{"id":16184,"date":"2026-09-07T09:47:14","date_gmt":"2026-09-07T06:47:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/?p=16184"},"modified":"2026-09-07T11:26:31","modified_gmt":"2026-09-07T08:26:31","slug":"se-lasa-tacerea-intermezzo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/?p=16184","title":{"rendered":"Se las\u0103 t\u0103cerea (intermezzo)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.<\/em>
Robert Frost
<\/pre>\n\n\n
\n
\"\"
James Baldwin, Giovanni\u2019s Room, <\/em>Penguin Random House, London, 2025<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n
Cum \u00eemi imaginez c\u0103 toate lucrurile (sau aproape toate lucrurile, dar fac aceast\u0103 generalizare de dragul \u00eenceputului unei argumenta\u021bii care se vrea a fi inteligent\u0103, dar care-n acest moment nu \u0219tie dac\u0103-i va ie\u0219i sau ba) au o mam\u0103 \u0219i-un tat\u0103, adic\u0103 ceea ce-n genere s-ar numi p\u0103rin\u021bi, atunci a\u0219 \u00eendr\u0103zni s\u0103 spun c\u0103 \u0219i literatura are a\u0219a ceva (asta-n cazul \u00een care n-a r\u0103mas \u00eentre timp orfan\u0103 \u2013 e foarte posibil \u2013 sau dac\u0103 n-a ap\u0103rut \u0219i ea, ca lumea, dup\u0103 Big Bang, dar \u0219i-n situa\u021bia aia pur atee ar trebui s\u0103 ne supunem mersului lucrurilor \u0219i s\u0103 invent\u0103m o religie care totu\u0219i s-o explice, fiindc\u0103 nu prea exist\u0103 sc\u0103pare prin u\u0219i din dos). Dar fiindc\u0103 istoria personal\u0103 a literaturii este mult mai lung\u0103 dec\u00e2t aceast\u0103 prim\u0103 fraz\u0103 care a reu\u0219it s\u0103 nu se \u00eenece \u00eenc\u0103 \u00een propria-i lungime, mi-a\u0219 \u00eendrepta aten\u021bia spre maternitatea literaturii (\u0219i fiindu-i geneza at\u00e2ta de  \u00eendep\u0103rtat\u0103 \u0219i paternitatea at\u00e2ta de u\u0219or chestionabil\u0103, m\u0103 rezum la figura matern\u0103), a\u0219a \u00eenc\u00e2t se impune de la sine o \u00eentrebare: a cui e literatura? O fi a unui preaplin a imagina\u021biei min\u021bii deosebit de fertile a fiin\u021bei omene\u0219ti (\u0219colarii con\u0219tiincio\u0219i tremur\u0103 de emo\u021bie \u00een fa\u021ba acestei variante), o fi a unei prea-fragile suferin\u021be a sufletului omenesc (mai cur\u00e2nd), o fi a suferin\u021bei imaginare sau a imagina\u021biei suferin\u021bei, cine ar putea spune cu exactitate? Clar nu eu. C\u00e2nd m\u0103 uit totu\u0219i la literatura lui James Baldwin, c\u0103ci la el trebuia s\u0103 ajung prin divaga\u021biile astea interminabile, sau c\u00e2nd ea se uit\u0103 la mine, parc\u0103-mi vine s\u0103 spun m\u0103car c\u0103 moa\u0219a literaturii e ru\u0219inea. Sau vinov\u0103\u021bia. Sau ambele sau niciunele.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00cens\u0103 nici acum nu m\u0103 pot sp\u0103la pe m\u00e2ini, declar\u00e2ndu-m\u0103 nevinovat\u0103. Nu pot pleca \u00eenc\u0103 acas\u0103. Alors, en avant.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Poate c\u0103 ceea ce \u021bine laolalt\u0103 suferin\u021ba, ru\u0219inea, vinov\u0103\u021bia \u0219i imagina\u021bia \u0219i le \u00eempiedic\u0103 m\u0103mos s\u0103 nu alunece, a\u0219a cum adeseori au tendin\u021ba, \u00eentr-un melodramatism dulceag \u0219i siropos, e onestitatea, iar Baldwin e onest p\u00e2n\u0103-n m\u0103duva oaselor, e onest cum foarte rar reu\u0219e\u0219te cineva s\u0103 fie \u0219i cum \u00eenc\u0103 \u0219i mai rar reu\u0219e\u0219te cineva s\u0103 fie \u00een scris[1]<\/strong><\/a>.