is an ancient
Mariner
the whole of the sea is hilly
with whales
(Dylan Thomas)
dasein brahman atman openent
Vincent mates
Gates
sein bei schon-sein
schon-sein-bei being-
already-alongside
atma caivantar – atma ca
paramatma nir-
atmakah
aty-atma nish-kalaatma ca
sunyaatma sapta-
bhedakah (seven selves)
Kali
is representative of the East and the
Madonna of the West (Jung)
central component of a happy life
is a special
kind of enjoyment
the life is the constantly renewed
desire for
recognition
a form of desire that desires
another desire and
demands recognition
om namaste Ganapataye tvameva
pratyaksham
tattvamasi
Ishvara created the universe for
the sheer joy
of
it
long live Trotsky Ayyappa Paniker
in
Maharajakathagal
a wild animal is a pious being
who fulfils the
will of God
the patient speaks Romanian so it
must mean
something to him
those who lead provisional lives
are in mental
cases
risk of being manipulated by
unconscious in
enantiodromic way
when a thing suggests beauty or
harmony in its
form
it always had more to do with the
truth than it
is ugly
Yamato shi Uruwashi Yamato happy
hollow of
our land
Lawrence
briefly hoped that the novel could be
republished
by
the Parisian firm of Conrad through the
influence
particularly
of Prince Antoine Bibescu
a
pain of joy the feeling that they had
exchanged
recognition
possessed
him like a madness like a torment
a
trespass ugly-beautiful in solitude of
strangeness
to
Bolsh or not to Bolsh the beastly Lazarus of
our idealism
Lorenzo’s
flute Aaron on Arno his rod with
scarlet
flowers
I
have no obligation to say what I think after
sufficient extermination
evadere
at auras send us new nymphs with
each new moon
hic
depositum est corpus Ionathan Swift abi
viator et imitare
Harris
miscarries what is man but a topsyturvy
creature
the
blind man these times of dark palpable joy
the
dream concerned an injured peacock and a
protective lady
why
didn’t wring that b-peacock’s neck that
b-Joey
I
had no grudge against him by Jove though I
have he haunts me
I
believe there is devil in him I hate the brute
rotating
unequal eyes
I
dessay I dare say ‘sruth God’s truth Penzance
I
never knew there was cancer in our family
opponent
mates in honor of hero Ion
Grigorescu
Yeats
stylistic arrangements of experience
comparable
to the cubes in the drawings
of
Windham Lewis and to the ovoids in the
sculpture
of Brancusi A Vision p 128 Yi
greyer
floridity changeling out of the unknown
dowdy
an almost after-death love Indian
communism
to
me the whole joy is in the living personality
the curious
personality
of the artist mourir in tel pays
David Dravid via Lorenzo in Firenze Lawrence
in Florence
Gulf war II decapitation evil vs
evil makara
mithuna mesha
Au revoir Gigi D. H. Lawrence Lost
Girl
garibi hatao
Shivapithecus-Ramapithecus
quaternary
hominid
Punjabicus Indicus dhodias in
Valsad Maria
tribe
Alvina was a lost girl Ovid
isolated in Thrace
Bibliography
Was the Ramayana
copied from Homer? K.T.
Telang, 1873, 1976.
Dravidian Gods in
Modern Hinduism.
W.T.Elmore, 1913, 1984.
Thirty Minor
Upanishads.
Translated by K. Narayanaswami Aiyar, 1914, 1987.
Sculpture inspired
by Kalidasa. C.
Sivaramamurti, 1942, 1984.
New Experiments in
Kalidasa. Satyavrat
Shastri, 1991. Eastern Books, Delhi.
The Vicissitude of
Aryan Civilization in India.
M.M. Kunte, 1880, 1984.
The Faber Book of
Nonsense Verse,
1979.
Global
transformations.
A.K. Giri, 1998, Rawat, Delhi.
Dream Analysis. C. G. Jung, 1938, 1938,
Routledge.
The Anthropology of
Evil. Basil
Blackwell, 1985, David Perkin.
The Cambridge Editions of the Works of D. H. Lawrence
Yeats the Initiate. Katheleen Raine, 1986, Dolmen
Press.
Ganapati. John A. Grimes, 1996, Sri
Satguru, Delhi.
Humor in Kalidasa. Gayatry Verma, 1981, Atma Ram.
