Cufărul cu versuri, Poetry

Scrânciobul lui bunicu

Mărul din grădina bunicilor, noduros și cenușiu,
Șade-n umbra dealurilor de fân pline,
Florile cosite își dau suflarea de parfum sfios,
Noi ne dăm de-a tumba pe greblatele coline.

– Fă-ne scrânciob bunicule, chicotim îmbujorați
Bunicu lasă coasa grea și se pune pe urcat,
Mărul ascultă, îl cunoaște, își apleacă coama gri
Pădurețe sar pe pietre ca în jocuri de copii.

Brațul harnic și vânos învârte lanțul de o cracă
Și-ncet coboară parcă un pui de leagan dintr-o arcă 
Noi îl încoronăm cu scândurica de lemn moale și duios
Și ne-ntrecem cine poate să se așeze mai frumos.

Bunicu coboară lin precum vântul cald al verii
Limpede el ne privește cu lumina învierii,
Ia găleata și culege merele căzute-n iarbă
Oile behăie din poartă, sunând vesel din talangă.

-Hai la diresală, strigă bunica cocoțată în gireadă
Bunicu ia coasa pe umăr, nepoții grebluțele grămadă,
Numai eu rămân în scrânciob, privind mărul nostru în șoaptă,
Verii strigă, hai la fân, măi Anuți alună coaptă!

Standard
Flowers and People, Poetry

True Beauty

Morning dew on sweet rose petals,
Awake thy mouth to-a hearty song
Though my lips are coarse as nettles,
They are wise and not headstrong.

Fresh and scented is thy gaze,
In the light of rising suns
Though my eyes are dry with haze,
They avert from charming sons.

I hope we meet in time of trial,
The outside oft reflects the deep
Where the soul soars from defile,
The body’s climb is very steep.

Standard
Formal and Polite, Poetry

The Collector

Vincent sips his coffee in a French cafe
With a perfumed scarf and a creme brulee,
He watches people live their lives
With a pen in his hand and feverish eyes

A lady with the air of a delicate swan
Enters his gaze as she glides like a pawn,
To checkmate his heart, while his hand writes
And dashes three ticks on the page’s sides.

‘Dances ballet and plays the flute,
Can read for hours as an enchanted mute,
Her mind, as firm as her two bare toes,
But her heart is as wild as a mountain rose.’

Vincent smiles then strikes off the rows,
On her wild heart and hard boiled toes,
‘Interesting – but too hard to keep,
With a mind of her own that might take me too deep.’

He rips off the page with meticulous fingers
And folds it neatly as the feeling lingers,
With a shake of his head the paper slides loose,
In a box labelled simply “for future use”.

Standard
Research & Play

Tech for Good

Dramatic intro: It is quiet on the streets of Manchester. Fewer and fewer cars flow rapidly over the rain spotted streets. The trees are in full bloom, but few are there to see them. At least birds can now take a breath of fresh air. Ironically, the climate will benefit from the world’s cry. Greta kept saying that our house is on fire, but only now do we see the fire. It’s a microscopic fire, spreading more fear than fevers, but a threat nevertheless.

A few days ago I thought the world doesn’t need anymore technology. We are too disconnected, mentally and spiritually distanced from each other. And now, in the middle of a pandemic, we will be even more isolated. Again, ironically, the root of our social distancing can bring us together during our physical distancing. Although we might end up having walls between each other, we can break the virtual walls and say hello once more! Or if you have balconies, sing together like our friends from Italy.

Here is a list (that can be updated by me or you) of ways technology can bring us together during this world isolation experiment. Disclaimer, I am not advertising these apps! 🙂

