sâmbătă, 27 februarie 2016

FRENCH HORIZONS: JEAN-CLAUDE TARDIF


*
Sur la table le soleil traîne.
Je me souviens de la couleur des prunes
sur le lin de la nappe
et du vert amande
qui noyait les yeux du chat
lorsqu’il observait le vent dans la haie.
Un silence printanier s’étirait
dans son grand hamac bleu,
pendant que les heures gouttaient
une à une
dans la bassine de fer au fond du jardin.
Parfois le chat y buvait à petits coups de langue
après avoir griffé l'eau.
Un cri venait à nous,
puis un autre silence
plus profond peut-être
jusqu’au premier roucoulement de tourterelles
qui s’évadait du pigeonnier.

*
Un trait bleu, l’autre jaune,
la petite fille a grandi.
Elle ne se balance plus
sur la barrière du corps-de-garde,
et les flaques désormais
sont trop minces pour retenir
son reflet.
Mes cheveux, maintenant,
jouent avec l’hiver
et les ornières du chemin
qui reste.
Parfois elle m’y accompagne
d’un mot ou d’un souvenir,
il me semble alors que le temps
se rebrousse.

*
Pe masă soarele trenează
Îmi amintesc culoarea prunelor
pe  suprafaţa feţei de masă
şi de verdele migdalat
care îneca ochii pisicii
când el observa vântul prin gardul viu.
O tăcere primăvăratică se întindea
în marele lui hamac albastru,
pe când orele picurau
una câte una
în bazinul metalic din fundul grădinii.
Uneori pisica bea de acolo cu înghiţituri mici
după ce zgâriase apa.
Un strigăt venea până la noi,
apoi o altă tăcere
mai adâncă poate
până la primul gângurit al turturelelor
care evadau din colivia lor.

*
O dâră albastră, alta galbenă,
fetiţa s-a făcut mare.
Nu se mai dă în leagăn
pe bariera corpului de gardă,
şi băltoacele uneori
sunt prea subţiri pentru a reţine
oglindirea ei.
Părul meu, acum,
se joacă cu iarna
şi cu făgaşul drumului
ce rămâne.
Uneori ea mă însoţeşte
cu o vorbă sau cu o amintire,
îmi pare atunci că timpul
se întoarce.

Cultural Profile

   Jean-Claude Tardif (born 1963, Rennes) is a French poet, writer, publisher and cultural animator, also known as the editor of A l’index journal. In his opinion, “poetry is – above all – communication”. He recently participated in a poetry reading in Bordeaux (“Le Printemps des Poètes’, March 2014). He is a very prolific author who has published several books of poetry, short prose and novels so far: "De la vie lente" (1999), "L’Homme de peu" (2002), "Bestiaire de poche et d’ailleurs" (2003), "Bestiaire improbable" (2011), "Bestiaire minuscule" (2013), "La Nada”, "Six nouvelles pour l’Espagnol" (2009), "Post-scriptum au chien noir" (2012), "La Vie blanchit" (2014) etc.
     Jean-Claude Tardif est notre ami et collaborateur honoraire depuis 2014.

Profil cultural

     Jean-Claude Tardif (născut în 1963, la Rennes) este un poet, prozator, publicist şi animator cultural, cunoscut de asemenea şi în calitate de redactor şef al revistei “A l’index”. În opinia sa, “poezia este – mai presus de toate – comunicare”. Recent şi-a expus creaţia în faţa publicului local din Bordeaux (“Primăvara poeţilor”, martie 2014). Este un autor foarte prolific. Cărţi publicate (poezie, proză scurtă, romane): "Despre viaţa lentă" (1999), "Omul modic" (2002), "Bestiar de buzunar şi de altfel" (2003), "Bestiar improbabil" (2011), "Bestiar minuscul" (2013), "La Nada”, "Şase nuvele pentru Spaniol" (2009), "Post-scriptum la câinele negru" (2012), "Viaţa se albeşte" (2014) etc.
     Jean-Claude Tardif este prietenul şi colaboratorul nostru onorific din 2014.