<\/em> E drept \u0219i ca onestitatea asta \u2013 combinat\u0103, \u00een mod straniu sau nu chiar, cu o dragoste parc\u0103 f\u0103r\u0103 rest fa\u021b\u0103 de lume[2]<\/a> \u2013 \u0219i care-i o dragoste \u00eenv\u0103\u021bat\u0103 \u0219i exersat\u0103, adic\u0103 con\u0219tient\u0103, articulat\u0103 \u0219i \u00eentrupat\u0103 dintr-o alegere<\/em>, adic\u0103 mai pur\u0103, tocmai pentru c\u0103 nu vine din inocen\u021b\u0103, care are privirea scurt\u0103, ca fericirea, ci din suferin\u021b\u0103 \u2013 seam\u0103n\u0103 cu o gimnast\u0103 sau e mai degrab\u0103 o suflare care trece din via\u021b\u0103 \u00een literatur\u0103 \u0219i din literatur\u0103 \u00een via\u021ba, iar \u00een trecerile astea continue ale ei ajunge la noi sub forma unui stil foarte particular, care \u0219tiu \u00eenc\u0103 de pe acum c\u0103-i suficient de \u00een\u021belept \u00eenc\u00e2t s\u0103 nu se lase capturat de ghearele hiper-ra\u021bionale ale min\u021bii mele. Nu se las\u0103 capturat pentru c\u0103 a \u00eenv\u0103\u021bat \u00een peregrin\u0103rile lui subtila art\u0103 a camufl\u0103rii. Bref<\/em>, (la) Baldwin (se) trece din criptele labirintice ale sufletului (sau ale vie\u021bii telle quelle<\/em>; parc\u0103 sufletu-i cam prea aerat) \u00een scriptele care se vor a fi curate (\u00eentr-un sens care nu \u021bine de bine \u0219i de r\u0103u) \u0219i care caut\u0103 ceva<\/em>. Ce <\/em>anume caut\u0103 \u0219i cum <\/em>anume \u00eel caut\u0103, r\u0103m\u00e2ne de v\u0103zut. Cheia cred c\u0103 ne-au dat-o cele dou\u0103 versuri simple \u0219i timide \u0219i adev\u0103rate, \u00eengem\u0103nate cu un haiku, dar desp\u0103r\u021bite la na\u0219tere, ale lui Robert Frost, care parc\u0103 poart\u0103-n bra\u021be poetica romanului despre care o s\u0103 vorbesc.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ca s\u0103 evit riscul de a m\u0103 pierde pe drum \u0219i de a p\u0103li \u00een fa\u021ba posibilit\u0103\u021bilor con\u021binute de bifurca\u021bia potecilor din fa\u021ba mea, las deoparte nonfic\u021biunea lui Baldwin, iar la fic\u021biune m\u0103 opresc la Giovanni\u2019s Room<\/em>, de care m\u0103 apropii acum pentru c\u0103 ceva din ea cere s\u0103 fie discutat. Sau poate c\u0103 nu e a\u0219a \u0219i trec printr-o psihoz\u0103, iar dac\u0103 la sf\u00e2r\u0219it se dovede\u0219te c\u0103 varianta din urm\u0103 e cea real\u0103, atunci \u00eemi cer iertare de pe acum. De c\u0103it, m\u0103 c\u0103iesc mai \u00eencolo. \u00cen fine, ce voiam s\u0103 spun e c\u0103 \u00een textul \u0103sta relativ scurt, dar dens, exist\u0103 un centru, \u00eens\u0103 nu \u00een\u021beleg neap\u0103rat acest centru ca fiind un posibil nucleu de sens care, odat\u0103 dezgropat, lumineaz\u0103 \u00eentreaga istorie \u0219i o leag\u0103, ci \u00eel v\u0103d mai degrab\u0103 ca pe-un centru de greutate care nu-i musai \u00eengreunat <\/em>de sens, dar care este totu\u0219i un punct \u00een jurul c\u0103ruia graviteaz\u0103 \u00eentregul text \u0219i care, odat\u0103 descoperit, ajunge s\u0103 cure\u021be textul \u2013 \u0219i personajele \u2013 de impurit\u0103\u021bile pe care le poart\u0103. Textul adulmec\u0103 acest centru, \u00eei d\u0103 t\u00e2rcoale, patruleaz\u0103 \u00een perimetrul s\u0103u aproximativ \u0219i doar fulgurant reu\u0219e\u0219te s\u0103-l g\u0103seasc\u0103 cu adev\u0103rat, c\u0103 imediat dispare sau se sustrage privirii (r\u0103m\u00e2n\u00e2nd totu\u0219i nemi\u0219cat; ochii no\u0219tri \u0219i ochii textului, \u00een unele momente, orbesc de-a dreptul). \u00cel curteaz\u0103 chiar, dar nu p\u00e2n\u0103 la cap\u0103t, nu pentru c\u0103 nu ar vrea s\u0103-l c\u00e2\u0219tige astfel, ci pentru c\u0103 nu are de-a face cu o curtezan\u0103 care s\u0103 se lase at\u00e2t de u\u0219or sedus\u0103. E nevoie de munc\u0103 \u0219i sudoare. Nu \u0219tiu exact ce este acest punct (ba totu\u0219i cred c\u0103 intuiesc, dar nu vreau s\u0103-l dezvelesc chiar acum), dar ce \u0219tiu este c\u0103 el structureaz\u0103 \u0219i dicteaz\u0103 alc\u0103tuirea molecular\u0103 a scriiturii lui Baldwin: \u0219i la nivel ideatic, \u0219i la nivel stilistic. Carnea \u2013 care-s ideile \u2013 se va a\u0219eza cum se cuvine <\/em>numai pe-o osatur\u0103 \u2013 care-i stilul \u2013 potrivit\u0103: <\/em>una nu poate exista \u00een absen\u021ba celeilalte \u0219i tocmai din acest motiv de ordin (s\u0103-i spunem) anatomic ne d\u0103m seama c\u0103 nu avem \u00een fa\u021ba ochilor un monstru diform sau un trup anorectic, ci dimpotriv\u0103. E \u0219i un soi de voluptate[3]<\/a>, care eman\u0103 din povestea asta care-i deopotriv\u0103 lichid\u0103 \u0219i languroas\u0103, dar \u0219i compact\u0103 \u0219i re\u021binut\u0103. Nici m\u0103car nu-i voluptoas\u0103 pentru c-a ales s\u0103 vorbeasc\u0103 despre dragoste \u2013 \u00een fine, despre imposibilitatea \u0219i indisponibilitatea ei \u2013; putea vorbi despre orice, numai s\u0103 vorbeasc\u0103.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
De altfel, e o treab\u0103 ciudat\u0103 asta cu rostirea \u0219i ea are leg\u0103tur\u0103 cu mi\u0219carea serpentin\u0103 \u0219i concentric\u0103 \u00een jurul acestui punct despre care tot vorbesc \u0219i eu, un punct care nu se dezv\u0103luie pentru c\u0103 nu vrea \u00eenc\u0103 s\u0103 se rosteasc\u0103<\/em>: a\u0219teapt\u0103 finalul romanului, care \u00eens\u0103 nu e \u0219i finalul pove\u0219tii, cel mai probabil, dar e finalul fragmentului de poveste la care avem permisiunea s\u0103 asist\u0103m. \u00cen momentul \u00een care va fi rostit \u0219i se va rosti pe sine, lumea nu va mai avea de ales dec\u00e2t s\u0103 se schimbe \u00een conformitate cu ceea ce tocmai a fost spus. Nu este o alegere, ci este o obliga\u021bie <\/em>de a te supune acestui centru, astfel \u00eenc\u00e2t \u0103sta este \u0219i unul dintre motivele pentru care cuvintele \u00eensele merg cu grij\u0103 \u00een jurul lui (chiar dac\u0103-s \u00eensetate s\u0103 \u0219tie <\/em>ce-i cu el): sunt con\u0219tiente de riscul iminent al unei explozii. E bomba care, dac\u0103 se detoneaz\u0103 \u00eenainte de vreme, anume atunci c\u00e2nd ne trezim dinaintea ei