“Judging by our level of civilization at the end of the thirty historical years of” transition “that we have completed, I am inclined to believe that the greatest Wallachian pedagogue in Romania was a poet who wrote involuntary verses in his youth.
When I say “Wallachian pedagogue”, I have in mind a person who, in the last decades, marked the Romanian population in the Danube Plain (what the Transylvanians generically call “the South”) through a model of irradiant behavior, characterized by cultivating vulgarity, stubbornness. naughty and infatuated, of lucrative cabotinism, of worshiping the life of profit made at the price of boundless shamelessness. The fact that such an individual aspired to the rank of “symbol of the revolution” gives the measure of how what began in the winter of ʼ89 as an act of dignity and sacrifice ended, through his contribution, as a prostitute of history. Rarely are you allowed to see the categories of life more cruelly caricatured by a single person, it rarely happens that the “fatal half” of the world escapes more joyfully out of control. Few people, in the last decades, have weakened so much, through their deeds, the moral being of the Romanians, planting in them the belief that they are doomed to live in a poor and populated universe with crooked people.
Around ʼ90, the poet enters the role of official dissident, but everything he does (and especially how he does) in the days of the December revolution and still forces us to resort to scenarios behind the scenes even today. One day he may find out that he was part of the casting of a historical cacialmale, that he was the agent of transforming a sublime moment into a farce. For has anyone ever seen a dissident who, supposedly driven by noble virtues, threw himself into the battle with Evil, and then indulged in ordinary gossip?
It is certain that, instead of the character haunted by the aura of the dissident, the scandal-monger, the star, the mitocan, the poftangiu, a hysterical clown inhabited by the passion of the head, appeared on the ramp. He begins in the new time of history, imagining that everything is allowed. His first concern is to change an apartment in Dorobanti Square on a large villa on Aviatorilor Boulevard, attributed years ago to a nomenclaturist from the lineage of Elena Ceausescu’s protégés. He moved to a damned villa, not caring about “what the world would say” and not being tired of the air he was going to breathe there. Then, as the new head of the Writers’ Union, he tried to hijack a printing house donated by the German state to the Romanian scholars for his own benefit. The scandal that broke out swept him from the head of the Union “, writes the philosopher, on Contributors.ro.–
He continues: “He had no modesty. At the book launches, he appeared in the company of the fiddler’s trumpet, the dissonances of which he had enjoyed until dawn. With the same ease, in Cotroceni, he asked the president to intervene “where it should” so that, on the map of local tourism, there should be a stop for groups of foreign visitors to his estate on the Danube bank.
The feeling that this “inverted syllable” from the book of humanity leaves you is that it was born to demonstrate how clumsy and misleading an individual’s gesture on the public stage can be. While a colleague was making the “Sighet Memorial”, he reinvented Romanian cuisine, proposing to people on TV to put orange juice in stews and beets in peasant sausages.
It has only one merit: after the 1990s, it never gave more than it was. He was not “an impostor in virtuous clothes.” He assumed the position of a funny scoundrel, dressed as such, spoke as such, behaved as such, turning his car key ring on the policeman, sprinkling slander and jumping at anyone, despising rules. and laws, driving the car with his right hand on the brandy bottle and laying a spit-seeded carpet between the clutch and the accelerator.
In the shabby history of these years will remain the man who taught the Romanian people, with grace and verve, old age, transforming the aesthetics and morals of the slum into a community lifestyle “, concludes the director of Humanitas publishing house.
Ana Blandiana recounts in her book a diplomatic lunch from 1990, in the presence of the French Minister of Foreign Affairs Roland Dumas, together with Doina Cornea, Ion Caramitru and Mircea Dinescu. Dumas asked “if it is known who the young people who died at the Intercontinental were”, and Mircea Dinescu would have answered ironically: “Hitlerjungend / Hitler’s youth”.
“On one of the mornings of that beginning, difficult for the world to understand, which was January 1990, I attended the first and, incidentally, the last diplomatic breakfast of my life. French Foreign Minister Rland Dumas had arrived in Bucharest for less than 24 hours, and the first scheduled meeting was with some well-known opponents of the old regime. Doina Cornea, Mircea Dinescu, Ion Caramitru and I were invited “, writes Ana Blandiana in the volume of memories.
In reply, Mircea Dinescu published on Facebook that Ana Blandiana “ticks” in the book “the image of the envious monster on the posthumous glory of those children who would make an unfair competition beyond the grave”. He states that “Ana Blandiana’s hobby of playing one or two forbidden” is a “habit from which she managed to publish a wheelbarrow until the last year of Arpagic Cat’s life”, stressing in In the end, the writer “only now thought of recovering her scalded conscience and scraping Andrei’s father.” He concludes the story with the formula: “Sărumîna, năşică!”, Ana Blandiana being the godmother of Mircea Dinescu’s son.
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