Correspondence to Sky - 2014 -
Mașinile mele de scris țes urzeli de vise, mașinile mele de scris țes scrisori către cer, către îngeri și către sufletele care vor sa ma asculte, scrisori din fire ce atârna de stropi de ploaie, mașinile mele de scris țes țesături din fire de doruri nespuse....
Mașinile mele de scris nu sunt pentru orice fel de scriitor, ele scriu cu litere din alte limbi, limbi vechi și de departe, de acolo de unde s-a înfiripat lumea, de unde Rumi își striga disperarea, dragostea și prea-plinul cupei sale ...
Mașinile mele de scris nu imprima litere ci pictează umbre persane, contururi difuze și culori de apus,
ele pictează mesaje numai pentru cei ce pot sa privească cu ochiul interior și sa citească cu sufletul,
fără preconcepții și șabloane impuse de societate.
Mașinile mele de scris sunt vii într-o lume ce sta sa moara, într-o lume ce își pierde spiritul și spiritualitatea în goana după timp.
Mașinile mele de scris nu au vârsta, naționalitate, religie ori culoare ci doar dorința de dragoste.
Walter Mărăcineanu, 2017, Galeria de Arta UAP Braila, in deschiderea expo. pers. 'Jurnal - Meditatii Spirituale'
... "Ma bucur ca, iata, in aceasta galerie, la Braila, putem sa vedem si altceva decat am mai vazut pana acum. Si vorba lui Dante:”Cand stii multe, si graba iti place.”Iata ca, intr-adevar, stie multe, incearca sa faca multe, incearca sa treaca prin multe. Masina de scris care are taste romanesti, bate litere arabe, bate in persana, dar bate acele nemaipomenite versuri ale poetului persan Rumi. Dintr-o data, face o legatura in timp, intre cei plecati de la noi si ajunsi acolo.Ce este important si ce atrage atentia ?! Artistul in general isi creeaza o lume, artistul incearca sa ia in posesie o realitate, acest om vine si creeaza o realitate foarte diversa, bazandu-se pe ce poate, ce stie, ce ii da replica si pe manevrarea simbolurilor."...
Mașinile mele de scris țes urzeli de vise, mașinile mele de scris țes scrisori către cer, către îngeri și către sufletele care vor sa ma asculte, scrisori din fire ce atârna de stropi de ploaie, mașinile mele de scris țes țesături din fire de doruri nespuse....
Mașinile mele de scris nu sunt pentru orice fel de scriitor, ele scriu cu litere din alte limbi, limbi vechi și de departe, de acolo de unde s-a înfiripat lumea, de unde Rumi își striga disperarea, dragostea și prea-plinul cupei sale ...
Mașinile mele de scris nu imprima litere ci pictează umbre persane, contururi difuze și culori de apus,
ele pictează mesaje numai pentru cei ce pot sa privească cu ochiul interior și sa citească cu sufletul,
fără preconcepții și șabloane impuse de societate.
Mașinile mele de scris sunt vii într-o lume ce sta sa moara, într-o lume ce își pierde spiritul și spiritualitatea în goana după timp.
Mașinile mele de scris nu au vârsta, naționalitate, religie ori culoare ci doar dorința de dragoste.
Walter Mărăcineanu, 2017, Galeria de Arta UAP Braila, in deschiderea expo. pers. 'Jurnal - Meditatii Spirituale'
... "Ma bucur ca, iata, in aceasta galerie, la Braila, putem sa vedem si altceva decat am mai vazut pana acum. Si vorba lui Dante:”Cand stii multe, si graba iti place.”Iata ca, intr-adevar, stie multe, incearca sa faca multe, incearca sa treaca prin multe. Masina de scris care are taste romanesti, bate litere arabe, bate in persana, dar bate acele nemaipomenite versuri ale poetului persan Rumi. Dintr-o data, face o legatura in timp, intre cei plecati de la noi si ajunsi acolo.Ce este important si ce atrage atentia ?! Artistul in general isi creeaza o lume, artistul incearca sa ia in posesie o realitate, acest om vine si creeaza o realitate foarte diversa, bazandu-se pe ce poate, ce stie, ce ii da replica si pe manevrarea simbolurilor."...
My typewriters weave warps of dreams, my typewriters weave letters to heaven,
to angels and to the souls who will listen to me, letters of wires hanging of drops of rain,
my writing machines weave fabrics of unspoken longings' threads ....
My typewriters are not for any kind of writers, they write letters in other languages, ancient languages and from far away, from where world has been intertwined, from where Rumi had cried his despair, his love and his overfilled cup .. .
My typewriters do not print written characters, but they do paint Persian shadows,
diffused contours and the colors of the sunset,
they painted messages only for those who can see with their inner eye and can read with their soul
without preconceptions and patterns imposed by society.
My typewriters are living writing machines in a world that is almost dying,
in a world that is losing its spirit and its spirituality.
My writing machines have no age, no nationality, no religion or a specific kind, but they have only the desire to love.
to angels and to the souls who will listen to me, letters of wires hanging of drops of rain,
my writing machines weave fabrics of unspoken longings' threads ....
My typewriters are not for any kind of writers, they write letters in other languages, ancient languages and from far away, from where world has been intertwined, from where Rumi had cried his despair, his love and his overfilled cup .. .
My typewriters do not print written characters, but they do paint Persian shadows,
diffused contours and the colors of the sunset,
they painted messages only for those who can see with their inner eye and can read with their soul
without preconceptions and patterns imposed by society.
My typewriters are living writing machines in a world that is almost dying,
in a world that is losing its spirit and its spirituality.
My writing machines have no age, no nationality, no religion or a specific kind, but they have only the desire to love.
Rumi, 'Fountain of Fire'
Ghazal 1393 - translated by Nader Khalili
i was dead i came alive
i was tears i became laughter
all because of love
when it arrived
my temporal life from then on
changed to eternal
love said to me
you are not crazy enough
you don't fit this house
i went and became crazy
crazy enough to be in chains
love said you are not
intoxicated enough
you don't fit the group
i went and got drunk
drunk enough to overflow
with light-headedness
love said
you are still too clever
filled with imagination and skepticism
i went and became gullible
and in fright
pulled away from it all
love said
you are a candle attracting everyone
gathering every one around you
i am no more
a candle spreading light
i gather no more crowds
and like smoke
i am all scattered now
love said
you are a teacher you are a head
and for everyone you are a leader
i am no more not a teacher
not a leader
just a servant to your wishes
love said
you already have your own wings
i will not give you more feathers
and then,
my heart pulled itself apart
and filled to the brim with a new light
overflowed with fresh life
now even the heavens are thankful
that
because of love
i have become the giver of light
Ghazal 1393 - translated by Nader Khalili
i was dead i came alive
i was tears i became laughter
all because of love
when it arrived
my temporal life from then on
changed to eternal
love said to me
you are not crazy enough
you don't fit this house
i went and became crazy
crazy enough to be in chains
love said you are not
intoxicated enough
you don't fit the group
i went and got drunk
drunk enough to overflow
with light-headedness
love said
you are still too clever
filled with imagination and skepticism
i went and became gullible
and in fright
pulled away from it all
love said
you are a candle attracting everyone
gathering every one around you
i am no more
a candle spreading light
i gather no more crowds
and like smoke
i am all scattered now
love said
you are a teacher you are a head
and for everyone you are a leader
i am no more not a teacher
not a leader
just a servant to your wishes
love said
you already have your own wings
i will not give you more feathers
and then,
my heart pulled itself apart
and filled to the brim with a new light
overflowed with fresh life
now even the heavens are thankful
that
because of love
i have become the giver of light