Traducere de Daniel Dragomirescu

marți, 23 februarie 2016

ORIZONT LITERAR CONTEMPORAN 1 (51) / IANUARIE - FEBRUARIE 2016


CONTENTS. CUPRINS

EDITORIAL
Daniel Dragomirescu, “O privire retrospectivă. A Retrospective View”
ORIZONTURI CRITICE. CRITICAL HORIZONS
Mike Bannister, “Love and War in Worcestershire (1)”
Donald Riggs, “Bricolage with Words”
Ronnie Smith, “From the Middle East to Europe, the First Crusade in Reverse”
Gilvaldo Quinzeiro, “A criação que não foi obra de Deus”
Andréia Franco, “A informação e a contra- informação”
Anna Rossell, “Caminante, no hay camino...”
Eduardo Sanguinetti, “Una Argentina violente”
ORIZONTURI EPICE. NARRATIVE HORIZONS
Felix Martín Arencibia
Luis Benítez
Arturo Hernández Fuentes
Alexander Kudera
Daniel Dragomirescu
Ioana Gabriela Apetrei
ORIZONTURI POETICE. POETIC HORIZONS
Kamelia Spassova (Bulgaria)
Monica Manolachi (România)
Roxana Doncu (România)
Daniela Şontică (România)
Mihai Cantuniari (România)
Geo Vasile (România)
Daniel Bărbulescu (România)
Peter Storey (Australia)
John Tischer (Mexico – US)
Paul Mein (UK)
Portia Burton (UK)
Charlotte McDermott (UK)
Ludvig Holmdahl (Sweden)
Jean Claude Tardif (France)
Marina Centeno (Mexico)
J. Alfredo Cisneros de Jésus (Mexico)
Lea Diaz (Spain – US)
Leonor Tissie Garrido (Chile)
Anna Francisca Rodas Iglesias (Colombia)
Robério Barreto (Brazil)
Michela Zanarella (Italy)
Claudio Sottocornola (Italy)
Ettore Fobo (Italy)
INTERVIURI. INTERVIEWS (THE ROMANIAN VERSIONS)
Niza Todaro – Virginia Patrone (Uruguay)
Carmen Troncoso – Alfredo Perez Alencart (Chile)
EVENIMENTE. EVENTS
“Breaking News: Bibliotheca Universalis (62 – 70)”

BE PATIENT, PLEASE! COMING IN MARCH 2016

duminică, 14 februarie 2016

HORIZONTES INTERCULTURALES. INTERCULTURAL HORIZONS


En una tienda del campo

por Daniel Dragomirescu

...En esos años, las colas frente a los almacenes hacían parte del paisaje de nuestras vidas cotidianas. Con ellas nacimos y vivimos muchas generaciones y creo que la mayoría de nosotros las consideramos igual de inmortales como el sistema político cuyas marcas emblemáticas eran y de las cuales no podían separarse. La primera cola que recuerdo haber visto fue a los tres años en una pequeña tienda de C., un pueblo eminentemente gitano, cerca del monasterio Pasărea*, de la orilla del lago con el mismo nombre. No recuerdo exactamente si venía o me iba de ahí, pero esto tiene menos importancia. Quizás habíamos venido especialmente para comprar algo o quizás estábamos sólo de paso. Era verano, hacía mucho calor y frente a la puerta de la entrada de la tienda había un montón de gente, cosa que me llamó la atención como algo menos habitual. El vendedor no se veía, probablemente estaba adentro, detrás del mostrador, y al parecer lo único que vendía, generando automáticamente ese hacinamiento, eran unas galletas sueltas como unas tablillas rectangulares y adornadas, las habituales galletas populares, de buen sabor (si estaban frescas), pero que por culpa de la pobreza no las podías encontrar casi nunca, cada día o en cualquier lugar (en cualquier tienda de comestibles). Y mira que sucedió que una tienda campestre tuviera, precisamente en ese día de verano, lo que no se encontraba fácilmente ni siquiera en Bucarest, una situación aparentemente paradójica, con la cual, a medida que pasaban los quinquenales, la gente se encontraba cada vez más seguido: encontrabas botas de agua en la estación F.C. de Lehliu, crema de afeitar o pasta dentífrica de Urziceni, libros agotados en las librerías de la capital en una cooperativa de Brănești y motocicleta con sidecar en la cooperativa de Vidra… Creo que ese era el motivo por el cual entre los que hacían la cola se  se encontraban también unos bucarestinos, señores y señoras, también encontrándose por ahí de paso, después de haber bajado del coche de carrera para ir de visita al monasterio. Conmigo en brazos, mi padre se puso en la fila, pero la cola avanzaba como cualquier cola, muy lentamente. Los que salían de la tienda eran pocos y escasos y la cola parecía larga e interminable, como siempre en el campo, y muy desordenada: a cual más se abría paso a codazos y empujaba a la gente de alrededor, para llegar más rápido a la puerta de la tienda. Algunos, sin tomar en cuenta la fila, se metían en frente de los demás y llegaban a ser servidos y después salían con una bolsa de galletas populares en los brazos, con una sonrisa triunfadora casi incontrolable. Por lo visto, se daba sólo una cantidad limitada por persona, aún así el miedo de que la mercancía buena y rara se terminara exactamente cuando te tocaba, era realmente justificada. No sabía contar en ese entonces, pero desde los brazos de mi padre veía la multitud de gente alrededor de la entrada de la tienda y el antojo de ronzar galletas populares me volvían cada vez más impaciente. Era algo nuevo para mí también, lo creo. Hasta entonces en nuestro campo no tenía que empujarme no tenía que empujar a mi hermano o a otra persona (mi abuelo) y no tenía que esperar hasta que mi madre me diera de comer, y en el almacén del pueblo, donde el hacinamiento del mostrador tenía que estar al día, aún no había sido mandado porque estaba demasiado pequeño.      

