La lansarea Versetelor de unică folosinţă, domnul Mircea Horia Simionescu a intimat o legenda că le-a dictat nopţile, la un microfon, fiind apoi transcrise, ca ale altcuiva etc. S-a speculat subit un suprarealism secund, încă postmodern, post-Târgovişte. Cum s-ar fi folosit de undele alfa, ori acestea de dânsul, eu aducându-mi aminte de feed back-ul comparabil al psihologului Ioan Ciofu în elaborarea propriei teorii a numărului de aur, care ar guverna totul, şi destinul uman, pas cu pas. Astfel că nu s-ar fi putut, la peste 80 de ani, să nu-şi  fi publicat primul tom cu poezii o mie.

A mai mărturisit că poezia sa n-ar milita pentru nicio cauză. Voind să traduc în engleza ceva, şi muzica şi măştile de pe faţa vieţii-Bucureşti-Târgovişte nu se lăsau dezlipite, nu de limba română, dar de graiul acelui miezonoptic dicteu care va fi fiind al întregului-operă-MHS. Am ajuns, în transă, în muţenie, la elogiu vorbirii răzleţe şi l-oi fi auzit dintr-un luptat destin de aur ironic.

Un Liberus nocturnus i-au dedicat lui MHS d-nii Emil Stănescu şi Mihai Samson Petrescu. Iar Dan Gîju militează în Poeme de rămânere la arme. Aux arms!

 

Mircea Horia Simionescu

eulogy to lonely speaking

 you know since ever that your dialogues

in life in sleep in revery moments

have no interlocutor

you speak alone – rare exceptions! -

with fear of solitude in solitary heart

and the words flying like tennis ball

have no reality or suffer from insufficiency

of understanding like in a grotto papered

by a deaf

and the poetry you now spread on white

stringing soliloquies with no beginning and end

finds its precise meanings

more true than of mirrors

and of geometers and more real than those

of mathematics of high spatial artillery music

only the music of haendel

in forms divinely grammatical petrifies itself

reducing the world uproar

to a single prevailing enclitic voice

 

Emil Stănescu @ Mihai Samson Petrescu

 Choir of acrobats

Oh, you most noble unicorns and egrets,

we, servants

of language Genius

and its thoughts of a life,

urge you now

to mind

these words

for they were uttered

by an unsurpassed warrior of Scholar king

when army chosen he to give his life

as sacrifice

before a battle, so custom asked,

to say his Carmina,

poem of his life at a public end,

in order to guide the army

first, toward salvation and then, toward victory

 

Dan Gîju

Who and when?

 

I didn’t see of long a soldier cleaning his weapon,

of long I didn’t feel gun powder in my nostrils,

I see, in exchange, ever more women exhibiting, through barracks,

                                                                                    their uniforms…

And I see ever more foreign corporals ravaging on paths of the Country.

Oh, lost at cards Romania! Your mountains, would your mountains

ever again serve, sometime, someone, with faith?

Who and when will stretch again in them ambuscades?

Who and when will it be noticed in your chronicle one, at least,

tiny, and yet a bit of victory?

Flying are days, months… Like moments years pass, Romania;

what curse, what ill fate count your steps through age?

Which sign was put on your tophead in the first day of babyhood

that you became a whore in harem; or, more, a thief little sweeny,

caught almost always with tomcat in the sack?

 (Renditions by George Anca)

 Dr. George Anca