nepreg\u0103ti\u021bi, ne desfigureaz\u0103 definitiv \u2013 \u00een asta const\u0103 pericolul. David dac\u0103 n-o \u0219tie, atunci o intuie\u0219te sau poate c\u0103 numai frica \u0219i ru\u0219inea l-au \u021binut \u00een fr\u00e2u \u0219i i-au \u00eent\u00e2rziat sosirea, Giovanni a ajuns la ea \u00een momentul potrivit, dar asta e relativ, pentru c\u0103 Giovanni, fiind onest<\/em>, ar fi fost preg\u0103tit oric\u00e2nd \u0219i tot onestitatea lui l-a f\u0103cut s\u0103 fie victima necesar\u0103, jertfa adus\u0103 acestui punct fierbinte; Baldwin \u0219tie cum s-o abordeze, fiindc\u0103 nu mai are nimic de pierdut (realitatea e c\u0103 a fost desfigurat de foarte t\u00e2n\u0103r \u2013 fire\u0219te c\u0103 metaforic \u2013 \u0219i \u0219i-a \u00eenv\u0103\u021bat lec\u021bia, pe care ne-o arat\u0103 \u0219i nou\u0103, dac\u0103 avem ochi s-o vedem \u0219i urechi s-o auzim). Paradoxul, deoarece paradoxurile exist\u0103 pretutindeni, este c\u0103 la o prim\u0103 privire credem c\u0103 David este cel salvat \u0219i nu Giovanni, dar la o a doua privire vom \u00een\u021belege de ce lucrurile stau exact pe dos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Prin vocea \u0219i con\u0219tiin\u021ba lui David, americanul cu zulufii auri\u021bi (\u00eengerul lumii noi!), ne facem loc \u00een aceast\u0103 micro-lume, care-i apar\u021bine \u0219i nu prea, c\u0103reia-i apar\u021bine \u0219i nu prea, dar care este un imperiu al confuziei, al r\u0103t\u0103cirii \u0219i deci al ne\u00een\u021belegerii (mai ales al refuzului \u00een\u021belegerii) \u0219i care sf\u00e2r\u0219e\u0219te, ca orice imperiu, prin pr\u0103bu\u0219ire: What a long way, I thought, I\u2019ve come \u2013 to be destroyed! <\/em>Confuzia trage dup\u0103 sine ambiguitatea, iar ambiguitatea decurge, la r\u00e2ndul s\u0103u \u0219i cel mai adesea, din alternan\u021ba permanent\u0103 dintre un regim al privirii \u00eentruc\u00e2tva auster \u2013 distant, care-\u021bi d\u0103 senza\u021bia de \u00eenstr\u0103inare fa\u021b\u0103 de materialitatea \u0219i chiar de corporalitatea propriei experien\u021be \u2013 \u0219i unul al bl\u00e2nde\u021bii \u0219i-al tandre\u021bii absolute, e o privire care se-nmoaie sub propria vulnerabilitate (cea care vine fie din oboseal\u0103 extrem\u0103, fie din l\u0103sarea jos a g\u0103rzii) \u0219i \u00een leag\u0103nul acestui du-te vino, care se mai \u0219i precipit\u0103 pe alocuri, merge textul \u00eenainte. Merge \u00een tandem parc\u0103 cu vocea interioar\u0103 a lui David, fricosul m\u00e2nat de dorin\u021b\u0103, care se ascunde \u00een minciun\u0103, iar noi \u00eei urm\u0103m calea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
David \u0219i minciuna \u2013 e ceva aproape biblic aici.