Así que estaba mirando con los ojos grandes a la gente amontonada en la entrada de la tienda de Cozieni y sudaba y temblaba de inquietud e impaciencia. Pero mi padre esperaba pacientemente su turno y avanzaba paso a paso. Había atardecido y la luna ya estaba en el cielo cuando nos tocó, y detrás de nosotros la cola no se había disminuido para nada. Tuvimos suerte de que el coche de carga trajera suficientes cajas con galletas populares, producidos en la Fábrica "La Espiga" de Bucarest, en la tienda del pueblo y probablemente después iba a correr mucha agua en el río Dâmbovița hasta que el coche de abastecimiento llegara de nuevo, por muy grande que hubiera sido el pedido de galletas de los nativos de la antigua hacienda del monasterio Pasărea. Con la cara llena de gotas de sudor y satisfacción, mi padre puso en mis brazos la bolsa, de color ceniza,  llena de galletas y se abrió paso entre la muchedumbre, diciéndome que las comiera a todas. Eso fue justamente lo que hice, pero por primera vez en mi vida empecé a entender que vivíamos en un mundo donde las colas eran obligatorias en cualquier tienda donde se vendía algo.


     Nota: En traducción el nombre del monasterio es Pájaro, porque de acuerdo a una leyenda los monjes del Monasterio de Cernica han fundado (en 1811) este monasterio de monjas siguiendo el vuelo de un pájaro, un símbolo bien conocido del Espiritu Santo.

(fragmento de la novela “Hombres y marionetas”, en preparación)

Traducere de Ana-Maria Voicu
At a country shop

In those times queueing in front of the shops was part of our daily life. We were born and used to live with these queues for many generations and I think most of us considered them as everlasting as the socio-political regime which they stood for and from which they could not be separated.
The first queue I remember seeing was when I was about three years old, in a small shop from C., a genuine gipsy village, near Pasarea monastery, on the shores of the lake bearing the same name.
I do not recall exactly whether we were on the verge of arriving or leaving that village but this matters less. Perhaps we had come purposedly to buy something or maybe we were just passing by. It was summer and hot, and in front of the shop entrance there were lots of people, a fact which caught my attention as a bit odd.  The salesman was nowhere to be seen, perhaps he was inside, behind the counter, and it looked like all he had to sell were some bulk crackers, of a rectangular shape with fringed margins, the customary traditionally tasty (if freshly baked) crackers, which were difficult to find anywhere (in any food store), in those days of scarcity.
But right on that summer day, it happened that a village shop had on sale what one could not easily find even in Bucharest; an apparently paradoxical situation that people would come across more often during those quinquennials: one would find rubber boots in Lehliu Gara, shaving cream or toothpaste in Urziceni, books otherwise out of stock in the capital city’s bookshops would be found in a village cooperative in Branesti and sidecar motorcycles in Vidra...
I think this was the reason why among the queueing crowd there were some Bucharest folk, gentlemen and ladies, just passing by, who had jumped off their racing cars for a visit to the monastery.
Carrying me in his arms, my father was also queueing, but the queue went forward at a snail's pace, just as queues usually do. Those who came out of the shop were few and far between, and the queue seemed long and endless, and as always in the countryside it was very chaotic: people elbowing and pushing each other in eager rivalry to be the first to reach the shop's entrance.
Some of them, ignoring the order, would go in front of the others and managed to get served, so afterwards got out of the shop holding the cracker bag in their arms, hardly disguising a triumphant smile.
Apparently they were selling only limited quantities per person, but the fear that the good and rare merchandise would be finished just when your turn came was more than justified.
At that age I could not count, but  I could watch the human mayhem around the shop's entrance and my craving for crunching the popular crackers made me more anxious.  I think it was something new for me as well. Until then, in our home village, I did not have to shove my brother or anyone else (my grandfather) and wait until mother would feed me, as for the village shop, where the overcrowding in front of the counter must have been customary, I had not tried it as I was too small to be sent for shopping at that time.
So I was just looking with big round eyes at the people in front of the Cozieni village shop entrance, and I was sweating and trembling with excitement and impatience.
But my father was queueing patiently, taking one step forward after the other. It was getting darker and the moon was up in the sky when our turn came and behind us the queue was not getting smaller at all. We were lucky that the supply truck had brought to the village shop enough boxes with popular crackers, made by 'Spicul' bakery in Bucharest; most probably there would be a long time before the supply car would show up again, in spite of the high demand for popular crackers among those living on the former estate of Pasarea monastery.
With a sweaty yet satisfied face, while pushing his way out of the crowd, my father thrust the grey bag full of crackers in my arms telling me I could eat them all. This was exactly what I did, but for the first time in my life I began to understand I was living in a world where queueing was mandatory at every shop which had anything for sale.