  1. Teach your grandma to use Whatsapp before going into lockdown.
  2. Pray together using conferencing applications like Zoom (up to 50 people, free for up to 40 minutes / ~15 $/month per host for unlimited time) [Useful link here].
  3. Improvise together using Google Hangouts (up to 25 people, free). [Useful link here]
  4. Sing together using Skype or other apps (up to 25 people, free). [TED Talk inspiration here]
  5. Create animations online with anyone from anywhere with Artella (free to sign up). [Website link here]
  6. Play video games online with your buddies. [Useful link here]
  7. Share stories with your writer’s group using Google Docs/Dropbox and comment on each other’s work.
  8. Read dramatic stories to each other using Discord (free). Or join an online book club. [Useful link here]
  9. Watch films with 3 friends (at the same time) using a Premium Netflix package (~3 pounds/person per month).
  10. Solve maths problems using a collaborative online whiteboard (free, up to 5 people/ 5$/month for unlimited participants). [Useful link here]
  11. Artists, teachers, scientists, gregarious opinionated debaters, live stream your work and ask for donations, especially if you’re going through a hard time! [Useful link on apps | Useful links on getting paid]
  12. Write your own novel, inspired by the events from today by using online writing tools like Ulysses. [Useful links here]

 

Please comment if you have more ideas and I can add them to the list! Take care of each other my friends!

Standard
Chasing the Light Poetry, Poetry

We build

Stone and brick, iron and steel,

We build strong walls along the street,

Man-made structures now the Heavens seal

And pluck the grass from underneath our feet.

 

We’re civilized, dignified and educated,

Technology is pouring from our walls,

We are connected, yet so disconnected,

Stone-faced at the beggar’s calls.

 

I am that beggar, a face in the crowd,

Begging to see and to be seen,

You give me change to buy my shroud,

And walk on spraying your hands clean.

 

Machines are moving in the shadows

Of great men of high esteem.

Their ash falls down with quiet woes

As foreign hands build up their dream.

 

Today don’t build, but listen, friend,

To that last robin from the tree

Water the roses, to your garden tend,

And show the beggar you once more can see.

Standard
Short Stories, Stories

The Weeping Mist

LaculRosu_small

Some of the people of Ash Forest could see the sky that day. The dark clouds had descended onto the tips of the birch trees and were now thinning away. These people had been waiting for years to see the sun. Wandering aimlessly amongst the thick grey trees, they had forgotten the feeling of warmth. Stretched arms, withered by the morning winds, reached for glimpses of light. 

Rarely did the ever wake mist lift its merciless veil from the Ash Forest people, for a tragic tale bound it to their ground. It was said that until a proud man shed a tear for another, the mist would not lift. Until then, the woodland dwellers were to roam half blind, never truly seeing each other. The tale was bound to a man, Lord Ashley Achton. Hundreds of years ago, he lived on the edge of the forest, in a grand manor house. He would often prowl among the trees, to shoot deer and meet women. 

One of the ladies he fancied at the time was a poor blind woman from Little Creek village. Her name was Dietrich Arietes and hadn’t a penny to her name. Despite her unfortunate circumstances, Dietrich was the jewel of her village. Her fair cheeks were like roses in the morning light and her long black hair swirled like wild horses in the desert. Her step was dainty and her gaze, although devoid of earthly light, would have made any young man blush with awe.   

Ablaze with infatuation, Ashley was determined to pursue Dietrich. His intentions were always pure, or so he thought, until new intentions came along. He had a way with words, so managed to seduce poor Dietrich into the forest. His promises poured into her ears, as their footsteps carried them deeper. Long after sunset, Lord Achton returned to his manor alone. 

Months passed and Ashley carried on in his usual manner. One cold november night, a loud knock echoed through his chambers. Dietrich had arrived in a state of great distress and demanded to speak with him. The maid whom had opened the door took pity on the girl and let her inside to wait by the fire. Achton agreed to see her briefly, remembering the beauty he once cherished. He was shocked, however, to see the frail frame and haunting eyes of his past idol. 

‘I’m six months pregnant,’ Dietrich cried caressing her belly. ‘I have nothing. I ask for nothing, except this. Please promise me you will take our child and raise it as your own.’

‘Foolish woman!’ Achton burst. ‘How am I to know this child is truly mine?’ 

Silence fell as Dietrich weeped. She slowly knelt on the stone floor.

‘Please, I have nothing,’ she repeated, her cry intensifying. ‘You know it is yours.’

Lord Achton watched her with steely eyes and pondered. His heart softened for a moment, remembering her past beauty. His brow struggled between anger and compassion. Finally he said, ‘I can not father the child of a woman whose class is so beneath me. You will make do as your family always has.’

