***
The Tirtans flooded the culture
wherever you turn you come
across their Sodom’s sniggering
across their hacksaw’s uvular R
sounds, their madness has the
taste
of cyanide, the isolation becomes
depressing and tasteless and the
days
seem absurd as a coffin hanging
from a rotten acacia that shakes.
Their constant preoccupation is
Sodom.
READ MY NOVEL "RUN, ANGEL, YOUR HOUSE IS BURNING" HERE'S THE LINK TO MY NOVEL https://a.co/d/0gZZy3x3
The novel RUN, ANGEL, YOUR HOUSE IS BURNING represents radiography of the Romanian society after the coup d’état in 1989, a society loaded with defects and abominable customs, with steeled mentality: ‘The other one’, the neighbor is good, but he is good at being eaten. The protagonist proposes a toast to a cocktail party, which doesn’t deny this principle, ‘The literary critic is a sheepfold dog delighted at his own barking and not at the bleating of the victimized sheep.’
This novel is of admirable subversive force, is a thrilling, spiritual, ingenious and interesting one. The plot of the novel is somehow unusual, with Balkan specific features, a merry-go-round of love and murders committed while smiling. The protagonist (Geg) has serious social and moral problems. He is a member of Securitate secret police, a notorious informer who becomes literary columnist at a central newspaper and lecturer at the University by swindling. After the coup in 1989 he loses his lukewarm jobs, his wife Margareta also becomes unemployed. The poverty drives her into doing business with merchandise from Turkey where she makes a few journeys. Relying on rumors, her husband suspects her of unfaithfulness. Shortly after he finds her friend, too, who is a gangster who helps her extricate herself from a difficulty in Istanbul, he takes her merchandise to sell it in his consign shop from Bucharest. The gangster wants to better know the happy family, and asks them to an outdoor fete, to a tourist’s place. Over there the mobster sets up a trap for the protagonist – his child goes missing and insinuating that his wife Margareta, too, does another kind of business at Istanbul, he suggests a bargain to him – he should sell her to him, and the gangster should sexually, legally exploit her. Margareta undergoes Calvary, being on drugs she is sequestered and sold, becoming pregnant she is transported to Greece where she gives birth to a child and the baby is sold again and she is forced into suckling all kinds of perverts. By chance she is saved by an Italian doctor who’s been brought to her to render service to him. He takes her to Italy where after a while they get married. The protagonist doesn’t stand idle either, the gangster hires him to transport mysterious merchandise, he has a verbal fight to regain his university job, he tries to sign in at a political party, tries small chewing gum business with money borrowed from the gangster, tries to sell children for adoption, tries a new love affair, all attempts lamentably fail. He realized that he didn’t renegotiate the agreement with the state. He kills the gangster who has threatened his house and in a game of suicide he dies holding his wife Margareta in his arms. The plot of the novel is concerned with the disclosure of protagonist’s consciousness, with his relationship with other women and with family quarrels, with his going round to different milieux of the society, sometimes he floats as if above the steam of Hades. The depicted emotions are jealousy, anger, pain, sensuality and the others. The affective life of the women is often depicted vividly and subtly. The novel is interwoven with protagonists’ retrospection; the consciousness is reflected into the opinions of those around, into private or public confessions or into more versions. The narrative voice is true, supported by ironical tone. The novel is built as ingeniously as a symphonic poem. The text contains a multitude of depictions, of rivalries, of suspicions and of affective games. The dialogues are natural, and have certain alchemy of language.
Jivinele care populează acest
teritoriu
sunt niște ”huinele”
țiganizate, puternic
jidovificate, stratificate
acoperite
de sunete gângăvite, pocite,
sucite,
încâlcite, purtătoare de venin,
au sânge, dar nu știu să-l
poarte
sunt primejdioși imprevizibili
își croiesc făgaș pe pământ și
lasă
o urmă băloasă de melc și fug
prin Mărăcini, numai prin
Mărăcini
și lasă un făgaș gol și întortocheat
care rănește picioarele la
huinelele
ce vin din urmă care tot n-au
simțăminte.
***
The man without God
is a piece of trash – the water
takes him away
The Rumanians, unwashed first-class
mankurts
reading isn’t really their thing
are slow
on the uptake and you have to give
them
the pre-chewed morsel in a huff,
tired, they
wrinkle up their nose when
someone is
heading for them with a gold book
where
they are shown that the enemy
comes to love
them: for you, cretin, she enshrouds
you
in a tepid sentiment, this book
is written
and they make grimaces as if they
have
got earrings put in and the
sadness hangs
them in disgust. “You are mad
there’s no
greater horror than the books.
All the writers
be hanged upside down in the
water closets!”
And they have blocked the
printing,
they have blocked the access to
the bookstores,
they chased away the writers who
don’t kiss
the Sodomites with Sodom’s
propaganda
on their ass they sent them to
rats’ catching,
the state appointed paid henchmen
to annihilate the ones who don’t
write
formal books. For you,
fatherland,
shit rains down on you from the
high
pleura. All the mankurts seem to
have
urinated but the Tirtans put
earrings
on them and count their steps
within funeral sounds.
The ghetto of the Rumanians
crammed
with hood rats, trapped in the
nets
of the libidinous spiders from
the West
is maddeningly gyrating as in the
centrifuge
of a uranium enrichment facility
their weight, their blood, their scream
are imbued with radioactive ash
they are
sprinkled with camphor and blood
from the mines. Spiders with long
paws
grasp them by the belly and fertilize
them
so that they seem to be descended
from plutonium. From the Rumanian
substance will emerge the most
terrible bomb.
***
Rumânu-i nație de CIORȚI
la porțile infernului
umblă unul după altul
să-și taie pleoapele, au toate
calitățile bestiilor scârboase
și nu se spală, se împreunează
cu animalele și-și jertfesc
copiii lui Moloh și-nainte-i
violează; duc o viață simplă,
crudă, aproape de pământ
se grăbesc să-și gâdile călăul
și iadul lor iar se veselește
gângav.