 (fragment from the novel "Men and Puppets" - work in progress)

Traducere de Irina Secărescu
Corectură de Roxana Doncu



marți, 9 februarie 2016

NEW! CLH EDITORIAL TEAM IN 2016


ECHIPA REDACŢIONALĂ A REVISTEI
“ORIZONT LITERAR CONTEMPORAN”
CLH EDITORIAL TEAM

REDACŢIA ROMÂNEASCĂ. ROMANIAN EDITORIAL TEAM

Directori onorifici. Honorary Directors
Mihai Cantuniari
Tatiana Rădulescu

Redactor şef. Editor-in-Chief
Daniel Dragomirescu

Redactori. Editors
Roxana Doncu
Monica Manolachi
Ronnie Smith
Leonard Ciureanu

Redactori colaboratori (traduceri)
Daniela Şontică
Iulia Andreea Anghel
Iulian Trandafir
Daniel Bărbulescu
Ioana Tabarcea
Ioana Agafiţei
Alexandra Diana Mircea
Ioana Săbău
Ana Maria Voicu
Aurelia Voicu
Zenovia Popa
Irina Secărescu
Mădălina Gane
Sînziana Mihalache
Andrei Radu Bîrsan

REDACŢIA INTERNAŢIONALĂ. INTERNATIONAL EDITORIAL TEAM
Directori onorifici. Honorary directors
Caroline Gill (UK)
Peter Thabit Jones (UK)
Raymond Walden (Germany)
Donald Riggs (US)
Luís Benitez (Argentina)
Andrés Morales (Chile)
Dante Gatto (Brazil)
Gilvaldo Quinzeiro (Brazil)

Redactori onorifici. Honorary contributors
UNIUNEA EUROPEANĂ. EUROPEAN UNION
Regatul Unit. United Kingdom
David Gill, Neil Leadbeater, Morelle Smith, Anne Stewart, Douglas Lipton, Mike Bannister, Martin Bates, Katherine Gallagher, Paul Mein, Paul Sutherland, Graham Fulton, Sally Evans, Portia Burton, Charlotte McDermott

Spania. Spain
Juana Castillo, Anna Rossell, Rocio Espinosa Herrera, Antonio Arroyo, Felix Martín Arencibia, Isa Guerra, Julia Gil Lopez, Lea Díaz, Luis Ángel Marín Ibáñez, Beatriz Giovanna Ramírez, Aquiles García Brito

Italia. Italy
Michela Zanarella, Marianna Piani, Ettore Fobo, Claudio Sottocornola, Lena Vanelslander, Leone D’Ambrosio, Lidia Borghi, Carla Delmiglio, Calogero Restivo, Patrizia Boi

Portugalia. Portugal
Antonio M. R. Martins

Olanda. The Netherlands
Catharina Boer, Albert Hagenaars, Kees van Meel, Peter Rijk (Ezra de Haan)

Croaţia. Croatia
Željka Lovrencić, Tomislav Marijan Bilosnić, Ružica Cindori

Bulgaria
Kamelia Spassova

Franţa. France
Jean Taillabresse, Jean Claude Tardif, Catherine Rakose

Germania. Germany
Matthias Erdbeer

Suedia. Sweden
Ludvig Holmdahl

Finlanda. Finland
Donald Adamson, Rita Dahl

Cipru. Cyprus
Sonia Kilvington

AMERICA DE NORD. NORTH AMERICA
Statele Unite. United States
Alexander Kudera, Burt Rashbaum, Peggy Landsman, Valerie Fox, Yvonne Dupont, Elena Malec, Mike Foldes, MaryAnn McCara Fitzpatrick, Alan Segal, Victor P. Gendrano, Daniel Montoly, Michael Essig