‘They are ashamed of me,’ she whispered, ‘and so am I.’ 

For a moment her dark hair covered her face, as she raised back up. She then parted it, revealing her flaming eyes, staring straight at Ashley. He knew she could not see him, but still shook from their intensity. 

‘Then listen to this. Never shall you or your villagers see daylight. I may be blind, but not as blind as you are now. So you shall taste the bitter darkness until your blood will shed a tear for someone other than yourself.’

Dietrich left alone and made her way with a crooked stick into Ash Forest. She was never seen again. Soon after that night, a thick mist fell from Little Creek Village, all the way to the mountains beyond the forest. The villagers were forced to move into the woods, for the mist was slightly more forgiving there. They could not tell arm from leg where their homes used to be. 

The swirls of fine rain would grow moss on their thatched roofs and put out the fires in their hearths. And sometimes, when the nights were silent and the winds grew weary, a quiet weep could be heard in the distance. It was not desperate, but a gentle reminder of whom had brought the watery burden upon them all and what was to be done to lift it.

*

Will Achton was a scrawny little lad, no more than sixteen. His father, Michael Achton was a fire maker. With all the humidity in the woods, necessity crafted fire making into a profession. As most fathers in the Ash Forest settlement, Michael had high hopes for his son, but always ended up disappointed. Generations had passed, but people were still hoping for a redeemer from their sorrows. Their sole thought was that one day a strong man would come and lift their burden, for it had grown heavier over the years. 

“Only a strong hand can wring a tear out of a proud heart,” they would say.

‘Today you come with me, lad,’ Michael said one morning to his son. ‘I’ll show you where to find dry wood.’

Will smiled and followed his father deep into the forest. Michael’s axe crunched through the hollow birches and crooked maples. Will carried as much as his feeble arms could hold. His father then smirked and picked up ten times more with one arm. As they walked slowly back to the settlement, they reached Amber lake, in the heart of the woods. 

‘Don’t walk too close to the water,’ Michael said, ‘there are strange creatures lurking about.’

The mist lifted slightly and Will saw a deer grazing on the other side of the lake. Its silhouette shimmered in the dim morning light, as dew gently rested on its dark fur. Its head suddenly sprang up and looked at him with haunting grey eyes. 

‘It’s blind,’ Will whispered in awe. 

Michael slowly bent and discarded his load of firewood on a patch of fairly dry ground. His son placed the few branches he had carried on the wood mount his father had built. The man took out his dagger and nodded towards Will. The boy shivered at the sight of his reflection in the silver blade. 

‘Lunch,’ Michael finally uttered. He stepped with confidence, resembling a wild cat on the prowl. 

The wind blew gently towards them, sheltering their footsteps from the alert ears of the creature. Will followed his father with trembling feet. His brow furled and unfurled as beads of sweat crawled on his skin. 

‘Father, we should let it go,’ he begged. ‘It cannot see!’

‘Then there is nothing for it to fear,’ his father grunted. ‘Quiet, for it is blind, not deaf.’ 

Michael hastened his steps towards the deer. The mist thickened and swallowed the two in its depth. They heard the earth shaking and then mud splattered their lips as the deer sprang from their reach. 

‘It knows,’ Will cried, ‘let it be!’

‘Shut up,’ Michael demanded, wiping the mud from his mouth. He then added, in a softer tone, ‘son, you are too weak. We must have food for tonight.’ 

‘It’s scared dad and helpless. We can eat something else tonight!’

‘I’m sick of mushrooms,’ his father growled.

He then hurried into the fog, listening intently. The damp earth squelched under his feet and it smelt of shadows. He strained his ears to hear the whisper of footsteps and the gentle rustle of leaves. Michael licked his lips and prepared his blade. A soft shadow moved among the streaks of grey trees. The man stopped for a moment, watching the shape shift and turn with dainty movements. He waited until the figure sharpened through the droplets of fog. Michael charged with a wild yell towards the beast and thrust the knife at its head. 