BY
THE SAME AUTHOR
Poetry
Invoca\ii, 1968
Poemele p`rin\ilor, 1976
10 Indian Poems, 1978
Ek shanti, 1981
De rerum Aryae, 1982
Upasonhind, 1982
Ardhanariswara, 1982
Mantre, 1982
Sonhind, 1982
Norul vestitor (Kalidasa), 1983
Gitagovinda (Jayadeva), 1983
Sonet,
1984
50 doine lui Ilie Ila]cu, 1994
Doina cu varia\iuni, 1995
Doine [n dodii, 1997
Waste, 1998
Decasilab, 1999
Balada Calcuttei, 2000
Sonete thailandeze, 2000
Orientopoetica, 2000
Malta versus Trinidad, 2000
Mamma Trinidad, 2001
Milarepa, 2001
Prose
Eres, 1970
Nana in the Himalayas, 1979
Parinior,
1982
India.Memorii la mijlocul vie\ii, 1982
The Buddha, 1994
Maica Medeea la Paris, 1997
Miongdang, 1997
Sub clopot, 1998
Pelasgos, 1999
Frica de Orient, 2001
Buddha ]i Colonelul, 2001
Furnici albe, 2001
Poeston, 2001
Baudelaire ]i poe\ii rom@ni.Coresponden\e ale
spiritului poetic, 2001
Sanskritikon, 2002
La Gioia, 2002
Dodii, 2002
În recunoaştere, 2003
Drama
Good luck, Radha, 1979
Pancinci, 1982
XII by Horace Gange, 1984
Teatru sub clocot, 1997
Templu [n elicopter, 1997
Essay
Baudelaire ]i poe\ii rom@ni, 1974
Indoeminescology, 1994
Articles on Education, 1995
Haos, temni\` ]i exil la Eminescu, Cotru], Gyr ]i
Stamatu, 1995
Lumea f`r` coloana lui Br@ncu]i, 1997
Ion Iuga [n India, 1997
Beauty and Prison, 1998
Some features of private-public link in Romania,
1998
From Thaivilasa to Cosmic Library, 1999
Ramayanic Ahimsa, 1999
Aesthetic Anthropology, 2000
Edgar, Who does (not) need libraries, 2001
Toward a L.M.C. Gypsy library. Spre o bibliotec` romaii L.M.C., 2001
CURRICULUM VITAE
Dr. GEORGE ANCA
Born 12 April 1944, V@lcea, Romania. Romanian
citizen. Married to Rodica Anca. One daughter, Maria Anca.
STUDIES
Philology (1966); PhD (1975) Bucharest Univ.;
Specialization: Rome Univ. (1975), Italia; Delhi Univ., Sanskrit (1982-1983);
television U.F. Maukley, USA (1980).
KNOWN LANGUAGES
Romanian, English, French, Italian, Hindi.
EMPLOYMENT
Reporter Romanian Radio Broadcasting (1967-1969);
Editor “Colocvii Journal” (1969-1971); Press-attaché, Ministry of Education
(1971-1976); Lecturer Faculty of Journalism (1976-1977); Visiting lecturer
University of Delhi (1977-1984); Director, Central Library Polytechnics
Institute Bucharest (1984-1987); Director General, Central Library of Education
(since 1988).
MEMBERSHIPS
Romanian Writer’s Union; International Academy
“Mihai Eminescu” (organizer & President) permanent Council of International
Union of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences; Ethnological Society of
Romania (Vice-president); International Association of Educators for World
Peace (National Chancellor accredited to UN); Romanian Group for Pugwash
(organizer); Romanian-Indian Cultural Association (President), Associate
Professor University of Oradea.
PUBLICATIONS (selection)
Books: Invoca\ii
(1968); Eres (1970); Poemele p`rin\ilor (1976); Ardhnariswara (1982); Parinior (1982); Mantre (1982); Pancinci
(1982); Sonet (1984); XII by Horace Gange (1984); Upasonhind (1982); Indoeminescology (1994); The
Buddha (1994); 50 doine lui Ilie
Ila]cu (1994); Chaos, Prison, Exile
(1995); Orientopoetica (2000);
Jayadeva’s Gitagovinda (tr. 1983);
Kalidasa’s Meghaduta (tr. 1984);
Eminescu’s Luceaf`rul in Sanskrit
(ed. 1983); Books filmd edited, e.g. Latinitas
(1982-1984); Liber (since 1990); Bibliotheca Indica (since 1996); Over
hundred studies presentations / papers / articles / lectures to international
congresses and universities (anthropology, education, literature, linguistics,
librarianship, journalism, politics sciences / China, England, France, Germany,
India, Israel, Italy, Yugoslavia, Korea, Malta, Mexico, Moldova, Portugal,
Romania, Russia, Thailand, Trinidad Tobago, USA).
COURSES TAUGHT
Romanian (elementary, intermediate,
advanced); French; Italian; Latin; Comparative Literature and Theatre; Press
Practice; Comparative Poetics (Sanskrit-Latin European); Conflict and Peace
Education; Aesthetic Anthropology.
FIELDS OF INTEREST
Comparative Literature; Cultural Anthropology;
Poetics and Alamkara; Theatre of Language, Onto-poetics, Anthropoetry;
Translating cultures; Romance Languages; Indo-European: Nostratic.
REFERENCES
Romanian literary dictionaries, Cambridge
Who’sWho, World of Learning, The Encyclopaedia of Distinguished Leadership,
etc.
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