Canada
Masud Khan, A. Augusta, Paul T. E. Cusack, Nancy Hawker

AMERICA CENTRALĂ ŞI DE SUD. CENTRAL AND SOUTH AMERICA
Mexic. Mexico
Marina Centeno, John Tischer, Alina Velazco, Arturo Hernández Fuentes

Columbia
Anna Francisca Rodas Iglesias, Rodolfo Chavez Mercado

Peru
Mirian Caloretti Castillo

Brazilia. Brazil
Vogaluz Miranda, Andréia Franco, Alan Gomes, Oziella Inocêncio, Edmundo Gaudêncio, Taís Martins, Casciano Lopes, Paulo Mielmiczuk, Lana Mattos, Diogo Carvalho Nascimento

Uruguay
Niza Todaro, Virginia Patrone, Carlos V. Gutíerrez, Marcela Meirelles

Argentina
Martín Sosa Cameron, Eduardo Sanguinetti, Sonia Rabinovich, Nedda González Nuñez, Jorge Dipré

Chile
Carmen Troncoso, Astrid Fugellie, Theodoro Elssaca, Ingrid Odgers, Ricardo Aburto Ramirez

ORIENTUL APROPIAT
Israel
Edith Lomovasky Goel, Rudy Spillman

AFRICA
Tunisia
Chokri Omri

Nigeria
Abiola Olatunde

Angola
Luciano Canhanga

Kenya
Cathy Mimano

ASIA
India
Trishita Banerjee, V. Bhuvanan, Nazia Mallick, Vinisha Nambiar

Iran
Nazi Gholi

Gilgit Baltistan (Pakistan)
Manzoor Parwana

Japonia. Japan
Keiko Amano

AUSTRALIA
Peter Storey, Bob Georgeson, Daniel Ioniţă


Directori onorifici post mortem. Post Mortem Honorary Directors

Manuel Ameneiros González - Mexic. Mexico (1949 - 2013), 
Hans van de Waarsenburg - Olanda. The Netherlands (1943 - 2015)


Bucureşti, februarie 2016. Bucharest, February 2016

CLH - ALL THE WORLD IN A JOURNAL
FOLLOW US!

sâmbătă, 6 februarie 2016

CONTEMPORARY HORIZONS: DANIEL BĂRBULESCU (ROMANIA)


A şaptea lume, adunată, 
despre teoria paşilor şi dreptul divin la conjugare

Început: dă-i îngerului suflet şi se împiedică
pasul e cu şapte lumi mai greu decât aripa
căci sufletul puțin rămâne în paşi
pe unde iubim pe unde pierdem
pe unde ne ridicăm apăsat
în bumerang
spre alții şi în apoi

Atenționare: Eu nu beau vodcă!
Din nou, justificare în formă liberă: Trebuie să fie adevăr!

Revenire (a şaptea lume, plină, despre pierderea emoției; NOI...): vorbim vorbim vorbim vorbim vorbim vorbim
suntem oameni

tu vorbeşti
el vorbeşte
ea vorbeşte să nu-i rămână sunetele stârv
voi vorbiți
ei vorbesc
ele la fel

Sfârşit: eu am în mine şase lumi
şi tac în fiecare

The seventh world, gathered – 
on the theory of steps and the divine right to conjugate

The beginning: give a soul to an angel and it will stumble
a step is seven worlds heavier than a wing
for the soul lingers a little in our steps
where we love where we fail
where we ascend heavily
back and forth
towards others and everywhere in between

Warning: I don’t drink vodka!
Again, an open form of justification: There has to be truth!

Recommencement (the seventh world, full, on the loss of emotion; WE…): talk talk talk talk talk talk
we’re humans

you talk
he talks
she talks to enliven her sounds
you talk
they talk
still

The end: I carry six worlds in me
and I remain silent in all of them

Traducere în limba engleză de Ioana Agafiţei
Universitatea din Bucureşti

Profil cultural


Daniel Bărbulescu este un poet, traducător şi colaborator al revistei “Orizont literar contemporan”. A debutat cu un grupaj de versuri în nr. 3 / 2014. Pregăteşte un volum de debut poetic, în engleză şi în română, care va fi publicat în cadrul colecţiei “Bibliotheca Universalis”. Creaţia sa probează originalitate şi o certă vocaţie poetică.


Prezentare de Daniel Dragomirescu