‘Father!’ the beast uttered. The mist swirled, revealing the closing eyes of Will. The blade stopped just in time, an inch from the boy’s face. Michael dropped his knife in the mud and his knees followed. He grabbed his son and thrust him to his chest. A moment of eternal silence. Will could hear his father’s heart trembling. A deep sob emerged from the roots of Michael’s soul. He cried bitterly, holding his son, on the shore of Amber lake.

The cloud of dew rolled over the still water, slowly lifting its veil. Will opened his eyes once more, still in his father’s embrace. The mist over the lake had cleared as the figure of a dark haired maiden stepped gracefully into the forest.

Standard
Chasing the Light, Essays

Inocentii

innocents

Scène du massacre des Innocents by Léon Cogniet

Metafore inspirate de pictura Scène du massacre des Innocents de Léon Cogniet:

Femeie, nu te teme de privirea sura a pictorilor tai. Te-am imbracat in haine de roaba si te-am lasat desculta. Genunchii tai ingramaditi de zidul rece s-au invinetit de spaima si de frig. Iata, glasurile mamelor au devenit stravezii. Doar umbra lor mai suspina prin crapaturile pamantului. Bratele lor au amortit cu sugarii prinsi de piept. Bataia inimii lor a devenit una cu murmurul pruncilor.

Nu te teme, mama, nu te vom pari purtatorilor de sabii. Ascutisul lor s-a tocit de sange nevinovat. Slobozeste glasul pruncului tau si lasa-l sa vorbeasca. Gangureste micutule om, glasul tau se va adanci in sufletele oamenilor. Osanditorii tai s-au pierdut in arsita desertului. Glasul celor ce striga in pustie s-a stins de sete, dar in curand vor avea iar apa. Obrajii lor s-au uscat de lacrimi, iar buzele lor au sangerat de rugaciune. Scoala-te din intunericul fricii si indrazneste, mama! Fiul tau va fi viu!

Standard
Chasing the Light, Flash Fiction, Stories

A Step in the Dark

This piece was inspired by the following painting.

'In Manus Tuas, Domine' Briton Riviere (1879) Manchester Art Gallery

‘In Manus Tuas, Domine’ by Briton Riviere (1879)

The horse’s hooves trembled on the misty rocks. Their sheen bolted in crackling sounds as the white beast slid on the frost covered earth. 

‘Quiet Edmund!’ the knight on its back whispered.

His armour was untouched, with the emblem of a double headed eagle on his chest. His eyes were weary and talked of nights of restless contemplation. A blunt sword served him as a cross, blessing the dark chasm that opened at his feet. 

Three bloodhounds followed their master with reluctant whimpers. Their tense, muscular bodies urged the man to retreat from his imminent fate. The knight spurred the horse’s sore flanks. His breath stopped in his chest as his left arm lifted his father’s heater shield.  

In a loud cry he entered the dark cavern of twisted trees and thorn bushes. A pair of fiery eyes glimmered in the belly of the chasm. The hounds howled but dared not follow in their master’s steps. The breath of fire pierced the knight’s pale skin, as he looked into the eyes of the Vasan dragon.

The sword was flung with the precision of an arrow into the creature’s scaly heart. Its dark grey head crushed the ash covered trees around it. The rider slid off his horse, under the weight of his burning armour. The horse bolted into the morning light as the knight whispered his forgiveness. 

With his last breath, the knight took off his helmet to behold the beauty that emerged from the ashes. A diaphanous nymph crawled from underneath the dragon’s pitch black claws. She ran to her saviour with eerie footsteps and gave him a kiss as his soul departed his chest. 

‘May our love be renewed when the sun will set over this world,’ she whispered and walked out of the darkness in silence.

Standard
Thoughts About Life

The Start of a Year in Manchester

It’s been two months since I moved to Manchester and I’ve already had two colds and a flu. I guess the colder weather and the interaction with students can do that to you. As you may or may not know, I had previously lived in Bath, the posh little Las Vegas of the UK. I moved up north to start a 12 month contract as a lecturer in Character Animation Techniques and 3D Character Development at Manchester Met.

CubeCylinderSpherePanda.png

3D model created for one of my lectures.