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Teritoriile minciunii nu \u0219tiu c\u00e2t sunt de vaste, dar \u0219tiu c\u00e2t pot fi de ad\u00e2nci \u0219i de mocirloase, iar de obicei creeaz\u0103 o serie de iluzii: cel care minte se iluzioneaz\u0103 c\u0103 este protejat de propriile-i minciuni, \u00eentr-un fel sau altul, pentru c\u0103 are impresia pe de o parte c\u0103 are putere \u0219i c\u0103 de\u021bine controlul (asupra celorlal\u021bi, asupra lumii) \u0219i, pe de alt\u0103 parte, crede c\u0103 mai c\u00e2\u0219tig\u0103 o f\u0103r\u00e2m\u0103 de timp (de parc\u0103 de timp ar fi vorba aici). Fire\u0219te c\u0103 puterea e mai mult \u00eenchipuit\u0103, iar \u00een ceea ce prive\u0219te timpul, ei bine, el numai se l\u0103b\u0103r\u021beaz\u0103, adic\u0103 se m\u0103re\u0219te ca s\u0103 poat\u0103 crea un interval \u00een care crezi c\u0103 e\u0219ti la ad\u0103post de a lua o decizie. \u0218i chiar a\u0219a \u0219i este, dar e la fel de adev\u0103rat c\u0103 \u00een acest r\u0103stimp cei care sunt min\u021bi\u021bi se afund\u0103 v\u0103z\u00e2nd cu ochii \u00een n\u0103molul minciunilor. \u0218i David se afund\u0103, \u00eens\u0103 se teme s-o recunoasc\u0103 \u2013 el se minte \u00een primul r\u00e2nd pe sine[4]<\/strong><\/a><\/em> \u0219i o face cu at\u00e2ta pricepere \u0219i \u00eendem\u00e2nare \u00eenc\u00e2t nu-\u0219i mai d\u0103 seama de ceea ce face. Sau: \u00ee\u0219i d\u0103 seama, dar nu se poate opri. E incapabil s\u0103 se priveasc\u0103 cu sinceritate <\/em>\u0219i pentru asta Giovanni, care \u00eei fusese oglind\u0103, nu mai poate fi nici el privit:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2019You love your purity, you love your mirror \u2013 you are just like a little virgin, you walk around with your hands in front of you as though you had some precious metal, gold, silver, rubies, maybe diamonds <\/em>down there between your legs! You will never let anybody touch <\/em>it \u2013 man or <\/em>woman. You want to be clean<\/em>. You think you came here covered with soap and you think you will go out covered with soap \u2013 and you do not want to stink, <\/em>not even for five minutes, in the meantime.\u2019 … \u2019You want to leave Giovanni because he makes you stink. You want to despise Giovanni because he is not afraid of the stink of love. You want to kill <\/em>him in the name of all your lying little moralities. Andy ou \u2013 you are immoral<\/em>. You are, by far, the most immoral man I have met in all my life. Look, look <\/em>what you have done to me. Do you think you could have done this if I did not love you? Is this <\/em>what you should do to love?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nu-i niciun secret c\u0103 din spectacolul propriei mizerii \u0219i umilin\u021be ie\u0219i \u0219ifonat \u0219i jig\u0103rit, dar \u00een mod paradoxal, \u0219i eliberat, tocmai pentru c\u0103 propria mizerie a ie\u0219it la suprafa\u021b\u0103 \u0219i cumva e \u00een afara ta, ca o piele pe care-o la\u0219i \u00een urm\u0103 \u0219i \u00een absen\u021ba c\u0103reia e\u0219ti mai u\u0219or. Dar e\u0219ti \u0219i mai gol, poate zburlit \u0219i \u00eentr-o ne\u00een\u021belegere poate \u00eenc\u0103 \u0219i mai mare dec\u00e2t cea de p\u00e2n\u0103 atunci[5]<\/a>. E momentul \u00een care David trage linie pentru c\u0103 a venit momentul bilan\u021burilor, iar faptul de a fi ajuns s\u0103r\u0103cit \u00een acest punct nu se datoreaz\u0103 afl\u0103rii adev\u0103rului, ci faptului de a-l fi evitat pentru at\u00e2ta amar de vreme. \u0218i abia aici ajungem unde doream, \u00een buza paradoxului, la marginea a\u0219tept\u0103rii: punctul, acel centru de greutate