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L'ÉTERNITÉ

@athenaefilia / athenaefilia.tumblr.com

"If words are veils, what do they hide?" - Anne Carson xxv|side blog:jasmine-scented|Mădălina
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anakronisma
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plasmapop

28/04/24 • catullus 51 translated via the international code of signals

BC 1 Can you communicate with the aircraft? NE 5 You should proceed with great caution; hostile vessel sighted NH 1 Are you clear of all danger? EA Have you sighted or heard of a vessel in distress?  ZL Your signal has been received but not understood. QF I cannot go ahead MBP Onset was sudden.  PG 2 I am dazzled by your searchlight. Extinguish it or lift it. [IB 4 The extent of the damage is still unknown.]  MHB Tongue is dry. YS I am unable to communicate… DV 1 I am adrift. MBE The whole body is affected. IX Fire is gaining.  FD 1 My position is indicated by rockets or flares. PG I do not see any light. EP I have lost sight of you. MY 2 It is dangerous to proceed on present course. AE 1 I wish to abandon my vessel, but have not the means. GC 2 I have searched area of accident but have found no trace of derelict or survivors
#slove#visual
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vesselsofmercy
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metamorphesque

when I am among the trees, mary oliver (read by amanda palmer)

made by yours truly
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metamorphesque
When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile.” The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It's simple,” they say, “and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”
#slove#mary oliver
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[...] nu-ncetasem să mă-ntreb cum ar fi fost oare să mă fi născut un sarcopt al râiei sau un păduche, sau unul dintre miliardele de polipi ce produc insulele de corali. Aș fi trăit fără să știu că trăiesc, viața ar fi fost o clipă de agitație obscură, cu dureri și plăceri și atingeri și alarme, și îndemnuri, departe de gândire și de conștiință, într-o gaură abjectă, într-o pată oarbă, într-o uitare totală. "Dar asta și sunt, asta și sunt,“ m-am pomenit deodată spunând cu voce tare. Asta suntem cu toții, acarieni orbi fojgăind pe firul nostru de praf în infinitatea neștiută, irațională, în fundătura oribilă a acestei lumi. Gândim, avem acces la structura logico-matematică a lumii, dar continuăm să trăim fără conștiință de sine și fără-nțelegere, săpând tunele-n pielea lui Dumnezeu, provocându-i doar iritare și mânie.
— Mircea Cărtărescu, Solenoid, Ed. Humanitas

I hadn’t stopped wondering what it would have been like to be born as a mite or a louse, or one of the billions of polyps on coral reefs. I would have lived without knowing that I lived, my life would have been a moment of obscure agitation, with pains and pleasures and contacts and alarms and urges, far from thought and far from consciousness, in some abject hole, in a blind dot, in total oblivion. But that is what I am, it is,” I suddenly found myself saying out loud. This is what we all are, blind mites stumbling along our piece of dust in an unknown, irrational infinity, in the horrible dead end of this world. We think we have access to the logical-mathematical structure of the world, but we continue to live without self-consciousness and without understanding, digging tunnels through the skin of God, causing him nothing but fits and irritation.

— trans. by Sean Cotter, Ed. Deep Vellum Publishing

#slove#solenoid#mircea cartarescu#mircea cărtărescu
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he was unreachable. As music is present yet you can’t touch it.

— Mary Oliver, The First Time Percy Came Back

#slove#mary oliver
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mydearlonelygrave
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zarzava

three romanian authors to read with ur dracula daily

dracula is an orientalist text conceived at the height of british empire, grounded in distortions of a region that stoker never visited. sadly (and unsurprisingly) i found very few romanian authors who have been translated into english online, so here’s a meagre list of recs:

1. luminița cioabă

romanian roma author, famous in romania as the daughter of bulibasha (the king of the roma nation), she forged her own path as a writer of short stories in the oral roma tradition which portray in vivid detail the history of the roma people of romania 

2. marin sorescu

from humble rural romanian roots, he wrote under the oppressive ceausescu government. in a national ironic tradition he very famously said: "Just as I can’t give up smoking because I don’t smoke, I can’t give up writing because I have no talent.“ some of my favorite poems:

3. paul celan

jewish poet from bucovina. i recommend this beautiful essay by ilya kaminsky, who like celan was forced to flee eastern europe due to antisemitism, deconstructing various translators’ attempts to adapt celan’s texts and experience of the holocaust. these are all poems from a 1971 poetry collection

#slove
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