Although I knew I was setting myself up for a big challenge, I accepted the offer anyway. The old saying goes that “Those that can’t do, teach.”, but I would like to change that to “Those who teach have to DO more.”, because they have to keep ahead of the students. So how has it been so far, you ask? Hard to say. I do enjoy the interaction with the students who are curious and ask questions, but find it difficult to connect with the ones that just want a good grade. I enjoy preparing slides, but dread spending my nights finishing them. I am excited by the idea of doing my own research, but hardly find the time to do it. 

Other than that, I’m experimenting with various aspects of teaching. For example, I included some storytelling and improv in my 3D Character Development class. Students were asked to sketch out characters and storyboard their journey. They then shared their creations with their peers. In my Character Animation Techniques class, we recorded students doing various types of silly/normal walks to use as reference for the walk cycle part of their coursework.   

I’d also like to add some thoughts on the city. It is slowly growing on me and I am starting to feel less lonely, as I’m spreading my net over improv jams and writing groups. The practical, industrial buildings of Manchester are mixed with Victorian neo-gothic, Baroque and more old fashioned architectural styles. The brick walls are darker, skies are greyer, men have more tattoos and talk funny (to me). The Christmas market, parks/squares like St. Peter’s Square or Whitworth Park, the museums that I still have to visit (eg. Alan Turing was here!) and last, but not least, The Peak District, which is close by, bring a smile on my face.

To conclude, as I sit here sniffing my nose and drinking my honey and lemon tea, I am prepared to embrace this year. I would like to put my creativity to work at this university and see what good comes of it. However, I am still skeptical of the academic system, and its business-minded view of the students. Grades, the fees students need to pay, my not-so-perfect content, the amount of material already available online, make me feel that the university system in general is failing slowly, if not becoming deprecated.

I strongly believe education needs restructuring. Creativity should be elevated through fear-free, grade-free environments, where minds can thrive. To this thought, I bring Sir Ken Robinson’s view on education. I imagine a world where knowledge and resources are shared, affordable, if not free, rather than bottled up and sold by a company/university for impossible sums of money. My view of education is the old fashioned Aristotle with his students discovering the mysteries of life and sleeping under the stars…with a thermal blanket…it’s really cold up north. Alas, I am but a (hungry) dreamer.

Standard
Portugal, Traveling

5 Life Lessons from a few Surf Waves in Sagres

Surf Buddies

Great adventures build great friendships! (photo by some dude)

Was I always this scared? I remember roller skating down a massive hill in my home town and dodging cars when I was a kid. I remember falling off a high speed sleigh with my cousin, being dragged a few meters down from the impact and then laughing at each other with our noses filled with dirt and snow. When did I become so comfortable, that I found being safe is better than being alive? I’m not talking about putting yourself into dangerous situations, but about getting out of your comfort zone, pushing at your own boundaries a little at a time.

I’ve wanted to try surfing since watching Stoked on Cartoon Network as a kid. The Black Sea in Romania was always a great escape as a child, but it didn’t have surfing. Also, we could only afford to spend two weeks per year in its presence. After moving to England even swimming in the ocean became a challenge, since the water was so cold. I remember a freezing and tiring surf class in Bournemouth a few years back. It did, however, plant a seed of joy that I wanted to return to one day. This summer, that seed finally came out of the ground. I decided to change my strategy and go to a warmer climate to properly try out this seemingly unattainable sport.

Tonel Beach

Tonel Beach, Sagres, Portugal

I chose Sagres in the wild Algarve region of Portugal, at the recommendation of a friend (thanks Ingrid!). I went alone, not knowing what to expect except a lot of paddling, falling in the waves and hopefully standing on the board. The surf camp I went to was Wavesensations, with chief surf dude Nelson Silva. All the instructors there seemed super chilled, with a few teaching surfing as a passion summer job. They even had a surf dog that hates water, named Joao, but who is great at giving energy cuddles!

Bordeira Beach

Bordeira Beach, north of Sagres

Surfing Buddies

Surfing buddies from France, Switzerland, Spain and England.

The Longboard Van

Nelson getting the boards down from the rockin’ surf van.