despre care vorbeam la \u00eenceput e adev\u0103rul<\/em>. N-a\u0219 zice c\u0103-i Adev\u0103rul cu majuscul\u0103, cred c\u0103 Baldwin e suficient de \u00een\u021belept c\u00e2t s\u0103 se \u021bin\u0103 departe de specia aceea; adev\u0103rul \u00een textele lui, \u00een acest text, e un adev\u0103r relativ, pentru c\u0103 depinde \u00eentotdeauna de povestea \u00een care ajunge s\u0103 fie rostit. E un adev\u0103r intrinsec pove\u0219tii, \u0219i el se poate gonfla p\u00e2n\u0103 la majuscul\u0103 numai \u00een m\u0103sura \u00een care eu, tu, el sau ea se recunoa\u0219te acolo, dar asta deja nu mai \u021bine de puterile lui Baldwin, a\u0219a \u00eenc\u00e2t prefer nici s\u0103 nu discut prea mult. Adev\u0103rul, pe de o parte, iar pe de alta e vorba de Giovanni \u2013 \u0219i nu vreau s\u0103 las s\u0103 se \u00een\u021beleag\u0103 de aici c\u0103 Giovanni ar fi \u00eentruparea Adev\u0103rului, c\u0103ci nu e, iar Baldwin, chiar dac\u0103 pe alocuri d\u0103 glas unor vechi ecouri din trecutul s\u0103u religios, nu-i nici pe departe vreun moralist, pentru c\u0103 dac\u0103 ar fi fost astfel, simpla rela\u021bie a celor doi ar fi fost pedepsit\u0103, ceea ce \u00een niciun caz nu se \u00eent\u00e2mpl\u0103. Dar chiar \u0219i a\u0219a, exist\u0103 acest filon oblic-religios \u00een subtextul \u00eendep\u0103rtat al romanului, care se uit\u0103 \u00een ochii neadev\u0103rului \u0219i vede \u00een ei un soi de p\u0103cat; iar dac\u0103 nu-i chiar un p\u0103cat, atunci cel pu\u021bin este o form\u0103 de tr\u0103dare. Suferin\u021ba lui David se na\u0219te din ocolirea adev\u0103rului, un adev\u0103r care a venit \u00een fa\u021ba lui prin Giovanni.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ce face Baldwin aici nu este s\u0103 produc\u0103 un adev\u0103r \u2013 el exist\u0103 deja[6]<\/a> \u2013 ci s\u0103-\u0219i croiasc\u0103 drumul c\u0103tre <\/em>el, iar tensiunea asta ca un curent electric nu se produce doar din minciun\u0103 sau din ru\u0219ine sau din suferin\u021b\u0103, care-s doar pretexte, ea se produce \u00een primul r\u00e2nd la nivel textual <\/em>\u0219i aici cred c\u0103-i dat naibii cu adev\u0103rat stilul lui Baldwin. Se bat cap \u00een cap dou\u0103 mi\u0219c\u0103ri polarizate: o mi\u0219care centrifug\u0103<\/em>, apar\u021bin\u00e2ndu-i lui David, care fuge de acest centru, \u0219i mi\u0219carea centripet\u0103 <\/em>a lui Baldwin, cel care m\u00e2nuie\u0219te textul \u0219i care astfel \u00eel tot \u00eempinge pe David mereu \u0219i mereu \u0219i mereu \u00eenapoi spre acel centru blestemat \u00een frumuse\u021bea lui des\u0103v\u00e2r\u0219it\u0103. E o for\u021b\u0103 deopotriv\u0103 centripet\u0103 \u0219i acumulatoare, pentru c\u0103 \u00een apropierile lui de centru acumuleaz\u0103 adev\u0103ruri mai mici, momentane, provizorii, cum vre\u021bi s\u0103 le numi\u021bi, care intuiesc adev\u0103rul mai mare. \u0218i nu de pu\u021bine ori adev\u0103rurile astea mici, semi-adev\u0103rurile sunt cele care-\u021bi strepezesc din\u021bii, fiindc\u0103 vin de obicei dup\u0103 fragmente destul de liniare \u0219i care nu anun\u021b\u0103 neap\u0103rat o rupere de ritm. Dar ele totu\u0219i apar \u0219i, \u00een golurile pe care le