The taste of the group
has moved towards quite spicy poems. I give the word a meaning as
close to the idea of seasoning and not something
indecent or frivolous. The
appreciated poems usually have a pun, a play upon words: first
snow -/ growing
heavy/ the spider’s canvas, a reversal of
perspective obtained by mirroring:
twilight on the pond -/ going down quietly/ the snowflakes in the
sky, a slight drift of words from the neutral, general meaning to one, here,
with protective allusions: autumn rain -/ a leaf covering/ the cup
of coffee, an
obvious allegorical pivot:
eye hospital- / very slowly rising up/
again the stars, a hint to the similarity in appearance: cabbage rolls for fasting - / wrapped
up completely/ even the beggar, in coloring: first snow -/ mother lays on the bed/ the white blanket
or to a suspected human suffering: first snow -/ shaking in
summer clothes/ the scarecrow.
I commented on almost
all of the poems which were given
awards this week. Certainly,
being spicy is not everything in
the appreciation of the poems, but they can prevail in their assessment because they are more
conspicuous, more pronounced, swifter, and more tingling.
A poem like
the one below, which lacks these ingredients which impress the taste buds,
will often be neglected:
dry rustling
of the wandering leaves -
mistletoe wrapped in dew
Why? Because it has
some other, less tingling,
flavor. Its hints are more simple and more sober. They
are not doubled by a sign made an accomplice by winking. The poem leaves the images alone to speak silently with no verbal
artifice. It does not help in any
way and it also does not force
the present elements to testify. And it lets the
reader to feel the possible
relationships between the dry
leaves, which have fallen, driven
by the wind, and the
mistletoe which is still green in the empty crown of some tree.
In-between what has withered away and what remains alive
and fresh. Only the
wandering leaves, a phrase which is quite common and a bit metaphorical, can make us remember Topârceanu. The
mistletoe wrapped in dew, in contrast
with the surrounding dryness, is the only one that can drop an allusion to a sympathetic weeping of a still living witness.
(Corneliu Traian Atanasiu)
No comments:
Post a Comment