Margaux and Joao

Joao giving Margaux (surfing buddy) an energy cuddle (photo by Ian)

I could talk about the beautiful beaches, the hippie town of Sagres, the friendships I’ve made, the freedom (and fear!) I felt in the ocean or even the joy of listening to rock songs on our way to the beach. I decided to choose 5 life lessons that all of those experiences taught me about being human. Surfing is not only beautiful due to its apparent simplicity, but because it is a metaphor for life. So here goes.

 

1. At the root we just want to be kids again

Kids are fearless because they don’t know they have boundaries. They walk full speed ahead in front of a monster wave and smile. They get their first pair of arm floats and paddle to the deepest part of the pool. As we grow older, society teaches us to be cautious and we lose some of that childlike courage. Surfing is a sport that revives our fearless inner child. It teaches letting go and enjoying the ride on the back of a friendly giant, the wave. It also makes us curious about the ocean, its rhythms, tides and winds. So I can say I experienced ocean science hands on and was a child of the waves for a little while.

Surf Babies

Surf babies at Tonel beach braving the waves.

 

2. Great adventures build great friendships

Being vulnerable with someone is the best bonding experience you can have on your adventures. Sure, at the beginning, everyone tries to seem cool and in control, but the ocean is so unpredictable that you have no choice but to be honest. ‘The waves look scary.’, ‘I hope we don’t hit those rocks.’ and ‘It feels like I’m in a washing machine.’ were things me and my surfing buddies passed around. These words and our shared experience of battling the waves and sometimes standing on their crests, spurred friendships that will be remembered forever.

Fun times with my surf buddies

Don’t forget to chill with your new friends in the evening! (Photo by some dude)

 

3. How you deal with the waves is how you deal with life

After 5 years of doctorate I must admit my confidence has decreased more than it has increased. And since our outwards behaviour is deeply linked with what’s going on inside, this was the first observation I got from my instructor, ‘Be a bit more confident about what you want.’ Wow, he nailed it on the head there! I realized I had no idea of what I was looking at when seeing a wave. I was also passive, saying, ‘Nah, maybe the next one.’ But this is exactly how we treat opportunities in life! They come in waves and we don’t even try to pursue them!

Once I managed to stand on the board, the next pointer was, ‘Why do you jump so soon?’. Instead of doing my best to balance on the board and take the bumpy ride, I preferred jumping off, just in case it doesn’t work out. This is so much like the fear of failure we experience in life! The scary thing is not taking the opportunity, but sticking with it for as long as the ride lasts.

Vehicles for Opportunities

Wavesensations 8 foot longboards or vehicles for opportunities!

 

4. Hesitation makes you sink

Surfing is about the (technical) details more than it is about your strength. Every wave is different, your weight will never be in the exact same place and even the tiniest forward tilt in your board can result in a nose dive. A split second of hesitation is very likely to result in just another wipeout. But if that moment is used to rebalance, to move forward with confidence, you’ll be standing in no time!

This is a metaphor for so many life experiences! Just like Peter, when he hesitated while walking on the water towards Christ, we find ourselves sinking in our doubts. In improv theatre if your body wants to move it means you should have moved already! If you don’t jump on stage, the moment passes and a new scene needs to be built. In life, we let moments of hesitation deny us meaningful journeys. Have you never regretted not asking for that phone number from your crush before catching the bus?

Me acting cool

Make sure you don’t sink 😛

 

5. Be a pillar of strength so that others may grow

I’ve always liked learning. A lot of my passion for knowledge came from inspiring teachers who love what they do. We were lucky enough to have one of those teachers for our surf classes. Nelson didn’t give us time to be afraid and reassured us when we looked anxious. ‘All good?’ he used to say to wake us up from our thoughts. He put us between himself and the waves, although it was risky for him, but safer for us. If you teach, be more like Nelson! If you don’t teach, love what you do and others will follow!

Nelson the man, the legend

Nelson, our very cool surf instructor.

So next time you’ve had too much office time, remember life should be more outdoors than indoors. Nature is our natural element as human beings. Travel, meet people, surf some waves if you get the chance! See what they teach you about your own life. Don’t forget to take it all in at your own pace and enjoy the ride, wherever it may take you!

Bye Bye Tonel Beach

Bye bye Tonel beach, you beauty!

Standard