formeaz\u0103, adev\u0103rurile astea mici \u0219i instantaneo-animalice se ridic\u0103 ca o sentin\u021b\u0103 grea \u0219i te trosnesc \u00een moalele capului. Dar numai pentru o clip\u0103, pentru c\u0103 \u00eentreaga energie textual\u0103 se canalizeaz\u0103 din nou \u0219i din nou spre centrul acela cu suflarea rece, care te oblig\u0103 \u00een final la o libertate cu care habar nu ai ce s\u0103 faci \u0219i poate c\u0103 nici nu vrei s\u0103 ai \u2013 dar poanta-i c\u0103 nu e dup\u0103 tine. \u00cen economia acestor dou\u0103 mi\u0219c\u0103ri, adev\u0103rul (sau secretul, \u00een termenii lui Frost) r\u0103m\u00e2ne nemi\u0219cat, ca un Buddha de piatr\u0103, con\u0219tient de sine \u0219i de puterea lui deopotriv\u0103 distrug\u0103toare \u0219i vindec\u0103toare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Iar pe post de concluzie, fiindc\u0103 nici n-a\u0219 putea g\u0103si una nimerit\u0103, ce r\u0103m\u00e2ne de f\u0103cut e s\u0103 te predai \u0219i s\u0103 accep\u021bi <\/em>\u2013 But our humanity is our burden, our life; we need not battle for it; we need only to do what is infinitely more difficult \u2013 that is, accept it<\/em>. \u0218i fire\u0219te c\u0103 \u0103sta-i lucrul cel mai greu de f\u0103cut dintre toate \u0219i-\u021bi cere curaj \u0219i te cheam\u0103 s\u0103 fii liber, lucruri de care nici eu nu \u0219tiu cu precizie dac\u0103-s capabil\u0103. Ce \u0219tiu, dintre foarte pu\u021binele lucruri pe care chiar le \u0219tiu, e c\u0103 Baldwin, \u00een minunata lui sinceritate \u0219i-n minunata lui dragoste fa\u021b\u0103 de lume, care r\u0103zbate ca o for\u021b\u0103 \u00eenc\u0103p\u0103\u021b\u00e2nat\u0103, dar \u0219i elegant\u0103 \u00een textele lui, dar poate mai ales \u00een cel pe care l-am disecat acum, pare c\u0103 te oblig\u0103 \u2013 ca un adev\u0103r sau ca un secret \u2013 s\u0103 fii mai bun. Sau m\u0103car s\u0103 \u00eencerci. Iar dac\u0103 nu-\u021bi iese, numai faptul de a-i fi vizitat textele \u00ee\u021bi dau impresia, la ie\u0219irea din ele, c\u0103 ai inima mai u\u0219oar\u0103 \u0219i poate m\u0103car pu\u021bin mai frumoas\u0103.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
[1]<\/a> O \u0219tia de foarte t\u00e2n\u0103r Baldwin, \u00eenc\u0103 din Notes of a Native Son<\/em>: \u201eI want to be an honest man and a good writer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
[2]<\/a> Pe c\u00e2nd era la Paris, b\u0103tr\u00e2nul Baldwin spunea: Love has never been a popular movement. And no one\u2019s ever wanted, really, to be free. The world is held together, really it is held together, by the love and the passion of a very few people. Otherwise, of course, you can despair. Walk down the street of any city, any afternoon, and look around you. What you\u2019ve got to remember is what you\u2019re looking at is also you. Everyone you\u2019re looking at is also you. You could be that person. You could be that monster, you could be that cop. And you have to decide in yourself not to be.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
[3]<\/a> Erotic\u0103 \u2013 sigur; obscen\u0103 \u2013 \u00een niciun caz.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
[4]<\/a> \u201eYou lie so much, you have come to believe all your own lies.\u201d, spune Giovanni, iar mai t\u00e2rziu pu\u021bin, la pagina 193, adic\u0103 cu sf\u00e2r\u0219itul p\u00e2ndind dup\u0103 col\u021b, se apropie \u0219i David de revela\u021bia final\u0103, care nu \u0219tiu c\u00e2nd \u0219i dac\u0103 va veni vreodat\u0103: \u201e\u2019I wish anyway,\u2019 I said at last, \u2019that you\u2019d believe me when I say that, if I was lying, I wasn\u2019t lying to you<\/em>.\u2019 … \u2019I mean,\u2019 I said, \u2019I was lying to myself.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
[5]<\/a> \u201eThe body in the mirror forces me to turn and face it. And I look at my body, which is under sentence of death. It is lean, hard, and cold, the incarnation of a mystery. And I do not know what moves in this body, what this body is searching. It is trapped in my mirror as it is trapped in time and it hurries toward revelation. I must believe, I must<\/em> believe, that the heavy grace of God, which has brought me to this place, is all that can carry me<\/em> out of it<\/em>.\u201d (subl. mea)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
[6]<\/a> El exist\u0103 deja, iar Baldwin mi se pare c\u0103 are o perspectiv\u0103 foarte umanist\u0103 asupra lui \u00een Notes of a Native Son<\/em>: \u201eBut that battered word, truth, having made its appeareance here, confronts one immediately with a series of riddles and has, moreover, since so many gospels are preached, the unfortunate tendency to make one belligerent. Let us say, then, that truth … is meant to imply a devotion to the human being, his freedom and fulfillment; freedom which cannot be legislated, fulfillment which cannot be charted. This is the prime concern, the frame of reference; it is not to be confused with a devotion to Humanity which is too easily equated with a devotion to a Cause; and Causes, as we know, are notoriously bloodthirsty.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Cronica ideilor de M\u0103riuca Mihalcea-Eliade<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":433,"featured_media":16185,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[75,52],"tags":[77,2906,2579,2898],"coauthors":[2578],"class_list":["post-16184","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-cronica-ideilor","category-rubrici","tag-cronica-ideilor","tag-james-baldwin","tag-mariuca-mihalcea-eliade","tag-nr-6-2026"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/Giovanni.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16184","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/433"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16184"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16184\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16189,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16184\/revisions\/16189"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/16185"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16184"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16184"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16184"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcoauthors&post=16184"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}